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Wasafiri
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Creative writing
Adewale Maja‐Pearce
Published online: 18 Jul 2008.

To cite this article: Adewale Maja‐Pearce (1985) Creative writing, Wasafiri, 1:2, 26-28, DOI:
10.1080/02690058508574084

To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/02690058508574084

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THREE NIGERIAN SHORT
STORIES
Adewale Maja-Pearce
THE WITNESS
She came out with it as soon as they had finished breakfast.
'Akin, don't you think it's time you started thinking
seriously about what you're going to do with your life? The
war has been over nearly three months now . . . '
He looked away from her and stood up. He lit a cigarette
and went over to the window.
'Look, I'm not trying to push you into anything you don't
want to do'
'I know, Elizabeth, I know,' he said.
'Before you went away you used to be so eager for life.'
She came up behind him and touched his shoulder. 'You're
wasting your talents. If you don't want to join your father's
firm there's lots of other things you can do.'
He turned to look at her. 'Elizabeth . . . " He shrugged and
turned away again.
'If only you would talk to me,' she said.
'I need time,'he said.
She moved away from him. 'That's what you've been saying
ever since you got back. You make me feel as if I'm trying to
bully you into something you don't want, but you've had
plenty of time as it is and where has it got you?'
He threw the cigarette out of the window. If only he could
feel something — love, pain . . .
'I'm sorry, Elizabeth,' he said.
'Sorry, sorry, that's all you can say. You're destroying
yourself, our marriage, and all you can say is you're sorry.
What good is that?'
He watched the gardener attacking the grass with his blade.
It was going to be another scorching day. Swish, swish, swish:
with each stroke the blade defined a perfect arc.
'At least say something can't you?' she demanded.
He turned to her. 'What can I say?'
26
She went through to the bedroom. In a moment she was
back again.
'I don't suppose you want to come to the shops with me,'
she said without looking at him.
'No.'
'Don't forget your parents are expecting us this evening in
case you were thinking of going somewhere.'
'I haven't forgotten.'
'I'll see you later,' she said.
He waited until she was about to close the door behind her
then he called: 'Elizabeth.'
She paused. 'What?'
Swish, swish, swish went the blade. 'I love you,' he said.
He could lie now without even thinking about it.
She looked at him and shook her head. 'Oh, Akin.' She
could not remain angry with him for long.
'Just a little more time, that's all I need, then everything
will be alright,' he said.
She gave him a half-hearted smile. 'Why do I always end up
believing you,' she said.
He gave her half-an-hour then let himself out. The gardener
looked up at him and said something which he did not catch.
The bus rounded the corner and he ran for it.
He got off at the hospital. The heat had become oppressive
and his shirt was soaked. He entered the overcrowded ward. It
was dark and smelly and noisy.
'Akin, so you've come.'
He sat down on the bed. 'Remi, how are you?'
'They won't let me out of here.'
'Why not?'
'They told me yesterday that they now have to chop above
the knee.'
'I thought it was all over with.'
 Remi sighed. A tear trickled down the side of his face. The
man in the adjoining bed started to groan.
'You see that man. They let him out last year and he's back
again,' Remi said.
'What's wrong with him?'
'They removed his stomach. Imagine that. They took the
whole thing out just like that. Now his intestines are infected.'
'Remi, is there anything I can get you?'
'What do I need? I want to be a whole man again, can you
arrange that for me?'
'Remi...''
'You can't help me, go away.'
'Remi, I'm sorry.'
'You're not the only one. My wife was here yesterday.
That's what she said, meanwhile she is enjoying another man.'
'Will I go and see her for you?'
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'If you like.'
'I'll see the doctor as well.'
'Do what you want, none of it can help me.'
He stayed a few minutes longer and then left. In the corridor
he met one of the nurses. She had been in the ward when he
had first entered. He called her aside and gave her some money.
As if it would do any good. She would spend it and forget
why he had given her.
He drank a bottle of cold beer before he caught another bus
to Suru-lere. Remi's wife was in the kitchen, feeding the baby.
She made him tea.
'I've been to see him,' he said.
'He wants to die,' she said. 'Yesterday he accused me of
sleeping with other men. He asked me for their names, but
when I said it was not true he started shouting at me and calling
me a liar and a harlot.'
'He needs time, he has to get used to his new condition.'
'I know, I know, but we must eat.'
'Did you speak to the doctor?'
'What do they know? Because they went overseas to learn
long words they think they are God.'
He stood up. 'I must go,' he said. He put some money on
the table and left.
Elizabeth was still out when he got back to the apartment.
He stood by the window and watched the gardener. Swish,
swish, swish went the blade.
A PLACE IN THE WILDERNESS
After the sun had gone down we would sit on the front steps,
and sometimes we were silent, just smoking cigarettes and
holding hands, and sometimes she talked about her childhood
and about how unhappy she had been. She told me many
contradictory stories about her childhood, but I always listened
carefully because it was in the way she spoke, and not what she
said, that the truth lay.
In the daytime we never left the house except to collect
water from the stream. Since it hadn't rained in such a long
