DECEPTION (a short story) By: Jude Ifeme
“My name is Tsuami. Come to me.”
His palm was coarse, his grip firm. He had the brightest dentition I’d ever seen, the teeth contrasted with the beautiful darkness of his skin, his smile was pure, alluring, disarming. His large kinky hair, by design or default, hung over his head like a dark cloud.
I had arrived Kizi.
The entrance could have thrilled anyone. It left you with a feeling of a king on a glorious entry – evergreen trees standing high, like armed sentries, on the sides of the winding road crawling up to the centre of a village on the hill, their branches entangling above in eternal embrace.
I loved it instantly, and savored the long lovely shade cast all the way.
But little did I know I was walking right into the very jaws of death.
“This is village, not big city – small place.” Tsuami said in his limited English, wrapped with such innocuous smile that my sense of guilt deepened. He had caught me staring at the rags the feckless looking locals had for clothing. My well-pressed blue shirt and pants suddenly made me feel like I had bathed to lie with pigs.
This was the forgotten tribe, the men, mostly peasants, milled around with the saintly aura of the marabou, so still in their movements you’d imagine their necks would break if they turned a little quicker. Their women went about in that thin identical clothing. The kids simply didn’t see their own nudity.
Most of the thatched mud houses sprawled across the little village seemed precarious but defiant enough to stand the windy air raging against the hill. Down the steep on the left flourished a valley of greens and daisies – billions of yellow-heads lighted my eyes, they marched endlessly beyond the vision field. Far on the right was a spread of craggy hills, obviously inhabited, with nothing but weathered boulders and clay, no vegetation. The great Kizi-kizi River cuts in-between the contrasting landscapes, leaving the impression of what seemed like a paradise and a wilderness so thinly divided.
“How did you know Edoni?” I queried.
“Good man, he come here, bring food…here, “he brandished a black leather wrist watch, “gift.”
I wondered what he needed wristwatch for in such a timeless place. I remembered my mobile phone and groped my pocket for it.
“What is this?”
“Mobile phone – with this I can talk to Edoni – anyone in the city.” I said, demonstrating, without any sense of accomplishment, my sense of vanity was dead and replaced with an atavistic anxiety stirred up by the time-trapped Kizi and its laid-back people.
The last mechanical invention was a bicycle drawn cart, and it turn around at the foot of the hill where I met Tsuami, somehow it felt good leaving the pollution and rat race of the city behind. I had also joined a group of nomads on a four-mile trek over hills from the nearest village, Ulok, where other forms of civilization have made a u-turn. It would appear that Kizi’s greatest misfortune was also its beauty; the terrain.
Swatches of tongue twisting dialect, Tsotsok, hit me as I passed by pockets of conversations with my host. I knew the topic was invariably me. Obviously, I was as over dressed as a model in a monastery.
“Edoni asked me to deliver this to you.” I handed him over a little parcel from my bag which I didn’t bother to check – to my own detriment.
“Thank you, jotto.” This was the third time he used that word.
“What is jotto?” I inquired. His smile broadened.
“Stranger, “then he went on to say, “we love stranger here.”
I nodded. He never bothered to inquire my real name; and I thought I’d get along quite well with him.
I followed his tall, lanky frame to a large clearing then a heartbroken house. He lived alone in the decrepit thatched mud house of three rooms adorned with oval windows, of which he bequeathed one for my lodging.
Going by Edoni’s instruction, I was to wait for Tswati, another alien, to show up with a parcel, which I would deliver back to the city. He had hurried off to an emergency call overseas, and persuaded me to take a few days leave from work. I did for a friendship we have both known all our lives, besides I was beginning to hate the monotony of my government job. Ed had come into a lot of money recently, lots of contacts, overseas trips, and has resigned his job as a geologist with the government. Though we still lived four blocks apart, I knew he still stayed around not because he couldn’t afford an apartment in the highbrows.
“How long before Tswati comes?”
Tsuami’s eyes lit up, there was something unusual about his reaction, but that was a split of a second. “Two day, maybe three,” he said, and then his charming smile returned.
