The Death of Vivek Oji(28)

He walked past the new Mr. Biggs store that had opened just a month before, now filled with people buying their meat pies and sausage rolls. A girl with bright blue eye shadow and shiny lip gloss was sitting at the window, holding an ice cream cone—chocolate and vanilla soft-serve swirled together and curving into a point at the top. She licked it with singular focus, and Vivek wondered why she was alone. He walked past the building, past the banks next to it, up until he reached the supermarket. He pocketed the packet of biscuits and stepped inside. He needed to pick up some Nasco wafers to replace the chocolate ones Juju had finished when she came to his house last week. Maybe this time he’d go for strawberry or vanilla—she didn’t like those as much and would leave them alone.

Vivek wandered through the aisles, goods stacked heavily on either side of him, cartons up to the ceiling. There were packets of dried beans, lengths of stockfish, boxes of cornflakes, sacks of rice. Vivek pulled the wafers from the biscuit shelves, next to the Digestive and Rich Tea biscuits. As he pulled his money out from under the biscuits jammed into his pocket, he heard a commotion outside, voices raised and shouting. He looked up to see a few people running past; others had stopped outside, staring toward where the runners were coming from.

Vivek thanked the cashier and took his wafers, then came outside and looked down the road. A small mob had gathered a few blocks down, too far away for him to see exactly what was going on. The girl from Mr. Biggs hurried past him, eye shadow shining on her scared face.

“Wait! What happened?” he asked, stepping into her path.

She flicked her eyes at him impatiently. “They’re saying that they’ve caught a thief. They’re going to take him down to the junction.”

A young boy holding a tire—it looked as heavy as he was—ran past them, shouting excitedly, his body jerking as he lugged the weight down the road. Another boy followed him, holding a small jerry-can in each hand. They had no covers, so when the liquid sloshed out of them and spilled on the ground, Vivek could smell the sharpness of the petrol. The girl flagged down an okada and pushed past him to hop on it. She didn’t look back as the motorcycle roared down the road away from the noise and people. He stood and watched, adrenaline surging through him. He didn’t know what he was waiting for. As the mob drew closer, the road cleared, onlookers scrambling into nearby shops to get out of the way. Vivek stood where he was, feeling as if things were draining out of him. The cashier from the supermarket poked her head out of the door.

“My friend, p?? n’?z?!” she shouted, waving at him to get out of the way.

Vivek didn’t hear her. People had spilled into the road and cars were diverting impatiently. A taxi pulled up next to Vivek, brakes screeching, and a young man jumped out. He slapped Vivek hard on the back of his head. Vivek reeled as the guy grabbed him and dragged him toward the taxi.

“Tobechukwu?” he said.

Their neighbor’s son glared at him. “Sharrap and enter this car,” he said. “Useless idiot.” He shoved Vivek into the backseat and climbed in after him, slamming the door. “Oya, dey go!” he shouted at the driver, and the car pulled away. Vivek twisted to stare out of the back window and Tobechukwu hit his arm. “Face your front!”

Vivek stared at him. “What are you doing?”

The mob receded behind them and Tobechukwu sucked his teeth loudly, stretching the sound to show his contempt. Clumps of his beard stuck out from his clenched jaw. They rode back to their street, where Tobechukwu pushed Vivek out of the car. He paid the taxi driver, and when Vivek tried to thank him, Tobechukwu glared at him.

“Go home to your mother,” he said, “and make sure you don’t tell her how stupid you were today.” He walked into his compound, the metal of the gate clanking behind him.

Vivek stood in front of the gate for a few minutes, wondering what would have happened if he’d been swallowed by the mob. Would he have run with them down to the junction, just to see what it was like to be part of a whole? Or if someone had seen him for what he was immediately, a piece that didn’t match anything else, would they have just thrown out an arm to remove him from the road, maybe pushing him into a gutter? Why had Tobechukwu stopped for him? They barely spoke to each other, not since their secondary school fights, even after all these years of growing up with only a fence between them.

Vivek slid his hand through the bars of the gate and maneuvered the padlock on the inside bolt. Both his parents were in their room when he entered the house.

“Vivek? Beta, is that you?” Kavita called out.

“Yes, Amma,” he replied.

“Is it not after curfew?” said his father, looking up from his book.

Vivek looked at the clock. “Only five minutes,” he called back.

“There’s food in the kitchen,” his mother said.

Lowering her voice, she added to Chika, “At least he’s home and he’s safe.”

“For how long?” replied Chika.

His wife patted his arm. “Relax,” she said.

Kavita changed into her nightgown. Together, she and Chika listened to the small sounds of Vivek in the kitchen—his footsteps into his room, the click of his door.

Outside, smoke rose from the junction, but it was swallowed by the night.





Twelve





Vivek