Chris Abani - GraceLand

“Auntie,” Elvis said. “Long time no see.”

If that was not quite the welcome she had envisioned after two years of absence, Felicia did not show it.

“Elvis. You’ve grown so much,” she said.

They were standing in front of Madam Caro’s.

“How did you find me here?”

“Comfort said you would be here.”

The way she said “Comfort,” it sounded like a curse instead of his stepmother’s name.

“So where are you staying?” he asked.

“At a friend’s place.”

“Oh. When did you get into town?”

“Last night.”

“I see. Can I buy you a drink?”

She laughed.

“No thank you. I just wanted to see you one more time before I leave for States,” she said.

“That’s right. You leave, when?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Ah. How is everybody back home?”

“They are fine.”

“What of Efua?”

“Nobody is sure. She left home shortly after you moved. No one has seen her since.”

“Why did she leave?”

“She was fighting with her father. You know she has always been strange.”

“Strange?”

“Yes, strange. Don’t act like you never noticed. Anyway, why don’t you come and see me at my friend’s house later tonight? I have to go and see your father now. Then visit some of my husband’s people.”

“How is your husband?”

“You never returned for my wedding.”

“I am sorry.”

“It is okay, I don’t blame you,” she said, making it quite clear from her tone that she did.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“You’re all dressed up. Where are you off to?”

“I’m going to a club.”

“Listen, I will be at my friend’s place later. Here is de address,” Felicia said, handing Elvis a slip of paper.

“Sure, sure,” he said, taking it and slipping it into his back pocket.

“Elvis,” she said, taking hold of his hand.

“Yes?”

“Come later.”

He looked from her hand to her face and nodded.

“Good,” she said, letting go.

“Okay.”

They stood facing each other for a moment; then both leaned in for an awkward hug.

“Okay, see you later,” Felicia said, turning to leave.

Elvis returned to the table out front where he had been drinking with Okon and a few others. He missed Redemption, but he was not going looking for him.

“Ah, Elvis, dat woman fine, well, well,” Okon said as Elvis sat down.

“Shut up!” Elvis said.

“Ah, sorry O, not to me make your life so,” Okon replied sulkily.

Elvis had suddenly lost interest in the conversation and the company. Finishing his beer, he got up.

“Elvis? Where to?” Okon asked.

“To the club.”

“Okay, see you later.” Okon shrugged.

Elvis was pensive as he caught the bus to the club. First there had been the confrontations with Redemption and the King, and now Aunt Felicia had arrived, bringing memories and guilt from his past. This was turning out to be a difficult week.

“Elvis, long time,” the doorman at the club said in greeting.

“Alaye, how now?”

“Fine, ma broder. Just pushing de day, you know?”

Just then a sleek black BMW pulled up and Rohini got out, flanked by Prakash.

“Rohini, hi,” Elvis said.

She looked at him blankly. He was surprised. He knew he had only danced with her the one time, but there had been the walk on the beach, and they had made out.

“Rohini,” he repeated.

Prakash stepped up to him and Elvis stumbled back. Rohini put her hand on Prakash’s arm in restraint.

“What is it?”

“It’s me. Elvis.”

“I know. Listen, I don’t mean to be rude, but I usually keep my club business inside the club,” she said.

“I see,” he said. “But we are right outside.”

“So we should take it inside.”

“Right.”

“So are you coming in or what?” Rohini asked.

“Ah, Elvis, I cannot allow you,” the doorman said, laying his hand gently on Elvis’s chest.

“Alaye? What is this?”

“Sorry, Elvis, but orders is orders. If we allow you in, de Colonel go close dis place.”

“Even if he is with me?” Rohini asked.

“I am sorry, madam, but orders is orders.”

“Is the Colonel in there tonight?”

“Elvis, I no fit let you.”

“Well,” Rohini said with a shrug.

“Can’t you help me?”

Rohini looked at him for a moment; then, as if making her mind up, she said: “Wait here. I’ll see if your friend is inside.”

Elvis nodded.

When Rohini and Prakash had entered, Elvis approached Alaye. “Alaye, you sure you cannot allow me to enter?”

“I done tell you, Elvis. De Colonel give me de order personally,” Alaye replied.

“But how will he know?”

“Ah, Elvis! De Colonel knows everything. Everything.”

“How? Is he God?”

“God? No. Devil? Yes. Ah, Elvis, you are funny. Don’t you see all dose black GMC truck dat just pull up and arrest people?”

“Yes.”

“Dose are de Colonel’s boys. He is chief of security to de head of state. He hears everything, see everything. Haba, let me tell you, he is original gangster.”

“So his boys are everywhere?”

“Yes. As far as I concern, you can be working for him.”

“If I did, why would I want you to disobey him and let me in?”

“To test me. Look, Elvis, I am sorry.”

“He is right, you know,” Redemption said from behind him.

Both Elvis and Alaye jumped.

“Ah, Oga Redemption, you surprise me!” Alaye said.

“Better me dan de Colonel.”

They both laughed heartily at that.

“So you agree with this?” Elvis demanded, rounding on Redemption.

“See you, small club ban and you want to shit yourself. Relax. I don’t agree, but I warn you, you don’t know de Colonel.”

“Then tell me.”

“Come,” Redemption said, walking away from Alaye. “You don’t know who can be working for him.”

As they walked, Redemption explained to Elvis that the Colonel ran the state security forces and that all other security agencies were under him, including the police. He was behind the disappearances of famous dissident writers, journalists, lawyers, musicians, teachers and thousands of nameless, faceless Nigerians.

“Dey rumor dat he personally supervises de tortures, taking pictures throughout,” Redemption said.

“Who are they?”

“Dey have no name. You are like dose white people in ghost film. Instead of running, you are asking questions. De man is bad, dat’s all.”

“You seem to know him quite well.”

“Yes, I do. But don’t worry, not many people know about de Colonel, and even though dey don’t know, dey should thank God every night dat dey don’t.”

“Why take pictures?”

“Dey say it is because he is an artist, looking to find de beauty of death.”

“The beauty of death?”

“Yes. Like de spirit, you know. He takes de picture just as de person die too, maybe he want to get de ghost on film,” Redemption said, laughing uncomfortably. “But he is never satisfy, so he arrange de dead body many ways, sometime he cuts de leg or head off.”

“That is sick.”

“It is just now you know?”

“So has he ever found it?”

“Found what?”

“The spirit — or is it the beauty of death?”

“How can he, when he don’t know what to look for?” Redemption said, stopping. They had arrived at the bus stop. “Go home, Elvis. Go and see your auntie. I hear she come to see you today,” he said as a bus pulled up.

“How did you find out?”

“Maybe de Colonel told me,” Redemption said, walking back to the club, his mocking laugh following Elvis onto the bus.