time the water was muddy and tasted bad. We boiled it, put it
through muslin, made tea with it, but it always tasted the same.
But sometimes the isolation became too much for us, and
then we would walk the four miles to the village. There was
always the excuse that we needed to buy food, but the real
reason was that we had to see other faces. So we walked under
the blazing sun, holding hands at first but disengaging after a
-short while because it was intolerable to clasp another's sweaty
palm.
The village was tiny, and not much more than a market
where farmers sold their produce: yams, beans, plantain,
peppers and fruit. To them we were incomprehensible: an
27
English woman and a half-caste man living alone in the wilder-
ness. We bought what we needed, which was quickly done, and
then there was no further excuse for us to hang around. It was
about noon by the time we set off, and the earth was like an
oven.
One evening, as we sat talking, a huge black dog appeared
out of the night and stopped before us.
'Get away,' I said, and kicked out at it. My foot caught it
under the belly.
'What did you do that for?' Bridget cried.
'It's probably diseased,' I said impatiently, but she didn't
listen. She coaxed it into the house and put some food down
for it.
That was how we acquired a dog. At first it was frightened
of me, but it followed Bridget around everywhere. I didn't
much like the animal but she was happy enough to have it
around. It took to sitting at her feet in the evenings while she.
told me stories about her childhood. Her father beat her; her
father ignored her; her father locked her in a cupboard for
six, seven, eight hours; her father raped her. Each time fresh
details were added, tamer ones discarded. I suppose I came to
hate the poor man almost as much as she did.
The next time, we went to the village the dog came with us.
Because of the animal we attracted even more attention than
usual. We were soon surrounded by the children. I tried to
shoo them away. Then I saw the first stone lob through the
air and hit the dog on its back. It gave a yelp. I grabbed
Bridget and took her out of the area. The children were
screaming with delight as they stoned the dog, and then
suddenly Bridget broke away from me and flew at the children.
They scattered in all directions so that she didn't know which
way to go.
The dog was dead and lay in a bloody heap on the scorching
sand.. She went over to it and knelt beside it. It was horrible
to listen to the sounds she made in the back of her throat.
Some of the women ventured near and stood in a group shaking
their heads.
I was wondering what to do when someone tapped me on
my shoulder. A squat and very black man carrying a spade
smiled at me. Then he pinched his nostrils with the thumb and
forefinger of his free hand and pointed at the dead animal. I
went over to Bridget.
'Let them bury the dog,' I said. I wasn't sure whether she
had heard me. I was about to repeat it when she suddenly
turned on me:
'You're no better than them, nobody cares in this world, do
they?' she shouted and ran off. The little group of women
shook their heads once more and went about their business.
The children were still nowhere in sight. The man with the
spade began digging a hole.
A week later she went back to England. I sold the small
plot in the wilderness and moved back to the city. A few days
later I received a letter from her. It depressed me because in it
she did her best to distance me. She told me she had moved in
with her father. Apparently he had recently suffered a stroke
which paralyzed him down one side. His third wife had left
him and he had no-one else to turn to for help.
THE WOMAN OF THE LAKE
Kolawole had been out in the fields checking his yams until
late in the afternoon. He had been up since dawn and as he
made his way home he was exhausted. When he reached the
lake he paused to splash water on his face and arms, and then
he thought to lie down for a moment before setting off for
home. Immediately he closed his eyes there came before him
 a picture of his wife and seven children, the oldest a boy often
and the youngest a baby of three months. He thought of this
year's harvest. It would not be good. The excessive rains had
done a lot of damage. He would have to go to his brother in
the city again to look for work to tide them over. He felt
weary. He thought how hard his life had been, how little luck
he had had, and then, out of the silence around him, he heard
a woman call his name, but softly:
'Kolawole.' He opened his eyes. Dusk had already fallen.
He was about to sit up when she called out again, louder this
time:
'Kolawole.' He sat up, and there before him, rising out of
the water, was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen,
her skin glistened from the last rays of the dying sun, and she
held out her arms to him.
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ground and waited. But for what? She had only heen a dream,
surely? So whythis foolishness? He stood up and turned to go
and as he did so he heard her call his name. .
'Kolawole.' He looked round. The lake remained undisturbed:
there was nobody there. He started off again, and again he heard
his name: 'Kolawole;' Again he turned, and again there was
nothing there. He hesitated for a moment, and then he stripped
off his clothes and plunged into the water.
An hour later his son came to the lake and called for him
•but got no answer. Darkness was falling^ a light breeze
disturbed the tops of the trees, and the boy was frightened.
Presently he came across his father's clothes in a small heap.
He knew his father"could not swim, and he ran home in terror.
Early the next morning the people of the village went down
to the lake. The strongest swimmers dived into the water.