Maybe I shouldn’t have asked why he was all by himself in such a relatively big house, which was one of the best in the village. But curiosity wouldn’t let me. For the first time I saw this cheerful man’s face lose its pleasantness, revealing a pitiful streak of insecurity. He told me how his beautiful wife had left him after two years of marriage with a child barely a year old, and went off with a man from the city. Since then he’d never found the strength or courage to take another shot at matrimony, especially after the child died six months later. His own parents, he said, lay buried beneath a mud slab, at the foot of a fruit-tree a few meters off the foot-marked entrance of the unfenced house; I stole a quick look at the mud grave.
The immediate premises seemed well-kept enough for a heart-broken man, and chickens loitered around. I observed a shriveled-legged cock. It was kind of peculiar. Tsuami followed my stared to the cock.
“It was bought by my wife, years ago.”
I didn’t look away, only wishing he would save himself the wife story. I felt guilty for being rather voluble. But on he went, and then to tell me how he cherished the avian, his only companion on this seemingly cool and peaceful patch, in a very harsh world. I wondered what he would do when the cock departed.
“Kuku,” he called suddenly, and the cock abandoned its winged kinds in such swift disregard, hobbling to him, “time to roost – my dear.”
I watched in empathic wonder as the old cock raised its drab wings and let Tsuami pick him up like a baby right into his sleeping room.
It wasn’t until I got into Tsuami’s inner lodging that I realized to what extent his loneliness had surreptitiously battered his sense of organization. There wasn’t much of furniture, as expected, but the little there was stood or fell-over in the wrong places.
“What is this?” I picked up a small yellowish lump from a little heap as we exited the rooms for a final view of a glorious sunset before nature drew the curtains on that 28th day of November 1998.
“Oh,” he responded with a rather conspicuous nonchalance, “stone from kizi-kizi, I like it, fine. You like it?”
I shrugged a shoulder. I thought that was gold ore but wasn’t sure, and his response sent a signal I couldn’t yet comprehend. With time he seemed to overcome the upset triggered by my curious inquest.
I didn’t realize how greatly I would miss the sun until it was night.
* * *
To be continued...
His palm was coarse, his grip firm. He had the brightest dentition I’d ever seen, the teeth contrasted with the beautiful darkness of his skin, his smile was pure, alluring, disarming. His large kinky hair, by design or default, hung over his head like a dark cloud.
I had arrived Kizi.
The entrance could have thrilled anyone. It left you with a feeling of a king on a glorious entry – evergreen trees standing high, like armed sentries, on the sides of the winding road crawling up to the centre of a village on the hill, their branches entangling above in eternal embrace.
I loved it instantly, and savored the long lovely shade cast all the way.
But little did I know I was walking right into the very jaws of death.
“This is village, not big city – small place.” Tsuami said in his limited English, wrapped with such innocuous smile that my sense of guilt deepened. He had caught me staring at the rags the feckless looking locals had for clothing. My well-pressed blue shirt and pants suddenly made me feel like I had bathed to lie with pigs.
This was the forgotten tribe, the men, mostly peasants, milled around with the saintly aura of the marabou, so still in their movements you’d imagine their necks would break if they turned a little quicker. Their women went about in that thin identical clothing. The kids simply didn’t see their own nudity.
Most of the thatched mud houses sprawled across the little village seemed precarious but defiant enough to stand the windy air raging against the hill. Down the steep on the left flourished a valley of greens and daisies – billions of yellow-heads lighted my eyes, they marched endlessly beyond the vision field. Far on the right was a spread of craggy hills, obviously inhabited, with nothing but weathered boulders and clay, no vegetation. The great Kizi-kizi River cuts in-between the contrasting landscapes, leaving the impression of what seemed like a paradise and a wilderness so thinly divided.
“How did you know Edoni?” I queried.
“Good man, he come here, bring food…here, “he brandished a black leather wrist watch, “gift.”
I wondered what he needed wristwatch for in such a timeless place. I remembered my mobile phone and groped my pocket for it.
“What is this?”
“Mobile phone – with this I can talk to Edoni – anyone in the city.” I said, demonstrating, without any sense of accomplishment, my sense of vanity was dead and replaced with an atavistic anxiety stirred up by the time-trapped Kizi and its laid-back people.
