He saw her before he met her that Monday morning as he drove through the rain to work. She sat on a stool and the rags on her were drenched. She was a beautiful, slender woman with dark flowing hair, large brown eyes, a large red mouth, and puffy cheeks as if she wanted to blow out air. He couldn’t tell how long she had been there.
That day, he did something unusual. He looked at her the second time through the driving mirror, stopped the car, and walked through the rain to her.
She sat whispering nonsense about a child being cooked and the food not eaten. He took out a 50 cedi note from his wallet and handed it to her. They held each other’s gaze for a moment. She smiled at him with a set of clean white teeth. There was a brief flicker of interest, of recognition, in her eyes. Then the eyes went dead as if a bulb had been switched off. What right had she to be so beautiful and mad? But there was a hint of nobility about her, of someone who had been born with a silver spoon but had fallen from grace.
He wanted to say something, but there was a tightening in his throat and the words refused to form on his lips. He had the feeling that they had met before, yet he could not remember where or when. He rushed back into his car. The tears he had held back cascaded down his cheeks. Then the deep sinister feeling of doing something naughty engulfed him. It started slowly from his knees and worked its way to all parts of his body, leaving in its wake numbness and irritation. There was nothing he could do for about 10 minutes, so he sat and wept. After a while, he took the bottle of aspirin and popped two tablets into his mouth. He derived a sensual pleasure from its bitter taste. He drove off to the city where he worked as an accountant for old man Lazarus, an old friend of his adoptive parents.
At the entrance, the gate man waved at him and said something inaudible, but he nodded. He drove to his usual spot under the parking shed but stopped abruptly, for his spot had been taken by no other worker than Jason. He and Jason were principal officers at the firm so either could park right after the old man. He hadn’t bothered about the turf war but Jason had always made it a point to sit by the old man’s right-hand side during meetings to show he was the next in command. He knew he was better, far better than Jason, and that the old man who was to retire at the end of the year, had penciled one of them in for promotion. He knew he was the obvious choice. Jason also knew and trembled, and he wouldn’t go down without a fight hence the turf war and underhand dealings. How sad, he thought. There was still the throbbing pain in his head so he took another aspirin and chewed it without water.
He said softly, “Calm down. It will be alright.”
That was when the voice came. “It isn’t alright. Ha. You are a wimp, and he is going to take your spot.” The voice was deep, grating like a fisherman’s.
“Shut up!” he shot back.
“Why don’t you just ram your car into his to prove that you are not a softie?”
“I say shut up!” And he wept again.
“Haha…” The voice scorned him. “You are a softie. Only softies cry. Haaahaa.”
The first time he heard the voice, he was seated behind the dining table across his wife, Amy.
“Look how beautiful she is but you don’t love her.’’ It was the same deep grating voice.
He was so startled that the spoon fell from his hand.
Amy looked up at him and asked, “What is it?”
“Did you say something?”
“No.”
“I heard you say something.”
“Honey. You look tired. You need a rest from that office. They are milking you dry.”
He said nothing. Deep inside him, a fear brewed. That was three months ago.
The voice didn’t come until two weeks after that incident. That was when he started talking back to the voice. He would be alone in the office, and the voice would say, “Your mum is waiting for you.”
And he would reply, “My mum? Where do you know her from?”
In such moments, he would turn to see no one behind him.
As Amy said, the work was taking a toll on his life. He needed rest badly yet with the old man set to retire, he also needed to prove that he would be a worthy successor. Hence the frequent overnight shifts.
He stayed late in his office to go through a report that old man Lazarus wanted for the next meeting. The figures didn’t add up. He had to do something. That was a challenge, and he loved challenges. Crediting and debiting were like a game to him, a game he always won. He went through the figures for the new shopping mall. There was a miscalculation, an error. He traced the debit sheet, balanced it, and held it against the credit sheet. There it was. There had been multiple entries for the cost of cement. 20000 cedis. Lo! That accounted for the unbalanced sheet. Who was to work on supplies? Wily. Crassly. Jason. He never imagined Jason could stoop so low as to cookbooks. For the first time, he felt pity for him. He saw him not as a rival anymore but as a common thief whose place was behind bars. He got up from his chair and walked to the window. It was about 7 pm., and the city lights were on. He saw cars like a long snakes with their tail lights all caught up in a bumper to bumper all the way up the hill. He looked far below towards his left at the river which flowed through that part of the city. There was no sound, just a shimmer on the surface against the bright lights of the city. Beneath the lights, he knew the water ran raucously into the sea. How many men are like the river, glowing on the outside but tumultuous within?
The cool breeze calmed his nerves and for once in a long time, he felt at peace. Then the voice came.