'I have been waiting for you to come to me for so long, why None of them could reach the bottom because the lake was too
didn't you come to me before?' she said. deep. They searched until the sun had passed the middle of the
'I don't know,' he whispered. sky and then they gave Up. Kolawole has not been seen since.
'But you're here now,' she said and smiled. She beckoned to
him: 'Come, come to me.'
He stood up and walked towards her, wading through the
water until it reached his chest. She put her arms around him
and pulled him down with her, all the time whispering in his
ear, 'Come, come.'
They went down, down, down until they stood on the
bottom of the lake. Then she took him by the hand and led
him to a hut made of shells of many colours.
'This is your new home,'she said. 'Do you like it?'
'Yes.'
She made him lie down on a couch and cradled his head on
her lap.
'I've been so lonely here without you. Every day I waited
for you and when you didn't come I thought you had forgotten
all about me and I was sad. Why didn't you come before? Why?'
He thought of his wife and children, and how they would be
waiting for him.
'Everyday when you didn't come I came back here and I
wept, but I won't say any more about it because now you are
here. We'll live here forever and we'll be so happy, just you
and I.'
He thought again of his wife and children. How could he
leave them without even a word? He sat up quickly.
'I must go back,' he cried.
'Papa, papa,' a voice called. He turned round. His eldest
child was standing behind him. He stood up and looked about
him. The sun had almost completely disappeared over the
horizon, and the lake before him was calm.
'I fell asleep', he said, and rubbed his eyes.
'We were waiting for you, papa. When you didn't come,
mama sent me to look for you.'
'Yes, let us go home,' he said.
He hardly slept all that night. Every time he closed his eyes
there she was, so real that it was as if all he had to do was reach
out and he would be able to touch her. Finally, when the first
light of the new day crept in through the open doorway, he got
dressed and went out.
All day he was busy in the fields lifting his yams. He kept
reminding himself that it had only been a dream, nothing more.
He thought of his wife, but all he saw was a prematurely old
woman broken by poverty and continual childbirth, no longer
the young woman he had once wooed, but an old woman with
sagging breasts and roughened hands. And then he thought of
the woman of the lake, beautiful and fresh and promising
everything.
By late afternoon he was finished. He started for home but
when he reached the lake he stopped. He squatted on the

28