Chinua Achebe - Anthills of the Savannah

'Why should he resent us? Why indeed? He has all the success. From school to Sandhurst; the first African Second Lieutenant in the Army; ADC to the Governor-General; Royal Equerry during the Queen's visit; Officer Commanding at Independence; Colonel at the time of the coup; General and His Excellency, the Head of State, after. Why indeed should he resent any mortal? Now that you ask I confess I don't know. He wasn't like that right away. In fact he kept very close to us in the first six months or so. And then… But let's talk about better things on the golden anniversary of our first date.'

She shot up from my chest where she was lying and gave my face a quick scrutiny. 'I hope you are not being sarcastic,' she said. I affect great solemnity, pull her back and kiss her mildly. She offered up her lips again; we were both trembling.

'Hadn't I better be going?'

'Why? I thought you were staying.'

'Why?'

'Because I want you to.'

'Is that a good reason?'

'Yes.'

'I have a better one.'

'For going or staying?'

'For going.'

'What is it?'

'Because I don't want to…' We laughed and I tried to kiss her but she covered my mouth with the palm of her hand… 'Wait! I haven't finished yet…' And she sang the rest: ' but twelve o'clock done knack and my mama go vex with me. ' Then she re-arranged her countenance from the angelic model demanded by her song and offered to stay… on one condition, she said.

'What is it? Don't tell me, I know.'

'What is it?'

'That I don't make love to you.'

She shook her head. 'Maybe I should add that now that you mention it. Have another guess.'

'That we first talk about ourselves.'

'Who wants to hear any more about you? You will end up talking about other people, anyway.'

'I give up.'

'Promise me that you will go in now and switch off that air-conditioner in your bedroom.' I burst into uncontrollable laughter. BB, feigning great seriousness, informed me that she nearly froze to death just walking through to the bathroom a short while ago. Incredible girl, BB; her demands were never such as to break a man's back!

Not for her the lover as tiger that some women crave, a bloody spoor strewn with shredded garments. The day I first made love to her, months after we began to go together, I wrote down in my diary: Her passion begins like the mild ripples of some tropical river approaching the turbulence of a waterfall in slow, peaceful, immense orbits. Pompous? No. Immense.

'You were telling me about the white girl and your big friend,' she said abruptly, switching on the bed lamp I had just turned off and holding back my hand reaching again for the rope-switch. Before I could answer she said: 'Why did you call her a miracle worker?' I had said I would go at BB's pace but I'd be damned if I would spend the rest of the night talking about Sam and Gwen who had already come up for mention at lunch with Ikem and his new girl, Joy. So I went straight to the point.

'In the morning after a very exhausting night this girl, Gwen, wakes him up and wants to begin again. I remember how Sam put it: My brother, there was absolutely nothing left in the pipeline. So Gwen swings herself around and picks up his limp wetin-call with her mouth. And from nowhere and like magic life surges back into it. Sam had never seen that kind of thing before.'

BB didn't respond immediately except to get a little closer to me. Then she asked: 'You mean people actually do that?'

'All the time.'

'Disgusting,' she said.

'Well, I don't know.'

'You sound as if you wouldn't mind yourself. Or perhaps you have done it already.'

'No, I haven't. It's the girl who does it.'

'All right Mr. Smart. Has any girl done it for you?'

'Let's not make it personal.'

'OK. I won't pry any more. But I think it is disgusting, don't you? And they didn't even shower first, did they?'

'I wasn't there, you know; but I don't suppose they did. She woke him up as I understand it and went straight to work.'

'With all that stuff on it!'

'Dry and caked, yes.'

'Disgusting. I won't do that. Not for anybody.'

'Don't worry, love. I won't ever ask you.'

'What if it happens inside her mouth?'

'What? I see. But isn't that the whole point?'

'Na Beatrice you de ask? Na me de tell de tori, no be you?'

'Well that's the whole point, I am told. To give it to her right in the mouth.'

'You're joking!'

'I swear.'

'Chris, are you sure you haven't done it?'

'No. It's the girl who does it.'

'Oh shut up; you know what I mean. And don't you start anything because I won't wash it in my mouth.'

'We'll shower first.'

'You are joking. Oh Chris! Please.'

Beatrice

When I picked up the telephone and a completely unfamiliar voice said, 'Can I speak to Miss Beatrice Okoh,' my heart fluttered violently in panic fear. I don't know why but the thing that came into my mind right away was: Oh God, there's been an accident involving Chris, and someone is calling from the Casualty Ward of the Teaching Hospital. Why my mind should have gone to an accident I've no idea but the feeling was so strong that it blocked other lines of thought. So when the caller said, 'Hold on for His Excellency', my answer was a confused and near-hysterical: 'His what? Who are you?' It was only when the confident, resonant drawl asked if he was such an unwelcome caller that I realized what I had heard before and stammered an incoherent string of apologies. Even so, while he spoke, my thoughts kept leap-frogging over themselves and it was not until quite some time after he rang off that I had regained enough composure to begin to sort out the details of what he had said. He was inviting me to a small private dinner. On Saturday. Something important and personal he wanted to talk to me about. A car would be sent to pick me up from my flat at six-thirty. Dress absolutely informal, or even casual. See you then. And he rang off. Just like that!

In the early days of his coming to power I had gone fairly often to the Palace with Chris and sometimes Chris and Ikem. But then things had changed quite dramatically after about one year and now apart from viewing him virtually every night on television news I had not actually set eyes on him nor had any kind of direct contact for well over a year. So the telephone call and the invitation were baffling to me and totally unexpected.

Of course Chris had kept me posted on the steady deterioration in their relationship. Would the important and personal discussion be about that? Was I going to find myself listening to awkward recrimination between two friends who'd known each other since I was in nappies… Well, not exactly but almost. That might account for the very early time of six-thirty. It was only then it occurred to me that I was simply assuming that I would be going to the Palace as in the old days with Chris but that nothing of the sort had been said in the invitation. So I rushed to the telephone and called Chris's house without luck and then his office where he was at work as usual long after everybody else had gone home, eaten their lunch and even had their siesta, and told him the news. No, he hadn't been asked but he would rather not talk on the telephone. He would pass by my place on his way home shortly. That was on a Thursday evening.

My doorbell rang at exactly six-twenty-five. I was at the dressing-table and soon could hear Agatha, as prompt on the Sabbath as on any other day to open the front door to callers, in lively conversation with a male voice. When she had had whoever it was as long to herself as she thought necessary she came to the door of the bedroom to inform me that one soja-man from President house de for door; he say na President sendam make he come bring madam.