“You see. There is nothing to live for. It will be a fine idea to jump.”
“Shut up!” He was a trifle loud.
“You see. Nobody loves you. Your mama gave you away, and the adoptive parents were too glad to wash their hands off you. You live with a woman who only tolerates you. Old man Lazarus will side with Jason. It was a clerical error. You’d be a fool.”
“It is a lie. A big lie!”
“Haahaa.” Only crybabies talk like this. “Ha! Why don’t you jump? There is no pain. It will soon be over. Jump.”
He moved away from the window in haste as if he’d seen a ghost and sat in the nearest chair. There was the splitting pain in his head again. He took aspirin and rested his head against the wall. He needed help, but from where or whom? The voice wasn’t going away. He could not tell Amy too. What will she think of him? A mad man. One thing he agreed with the voice on was that, he has ceased loving her a long time ago. There was no excitement with her anymore. Besides, he cannot bear to lose face before any woman. What about professionals? They will only psychoanalyze him and file it off as a case study.
The pain having subsided, he picked his keys and drove home. It was towards 9pm. When he entered the house, Amy was already in bed so he went to the kitchen. She had stopped waiting for him a long time ago. It seemed she had accepted the fact that this thing called marriage wasn’t working anymore, and that it was only a matter of time before they went their separate ways. It was a good thing that there were no kids. He sat down to his dinner. It was jollof with fried plantain and chicken. It tasted like sand in his mouth. Afterwards, he took a cold bath and went into the bedroom. He lay beside his wife. A stranger.
And his mind went into the past, a bottomless pit. This time, he was with his brother. They’d play the game so many times, and each time he lost. Not this time though.
“Say, it’s your turn to hide. Go hide and not be found.” His brother said in the girlish voice of his. “You can go hide in the ship of Tarshish, I’d toss you out.”
So, he ran to hide and not be found in the garage among the used tools and discarded boxes. Hide and not be found. Jack where are you? I’m here. Suddenly, the big box came tumbling down from the table, and out flew the papers, the brown paper. He saw words: baby strong and healthy. Immunized against six childhood killer diseases. Weight: 8.5kg. Recommended for adoption. Signed this day…
“I got you.” His brother did shout from behind.
There’d been hints here and there: hair color, height. He’d been so different from his parents and his brother. He was tall, they were taller. He was dark, they were fair, a little ruddy.
“What is that?” His brother asked. “Let me see.”
And they rushed to mum with it.
Mum stared at the sheet as if it were a charge sheet. She could have lied, she could have bluffed her way out, but strangely, she burst into tears.
“You know sometimes in life things happen we have no control of.” Papa struggled for words at dinner table.
How do you explain to a 12-year-old that he isn’t your own flesh, and that you picked him from a house where they keep unwanted babies? How do you tell him his real parents didn’t want him, and that they threw him away? A discarded thing. An experiment gone wrong?
“But we love you as our own flesh and blood. Never forget that…”
He never forgot.
“It’s six o clock. Accra is up.” The radio host was saying.
He felt the warmth of his wife’s body beside him on the bed. Without disturbing her, he got up and walked groggily to the bathroom. He turned on the shower. Rivulets of water splashed against his back.
“The weather today is stable with early morning sunshine. Towards evening, expect slight drizzle which will generate many thunderstorms in the evening.” The radio host said.
He wondered the time these forecasts like fake prophecies will ever be fulfilled. They had predicted rain when there’d been much sunshine. He had stopped reading meaning into these weather forecasts.
“Man is the solution to his problem. Look no further for the solution. Look within, for from within come the answers to the without. You have it in you to slay the giants. That is the message for today,” the radio host said still.
He took his bath quickly. Amy was still asleep. He dressed casually in a blue polo t-shirt, corduroy trousers, and grey sneakers. He looked at himself in the mirror. His hair looked unkempt and his fingernails were badly in need of trimming. He had ceased to care. He left a note on the mantelpiece for Amy, and drove off towards the Central Business District, but changed direction and took the dusty road towards the shore. Driving on, he stopped abruptly in front of the children’s home. He entered through a metal gate and walked along a long corridor. There was nobody in the foyer. He looked at his watch and guessed that the children were at the chapel, having their morning devotion. He had no memory of his time here except through some grainy images. He knocked on a door. As he waited to be ushered in, a panicky feeling swept all over him.
The administrator, a thin man, who always seemed to be in a hurry, offered him a seat.
“Ah! You are back. What took you so long since your last visit?”
“Work I guess.”
“It is good you came.”
“Something for me?”
“I will say yes. Since your last visit, I have made enquiries.”
This time he sat up eager for the life-altering news.
