Eight
No men are oftener wrong, than those that can least bear to be so. Pg 104 Moral Reflections.
The night when I got the emergency phone call from the Adelaide Hospital I'd just survived another one of my frequent occurring fights with Ireti.
"Ajibade," she stormed into my study with her old and worn-out pajamas slouched over her shoulder like a bad meal. I was wondering why she kept refusing to put on the nicer ones I kept dropping on her side of the bed when she said, "This cannot keep happening."
"What cannot keep happening, Ireti? Can we not do this tonight? I have some documents that desperately need my attention— I need to go through them, plus I've had a very long day, can I just rest?"
"How can you rest when you've refused to do nothing about these frequent nightmares of mine—and don't even dare talk about the holy water you keep bringing home; they're not working." She stumped her foot and I could tell from the dark circles around her eyes that she wasn't enjoying a lot of sleep.
"What do you want me to do for God's sake, Ireti? Fly into your dream and ward the evil spirits off?"
"Do that. Do anything, anything you want! Iwo lo lo fi owo ara e wo nkan buruku sinu ile wa, Iwo na ni ko wa solution si." You're the one who went out and brought in evil into our home, you're also going to find the solution to it, she said to me with a mixture of anger and fear laced in her tone before stomping out of the room, ignoring my numerous please for her to stop. At least she wasn't being over the top with her nagging tonight I thought to myself as I pushed my head back on the $3000 leather sit to let the air out of my lungs when I heard the special phone ring. It was a phone I'd set aside for my daughters only and the only people who had the number were their school, nanny, and hospital. I checked the grandfather clock in my room and wondered what the time was over there before I picked up the call and shot up from my $3000 leather chair when I heard the familiar prerecorded voice of the Adelaide hospital call center asking for my permission to confirm the call.
"Can I speak to my children? Give the phone to one of my daughters please," I said to the nurse after she narrated the situation to me in medical terms that I really didn't care for. I needed Titilayo or Tiwatope to speak to me in the way I understood.
"Daddy!" I heard Tiwatope's soft but audacious tenor voice that sounded like how I always guessed Ireti would've spoken as a little girl.
"Calm down, Tiwa. Tell me, what happened?"
"She fainted, daddy. We heard her scream and by the time we got to her she was already gone."
"What do you mean by gone? The nurse said she's still alive!"
"Yes, that's what I'm saying she was—,"
"I understand. Was she sick?" I asked and then I began to hear arguments from the background. I kept hearing words like, "tell him Tiwa, tell him."
"Tell me what? Who's there with you?"
"It's Titi."
"Give her the phone," I commanded. Where Tiwa was secretive and sometimes expressed signs of conceitedness, Titilayo was plain and expressive.
"Daddy!" She broke down and I could almost picture her crying her eyes out in the hospital.
"Baby, I'll be with you soon okay, tell me— what's wrong? What did you want Tiwa to tell me?"
"It's the nightmares daddy, we've been having terrible nightmares lately and I'm sure that's what caused what happened to Tolani."
Not again, I thought to myself in anger. I could feel my blood grow hot in fury. This wasn't what I bargained for. I already paid the price.
"Give the phone back to your sister, Titilayo—and hey, do you trust daddy?"
"Yes."
"Good. Do you trust daddy enough to know that he'll get the nightmares to stop?"
"Yes, daddy."
I looked around to be sure that Ireti wasn't lurking behind me before I whispered into the phone saying, "Then you promise not to call or ever tell mummy about this?"
"Sir?"
"I said do you promise not to tell your mum about this?"
"Okay, daddy." My little girl responded, sounding confused. It broke my heart to pieces for I knew that she told her mother everything.
"Tell me, you promise." I felt mighty stupid for getting myself to the point where I had to whisper so low in my own home and to my own daughter.
"I promise, daddy."
"That's my girl—give the phone back to your elder sister."
"Daddy?"
"Tiwatope?"
"Sir?"
"I'll join you soon—your mother is sick, don't bother her with this, is that clear?" I didn't wait for her to respond before ending the call. Tiwatope might not be my favorite, but I knew I could count on her when it came to secretive matters. Sadly.
I panicked. I fell to the floor. I threw all the content on my table to the floor in fury and it was then that I realized how profound movie directors were and how every action expressed was apt and not just some theatrical thing. I could accept Ireti's frequent discomfort and sleeplessness, but I couldn't accept my kids sharing or partaking out of this. They were the reason I got my hands into this dirty business in the first instance and I knew at that point that I'd rather die than watch anything happen to my girls.
I still had the vivid mental image of my daughters panicking every night when I put a call through to the private jet agency. The lady over the phone greeted me in the sarcastic way junior students in the blaring house greeted their seniors: polite but loathed. I knew I'd woken her from her sleep but God knows that I didn't give a damn.
"I'm leaving for the States first thing tomorrow morning, contact my management and prepare all arrangements," I said to the phone and slammed it on my empty table. I didn't pay thousands of dollars every month for membership to the agency not to assert my right.
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Mystery / ThrillerMysterious deaths and ritual killings are becoming increasingly popular in the country of NIGERIA and the people know who these killers are yet they dine and wine with them every single day.
