Chinedu Ogoke - Under Fire

Holding the door open, he said, “Tell the other dud I want to see him. It’s important.”

“Okay”

“And the party. Don’t forget, lt has to be big. You and I.”

“Yea. Bye.” Yunusa helped him with the door, and even locked it, with a mischievous smile.

“Strange creatures keep creeping out of termite holes everyday,” Aham remarked. “Hear him. Beyond repairs. That insignificant quantity.”

Imoni dropped the empty margarine can into a waste basket. “I wonder where this one came from. For a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to leave. But he’s blasted us.”

Meanwhile, Yunusa had struck a match, and begun to smoke. “Imoni, you’re not going out?”

“I’m in-doors all day.”

“I, too. Care for Whot?”

“Okay.”

Snaps of “Imoni, Waltz, they must be inside,” coursed through the music waves. It was Mickey’s Don Cornelius.

Yunusa raised his face to Imoni. “Mickey!”

The door swung inwards, and Mickey, in dark spectacles, with a muscular fellow, strolled in, business-like, like a benevolent host coming into a refugee hideout with bountiful relief.

His mien registered his expectation at his gesture. So they heralded his man.

“My,” Yunusa exclaimed, “this guy has the works.”

“Hey, guys,” Mickey said earnestly in a Don Cornelius, but cheerily. “Whatz ap?”

“We’re reckless,” Aham answered.

The young man had psyched himself already as though for the real tournament. Imoni took a quick look at him. Ignoring the slightly cold weather, the young man turned out in red shorts, and a light, black shirt which shot out his shoulders and chest. His physical arrangement wasn’t intolerable, but not one to push into that scanty combination. He hadn’t an exceptional face, contrary to Mickey’s earlier declaration. Imoni’s eyes went down to the legs. They had no good commentary for their owner. Askew and thin, they rebelled against the tolerable symetry of the rest of the body, and held a laughable picture. They were suited, not for modelling, but for comic theatre. How they cried for concealment. Amusement danced in Aham’s eyes, but he checked himself. “So, these are the guys I was telling you about,” Mickey was telling his friend who stood on his unsure feet. “This is Imoni.” His hand performed the role. “It’s like, Imoni Waltz rocked the school last session for two nights with the Waltz Band. He’s a socialite, and a mover.”

“Hello,” Mickey’s friend shook Imoni’s hand strongly to emphasise strength and live up to rating.

“And. this is Aham. Aham is a hidden strength, and a silent oppressor. It’s like Aham has a charisma that speaks for itself.”

Aham smiled. “All for me?”

“Happy to know you, Aham.”

They shook hands powerfully. “And if there is any enigmatic guy here, it is this fella, Yunusa. Yunusa could be so sleek like and unreliable that if I were a dame he’s dating, I would run when I hear run.” Yunusa and their guest shook hands firmly, too. Mickey prepared his throat for his friend, who posed a straight focus, hands behind him like a dumb boxing ring athlete. “So, this is Ed,” his hand delivered. “I told you ’bout him.” They nodded. “It’s like, Ed is a babe’s doll. A prince charming. He could be surprisingly unassuming. In fact, he refused bluntly to contest for the Mr. Unimaid crown, but has to bow to pleas from admirers.”

“Ah, it’s good he’s featuring,” Aham complemented. “One should utilize one’s natural assets to one’s benefit. Also, it’s good to admit that one is good, and to step out, chest out. Don’t you think so, too, Imoni?”

“Of course. That’s something I admire in my life. Boldness. Guts. After all, only a few of us are so gifted. You don’t buy it at Sherifsons or Kawu. And you know what? Some other guy would just die with his qualities. I assure you of our support.”

“Great, convex chests.”

“Yea, that says it all.” Yunusa put up a finger. “Count on us. Win you will.”

“In fact,” Mickey had started saying. “Ed has clinched this thing like, without even stepping out. Has himself to beat. The babes already have given it to him, the polls don’t lie.... Wonderful biceps.”

Ed tensed the biceps. His popped out chests bounced off Imoni’s interfering fingers.

“With the best symmetry around yet.... Marvellous, intimidating shoulders, ones the babes say could make Stallone green in the face.” At this stage, Ed raised the shoulders, brought them down, and moved them a little forward, gradually. “Then these lion thighs.” Mickey respectfully patted one of them. “And you know Ed’s joker?”

How could they? He hesitated effectively. “It’s the walk. It’s like, he has natural cat walk. Yesterday, a dame exclaimed it was rather a wild, feline cat walk, and I was ashamed that I hadn’t detected that already.”

“The girls should know better,” Yunusa said.

“Can we see the cat walk?” Imoni requested.

“Oh, sure. Right, Ed.”

Ed moved gradually to and fro the little length of the room in inflexible, macho gait. “Good walk,” Aham exploded.

“Okay.” Mickey raised a hand. “Girls get the blue works whenever Ed demonstrates. It’s like, he’s always sending them screaming, shouting, ‘Rewind’ each time. They are all simply consumed by it.

“Ed isn’t finished yet,” he continued. “Check out his dancing steps. Oh, no.” His fingers snapped in his mood. “It’s like, this is where the judges will wrap it up. Remember the movie Break Dance? A guy with such features, and such step?”

“I was even going to ask,” Imoni interrupted him. “You know there will be a dancing competition among the contestants.”

Mickey was annoyed. “Imoni, It’s like you’re not concentrating. Ed will give it to them, whichever way they want it. He won’t be a contestant. He will scare them. Some guys already are withdrawing. He has everything packed, like. Now, can we have some music?”

“Of course.” Imoni obliged him. He inflated the volume.

“No.” Mickey’s hand went up. “That music isn’t worth jiving. Try this cassette.” He fished out a cassette.

Imoni substituted the cassettes. The volume was loud enough, but Mickey signalled for more volume. He sighed now with satisfaction. Ed followed the music with his head and foot, counting, then he jumped up. He was flexing his muscles, rolling his body, squatting and rising, like jelly with the music, and jerking and demonstrating with flattened, hand glides. Imoni felt he scored twenty five percent in the earlier stanzas, and danced close to forty. But his progress on the chart took a plunge. He tried a quick, sedentary swivel, but something stopped him. “It’s alright, Ed,” Mickey announced. “Curse that bed. Hope you aren’t injured.”

“Nope.”

“It’s like the size of the room doesn’t even help matters. But you can see for yourself.”

Ed crashed numbly beside Imoni. Mickey uncovered a packet of cigarettes and freed a stick. “It’s like, I didn’t even remember. There are the poses. But it’s a pity time’s against us. The prelim is starting tomorrow.”

“The thing is even close,” Aham observed.

Ed and Yunusa each collected a stick of cigarette, and lit up.

“I just feel like tasty,” Ed complained.

“Wait until we get to trade fair,” Mickey advised him. “Getting soft drinks now gonno waste more time.” Then he turned to the others. “I would have enlisted, as well, but it’s like, I changed my mind.” He blew smoke. “Got my hand full already, managing Ed. And, it’s like, who would have entered for a local championship? Ed has his eyes set for John Player, both national and world, of which his opponents will scamper.” His hand chased them into hiding. “Unfortunately, there isn’t a Mr. Continental competition right now, both of us would have entered, and spectators would have been standing on their seats.”