The administrator, scenting a change in his attitude, said casually. “As I was saying, I have gone through the files and spoken to those who were here before me.”
“Yes?”
“Well, it is this. You were weaned off your mother when you were six months old. You see, she was mad, and living rough on the streets. A good Samaritan took you away and brought you here.”
“Where?” He asked in a dry voice.
“Seke Junction.”
He couldn’t remember how he made it to the office. All that he remembered afterwards was that, Jason had taken the parking spot so he left the car with the security man and climbed upstairs to his office. Along the corridor, workers in their cubicles sat and stared at screens. Machines buzzed and swirled. Nobody seemed to take notice of his presence.
Hardly was he through the door to his office than he heard Jason’s voice from behind. He was a lanky fellow with body parts that seemed chiseled; a chiseled head with all chiseled parts including mouth, nose, ears and eyes attached; a chiseled body with symmetrical hands and legs attached. He wore his chiseled hair afro style, and walked with a superior gait and knowledge that he was tall and handsome and popular with the ladies. He had on a pink shirt, a black tie and a black cotton trouser, and black executive shoes. He looked happy, and it shone on his face. In fact, he had looked happy since bed time when he proposed by the canal to his girlfriend of eight months, Aku, and she’d accepted hysterically, readily as if it were a ticket to heaven. And suppose, just suppose the old man did swing the axe today on his arch-enemy with the head rolling into the sack then his happiness will be complete. Jason wanted to shout but he thought it a foolish idea and restrained himself. Oh boy, what a time to be alive, oh boy.
Jason barged into his office and looked at him contemptuously.
“The old man wants you in his office.” He trumpeted in a voice full of disdain.
“Huh! What for?”
“I don’t know.”
He popped tablets of aspirin into his mouth and gulped them down with water.
The old man was perched in his chair like a bird.
“Sit son.” He said as soon as he saw him.
“Jason says you need me.” His voice was dry.
“Yes, son.”
Old man Lazarus stood up. He was a huge man, and towered above everything in sight. He dressed immaculately in a navy-blue suit and a white shirt. His tie was black and his cuff links golden and his shoes genuine black Italian leather, well-polished. Upon meeting him for the first time, one might think he had an appointment at Flagstaff House or something, but that was old man Lazarus so neat, so gentlemanly in appearance. He was one of those people who had a major breakthrough every year, and since the beginning of the year he’d count on doubling his assets. And here he was in June and all, and nothing seemed to be happening. That was why this hasty meeting was called. He moved with a swiftness that belied his frame towards his cabinet.
“Gin or whiskey?”
“No sir. It’s too early for me.”
“Ok. Son.” He poured himself a glass of whiskey from a green bottle and took a long sip, smacked his lips with relish and sat down.
“My old man had a shop down the slope towards the cliff before the maniacs turned the place into a suicide haven. After school, me and my brother had to sell to the beach goers till dusk before we could get money for the next day. How time flies. It all seemed like yesterday to me.” He paused, took another long sip and continued; “Today I can’t even ask the kids at home to empty the bin. They will have it against me as an infringement on human rights. I have to pay for everything. I wonder what the future holds for them kids. They are in for a rude joke. They’ll have to pay for someone to eat for their kids. The good news is that, I will be long gone by then.” Suddenly, turning serious, “You see son, life is built on discipline and commitment. Without these two, the world is turned on its head, and dog eats dog. You know it’s been you and Jason after I am gone. You were the obvious choice, but for the past three months you have not shown the discipline and the commitment to lead. Tell me, what is it? Is it woman trouble?”
“No sir.” His voice was drier still.
“I get calls from GRA. Our tax returns for the past two months haven’t been filed. The accounts for the shopping mall haven’t been submitted since last week. I had to go to the corporation yesterday and stoop to those ignoramuses for the Fennec Account because somebody here refused to send the quota for last month on time, and that somebody is you…If it isn’t woman trouble, then you need a break. This is so unlike you. I have decided to lessen the work load on you. From now on, Jason will work on the Fennec Account. Take a week off. Come back next Tuesday refreshed.”
With a sweep of his hands, old man Lazarus dismissed him from his office.
He knew who had instigated all this but he lacked the strength to fight.
“You see, Jason is better than you.” The voice deep and grating came again. “He will take your position. He is so better than you. Ha! You are a sissy.”
He had no strength to talk back this time. He felt so tired suddenly as if he had travelled a long distance on foot.
“What are you waiting for? There is nothing here for you. You are a failure. There is nobody waiting for you. No parents, no wife, no life. End it now. Just walk over to the cliff and jump into the sea. It is easy. Jump!”