The last mechanical invention was a bicycle drawn cart, and it turn around at the foot of the hill where I met Tsuami, somehow it felt good leaving the pollution and rat race of the city behind. I had also joined a group of nomads on a four-mile trek over hills from the nearest village, Ulok, where other forms of civilization have made a u-turn. It would appear that Kizi’s greatest misfortune was also its beauty; the terrain.
Swatches of tongue twisting dialect, Tsotsok, hit me as I passed by pockets of conversations with my host. I knew the topic was invariably me. Obviously, I was as over dressed as a model in a monastery.
“Edoni asked me to deliver this to you.” I handed him over a little parcel from my bag which I didn’t bother to check – to my own detriment.
“Thank you, jotto.” This was the third time he used that word.
“What is jotto?” I inquired. His smile broadened.
“Stranger, “then he went on to say, “we love stranger here.”
I nodded. He never bothered to inquire my real name; and I thought I’d get along quite well with him.
I followed his tall, lanky frame to a large clearing then a heartbroken house. He lived alone in the decrepit thatched mud house of three rooms adorned with oval windows, of which he bequeathed one for my lodging.
Going by Edoni’s instruction, I was to wait for Tswati, another alien, to show up with a parcel, which I would deliver back to the city. He had hurried off to an emergency call overseas, and persuaded me to take a few days leave from work. I did for a friendship we have both known all our lives, besides I was beginning to hate the monotony of my government job. Ed had come into a lot of money recently, lots of contacts, overseas trips, and has resigned his job as a geologist with the government. Though we still lived four blocks apart, I knew he still stayed around not because he couldn’t afford an apartment in the highbrows.
“How long before Tswati comes?”
Tsuami’s eyes lit up, there was something unusual about his reaction, but that was a split of a second. “Two day, maybe three,” he said, and then his charming smile returned.
Maybe I shouldn’t have asked why he was all by himself in such a relatively big house, which was one of the best in the village. But curiosity wouldn’t let me. For the first time I saw this cheerful man’s face lose its pleasantness, revealing a pitiful streak of insecurity. He told me how his beautiful wife had left him after two years of marriage with a child barely a year old, and went off with a man from the city. Since then he’d never found the strength or courage to take another shot at matrimony, especially after the child died six months later. His own parents, he said, lay buried beneath a mud slab, at the foot of a fruit-tree a few meters off the foot-marked entrance of the unfenced house; I stole a quick look at the mud grave.
The immediate premises seemed well-kept enough for a heart-broken man, and chickens loitered around. I observed a shriveled-legged cock. It was kind of peculiar. Tsuami followed my stared to the cock.
“It was bought by my wife, years ago.”
I didn’t look away, only wishing he would save himself the wife story. I felt guilty for being rather voluble. But on he went, and then to tell me how he cherished the avian, his only companion on this seemingly cool and peaceful patch, in a very harsh world. I wondered what he would do when the cock departed.
“Kuku,” he called suddenly, and the cock abandoned its winged kinds in such swift disregard, hobbling to him, “time to roost – my dear.”
I watched in empathic wonder as the old cock raised its drab wings and let Tsuami pick him up like a baby right into his sleeping room.
It wasn’t until I got into Tsuami’s inner lodging that I realized to what extent his loneliness had surreptitiously battered his sense of organization. There wasn’t much of furniture, as expected, but the little there was stood or fell-over in the wrong places.
“What is this?” I picked up a small yellowish lump from a little heap as we exited the rooms for a final view of a glorious sunset before nature drew the curtains on that 28th day of November 1998.
“Oh,” he responded with a rather conspicuous nonchalance, “stone from kizi-kizi, I like it, fine. You like it?”
I shrugged a shoulder. I thought that was gold ore but wasn’t sure, and his response sent a signal I couldn’t yet comprehend. With time he seemed to overcome the upset triggered by my curious inquest.
I didn’t realize how greatly I would miss the sun until it was night.
* * *
To be continued...
I like the descriptive style and the suspense is gripping too.
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