The Girl with the Louding Voice(64)

“Listen, Adunni,” she say, take two steps close, bend herself so that she is sitting on her feets and looking me eyeball to eyeball. “You must be very careful. Does your room have a lock?”

I shake my head no. “It don’t have a lock.”

“It doesn’t have a lock,” she say, smiling because of how I twist my eye. “It is confusing, I know. We’ll get there. Your madam is back in two days, right?”

“On Saturday,” I say. “Tomorrow after tomorrow.”

“The day after tomorrow,” she say.

“We won’t be able to see each other that often anymore,” she say, with a voice that seem full with sadness. “Florence won’t approve.”

“No,” I say, feeling sad too.

“Unless we can think of something that’d get her to let us hang out together.”

“Like what?”

“If I can find a way to maybe . . . I don’t know . . . tell her something, a reason why we need to see each other? I could maybe get Ken to speak to her. She respects Ken, and he can tell her that we need you to come with me to the market a few times, or something? We definitely need more time to work on your essay.”

“You think she will agree?”

“We can only ask,” Ms. Tia say, “but do you want me to speak to her about what happened with her husband?”

I wide my eyes, shake my head no. “Tell her, ke? She will beat me stupid, and she may send me away. I don’t want her to send me away, not yet.”

“Fine. I won’t say anything just yet, but you must ask her for a lock. Tell her you want her to fix a lock in your room. Can you do that, Adunni? She won’t beat you if you ask her to do that, will she?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I can try it.”

“You have to,” she say. She stand up, shake her leg like it have dead and she want to give it life. “Be very careful around your madam’s husband. You must tell me if he ever comes back to your room, okay?”

I feel all sorts of feelings that she is keeping her eyes on me, watching for me. “What are you teaching me today?” I ask.

“The present continuous tense,” she say. Her voice is strange. Tight in her mouth. She walk to the blackboard, write, VERB: BE (ING form). She face me. “I know that makes no sense at first glance, but I will explain it.”

I bite on the buttocks of my pencil, keep my eyes on the blackboard.

“Basically, we use the present continuous tense to talk about the present. For something that is happening now. So, for instance: I am standing in front of you. ‘Standing’ is present continuous tense. These words are usually identified by adding ‘-ing’ to the verb. You know what a verb is?”

“Action word. Doing word,” I say. Teacher was teaching me that one in Ikati. I didn’t ever forget it.

“Good. Can you think of an example of the present continuous tense?”

“I am sitting on top the chair,” I say.

“Brilliant!” she say, clapping her hand. “‘I am sitting on the chair’ is correct. You don’t need to add ‘top’ to the sentence.” She face the blackboard, start to write: SITTIN . . . and stop before she can write the letter G.

Her hand is shaking. She turn around, say, “I think I need to sit.” She stagger herself, sit on the floor near me, pull her knees up, and rest her head between the two of them.

“You feeling fine?” I ask, looking the twists of her hair resting on the top of her knees. “Want to drink ice-cold water?”

She raise her head, give me weak smile. “I am tired. I am hoping that, you know, I might be pregnant . . .”

“You think?” I wide my eyes, cover my mouth. “How you know?”

She laugh, pick a twist away from her nose. “I am just kidding. It’s a bit too soon.”

“When last you see your monthly visitor?” I ask.

“It’s due in a few days,” she say.

“It won’t come,” I say, nod. “It won’t ever come.”

“You are too sweet,” she say. “It’s just, Ken’s mother, she’s on my case.”

“The doctor’s mama? Why?”

She blow out a breeze inside my face, her breath smelling like toothspaste. “She was at our house this morning,” she say. “She comes once or so a month.”

“Why?” I ask. “Is that why you were looking sad just now? What is she finding?”

“She comes to ask if I am pregnant,” she say. “Can you imagine that? She has come every month in the last six months to say: ‘Where are my grandchildren? When will I carry my grandchildren and dance with them?’ Like I’ve hidden them in an attic somewhere. If she wants to dance, she should go to a bloody nightclub.” She keep talking before I can ask her who is bleeding blood. “It’s been a bit stressful dealing with his family, especially because we kept our decision not to have kids away from them for so long.”

I talk slow, thinking on my words, my English. “So she don’t . . . doesn’t know that the doctor didn’t want childrens until now?”

Ms. Tia shake her head no.

I slap a fly away from my nose. “Then tell her that you need time, that you and the doctor have just start to be trying. And if she cannot wait, then she can be facing her son and fighting him.”