Yes, what was he waiting for? He has been a disappointment. Everybody by now knows he is a son of a mad woman. He picked his car keys and walked out of the office. Outside, the sky was hard and clean. The morning sun had painted the skyscrapers a golden hue. Peddlers on the boulevards cried their wares. The city was a-stir with life. He drove off to Seke Junction. The mad woman was asleep on a piece of cardboard. He walked over to her. A battalion of flies buzzed over an open sore on her left ankle. He emptied all the contents of his wallet and put it in the bowl beside her. He felt like touching her, embracing her. Could she be his mother? No. This one is too young. In fact, she could be of the same age as himself. As for his mother, she might be dead by now and dumped into one of those unmarked graves in the city. He walked down the pavement towards the bank. Then he turned to his left and looked into the shops with their shiny items of vanity. He wandered around aimlessly. After some time, he rested gently on a bench nearby. The loudspeakers blared music to entice customers. He heard the strain of Adomako Nyamekye’s voice singing of death trumping toil on a transistor radio nearby.
He reflected on his life and saw himself as someone outside himself, a body floating in the skies and observing human limitations and tragedies. So aloof, he sat. Then he took out his phone. He could hear the shrill sound as the lines tried to connect.
“Hello, mother,” he called. How strange the word mother sounded on his lips. He would never associate motherhood with that kind woman who brought him up like her own flesh and blood.
“Hello, son.” She’d called him a son. For the first time, that was strange to him too.
There was silence.
“Uhmm…” He wanted to speak but the words were caught in his throat.
“Is something the matter? Is Amy alright?”
“Yes, mother. Everything is alright.”
“Then what is it?”
“Mother, why did you and papa adopt me?”
“How many times do you want to know?”
“Just want to know.”
“Because we loved you and still do. Is that okay?”
“Yes, mother… Another thing. Did you ever meet my real mum?”
Momentary silence. “No.”
“Mother… I want to thank you and papa for everything. You didn’t have to do it.”
“Well, we’re glad we did, and have not regretted it. Son, if there’s anything, come around okay? The door is always open.”
“Yes mother. Bye.”
“Bye.”
He hung up the phone. He scrolled through the contact list and dialed again.
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
“I..just..called to check on you.”
A sigh then the voice again. “Is everything alright?”
“Everything is good. Why do you ask?”
“Well…it’s been a long time since you checked on me during office hours.”
“Amy,”
“Yes…”
“Do you love me?”
“Yes. I do. I’ve always loved you, and you know it. Why? Is everything alright?”
“Yes. I’m good.”
“May I ask a favor?”
“What is it?”
“Well…this Saturday being my birthday…I hope you’ve not forgotten.”
“No…no.” He said hastily.
“Well …I hope you can take me up the Adomi Bridge. My dad used to take me there… I told you that…”
“I know.”
“How fun it was and all that…”
“Yes.”
“Well…I’d love to go there… to the past you know. I hope there’s no assignment this Saturday.” It was half-question, half-reprimand.
“No.”
“Good. So?”
“So?”
“Going…what do you say?”
He hesitated and thought about the lie he was about to give.
“I’m in,” he lied.
“Good. I’ve always loved you, and will always. You know you are my first love, and how many people get lucky and marry their first love?”
“Only you.”
“Fine. Tonight, I have something for you. You don’t know how happy I’m that you called.” She was thinking this could be the beginning of the road to recovery she’d always prayed for.
“Bye.”
“Bye, my love. Don’t stay late.”
He hung up. He thought of the lie he’d just told. There would be no Saturday, no tonight. He thought of how she’d feel upon hearing the news, her sense of loss and betrayal. She’d hint at going to the past. Well, there is no going to the past. It’s permeated with lies and fantasy and pain. There is no future too, only a gulf of uncertainty and hopelessness.
He sighed and stood up from the bench. He had one last call to make, but he decided against it and threw the phone into the dustbin to his left.
He burst into laughter suddenly. It was a horrible laughter that came deep from within him. He has triumphed at last. They couldn’t beat him, so he won’t join them. He was no weakling, no madman. Old man Lazarus and Jason, they could audit all the accounts of the world for all he cared. It takes strength to go over the cliff.
“There…There…You’d be good after this.” The voice urged him on.
He will laugh as he ascends the cliff, his throne. He felt at peace. There is no pain. A calmness he had never felt before descended on him. About him, everywhere, people battered and argued over nothing. He was above them all. He walked to his car and sped off towards the cliff.
Johnson K. Appiah teaches English Literature at Presbyterian Senior high School, La, Accra. He holds an MA in English Literature from the University of Cape Coast, Ghana. He has been writing short stories since the age of 17. His hobbies are reading and watching football.
