“Make you take am jeje. Too much devil de for dis road. If you see one accident way we see for Abeokuta side—Olorun!” The women talked excitedly, with their arms folded across their breasts, gazing at Obi as if he was a miracle. One of them repeated in broken English that Obi must thank God. A man agreed with her. “Na only by God of power na him make you still de talk.” Actually Obi wasn’t talking, but the point was cogent nonetheless.
“Dese drivers! Na waya for dem.”
“No be all drivers de reckless,” said the good driver. “Dat one na foolish somebody. I give am signal make him no overtake but he just come fiam.” The last word, combined with a certain movement of the arm meant excessive speed.
The rest of the journey had passed without incident. It was getting dark when Obi arrived in Lagos. The big signboard which welcomes motorists to the federal territory of Lagos woke in him a feeling of panic. During the last night he spent at home he had worked out how he was going to tell Clara. He would not go to his flat first and then return to tell her. It would be better to stop on his way and take her with him. But when he got to Yaba where she lived he decided that it was better to get home first and then return. So he passed.
He had a wash and changed his clothes. Then he sat down on the sofa and for the first time felt really tired. Another thought occurred to him. Christopher might be able to give him useful advice. He got into the car and drove off, not knowing definitely whether he was going to Christopher’s or Clara’s. But in the end it was to Clara that he went.
On his way he ran into a long procession of men, women, and children in white flowing gowns gathered at the waist with red and yellow sashes. The women, who were in the majority, wore white head ties that descended to their back. They sang and clapped their hands and danced. One of the men kept beat with a handbell. They held up all traffic, for which Obi was inwardly grateful. But impatient taxi drivers serenaded them with long and deafening blasts of their horns as they slowly parted for them to pass. In front two white-clad boys carried a banner which proclaimed the Eternal Sacred Order of Cherubim and Seraphim.
Obi had done his best to make the whole thing sound unimportant. Just a temporary setback and no more. Everything would work out nicely in the end. His mother’s mind had been affected by her long illness but she would soon get over it. As for his father, he was as good as won over. “All we need do is lie quiet for a little while,” he said.
Clara had listened in silence, rubbing her engagement ring with her right fingers. When he stopped talking, she looked up at him and asked if he had finished. He did not answer.
“Have you finished?” she asked again.
“Finished what?”
“Your story.”
Obi drew a deep breath by way of answer.
“Don’t you think … Anyway, it doesn’t matter. There is only one thing I regret. I should have known better anyway. It doesn’t really matter.”
“What are you talking about, Clara? … Oh, don’t be silly,” he said as she pulled off her ring and held it out to him.
“If you don’t take it, I shall throw it out of the window.”
“Please do.”
She didn’t throw it away, but went outside to his car and dropped it in the glove box. She came back and, holding out her hand in mock facetiousness, said: “Thank you very much for everything.”
“Come and sit down, Clara. Let’s not be childish. And please don’t make things more difficult for me.”
“You are making things difficult for yourself. How many times did I tell you that we were deceiving ourselves? But I was always told I was being childish. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. There is no need for long talk.”
Obi sat down again. Clara went to lean on the window and look outside. Once Obi began to say something, but gave it up after the first three words or so. After another ten minutes of silence Clara asked, hadn’t he better be going?
“Yes,” he said, and got up.
“Good night.” She did not turn from her position. She had her back to him.
“Good night,” he said.
“There was something I wanted to tell you, but it doesn’t matter. I ought to have been able to take care of myself.”
Obi’s heart flew into his mouth. “What is it?” he asked in great alarm.
“Oh, nothing. Forget about it. I’ll find a way out.”
Obi had been shocked by the crudity of Christopher’s reaction to his story. He said the most uncharitable things, and he was always interrupting. As soon as Obi mentioned his parents’ opposition he took over from him.
“You know, Obi,” he said, “I had wanted to discuss that matter with you. But I have learnt not to interfere in a matter between a man and a woman, especially with chaps like you who have wonderful ideas about love. A friend came to me last year and asked my advice about a girl he wanted to marry. I knew this girl very very well. She is, you know, very liberal. So I told my friend: ‘You shouldn’t marry this girl.’ Do you know what this bloody fool did? He Went and told the girl what I said. That was why I didn’t tell you anything about Clara. You may say that I am not broad-minded, but I don’t think we have reached the stage where we can ignore all our customs. You may talk about education and so on, but I am not going to marry an osu.”
“We’re not talking about your marriage now.”
“I’m sorry. What did your mother actually say?”