ON THE RUN (EPISODE 14)

Now, Dede had his heart in his hands, hissing amidst grumbling at his foolish mistake, been carried away by four lines of semi-romantic text. Coupled with the darkness, his confused state made things worse as his hip collided with the table, which tripped the face of the burning iron on Salewa’s garment, giving it another burnt mark in the neck region, which just couldn't be hidden or patched. If visiting hell would save him from Salewa’s wrath, Dede had journey there without a second thought. He shuffled around his room, ransacking his brain for the fastest possible solution to the issue on ground. Not sure if the idea that flashed his mind was a good one, but he willed himself to act.

Dede packed Salewa’s cloths, the ones he’d ironed, and forged on to the main house to deliver them to her. His heart skipped a bit on getting to the door. He knocked. His ears caught the steps of the person approaching, as heels kissed the ground in succession. As the doorknob turned, Dede girded up, held the hangers firmly and hid his phone in his pocket. The door opened and it was Ireti.

“Ahn ahn, Dede it’s you.” Ireti said.

“Ireti, who’s there?” Salewa asked, loudly, from the kitchen.

“Na your boy o, Dede.”

He nodded. “Yes ma. I came to drop the cloths I’ve ironed.”

“Okay, come in then.”

Ireti turned around to go when Dede tapped her hand. “Aunty, abeg I wan see you.” Dede whispered.

Hope it’s not to terminate the plans for tonight, Ireti almost asked as she joined Dede outside, gently closing the door without producing a sound.

“What’s it?” She muttered.

“Aunty abeg, I don burn madam cloth?”

“Ah!” Ireti covered her mouth. “Hope it’s not the red silky gown?”

He paused, wondering if the color of the cloth was really red or pink. “Aunty na him o, na him I burn. Oga madam go kill me today.”

“Chai, and she warned you o.” Ireti said, placing her hands on her hips. “So how may I help you now?”

He paused again. If a question about the gown could consume nine whole seconds, guess this might take thirty.

“I really don’t know what I can do to be of help here. I’m neither a tailor nor a ....”

Dede interrupted. “Aunty abeg, you fit borrow me your own gown make I give madam?” He asked, half-hearted.

Ireti wanted to refuse him, but changed her mind. “That’s no problem.”

Dede delighted, shined his teeth, and about to hug Ireti, but stopped when he heard, “...but on one condition.”

Puckered face, shining eyes, itchy ears, and still with a faint smile, Dede listened.

“You will sleep over at my place tonight just as I’d texted you.” Ireti shrugged. “Deal?”

More like owning 70% shares in a company he had no idea about. It really wasn’t a deal but luck, he’d thought it favored him in both ways.

He grinned. “Aunty I agree o. Because me I don’t want madam wahala.”

“Okay, that’s no problem. I will call you.” Ireti turned around and inched to the door. “Be with your phone.”

“Yes ma.” They both entered the house and he gave Salewa the cloths. Dede returned to his room, sat on his bed holding his phone, waiting for Ireti’s call.

The clock ticked very fast. And it was already late for any further discussion, not after laying aside the urgent for the important. Salewa and Ireti had talked all the while about missing chibok girls, as they ate the chips and chicken Salewa prepared, forgetting the crucial issue, the hospital report found in Sanmi’s possession, burning slowly under the roof of negligence.

“We will talk about that Sanmi’s issue when I come tomorrow.” Ireti said, bringing out her car-key from her bag, as Salewa walked her to the car.

“Alright. Sha drive like person wey get sense o, you know it’s late already.” Salewa smiled,  scratching her itchy head through her hairnet.

“You are sick. I ain't as crazy as you are.” Ireti smirked, igniting the car. Salewa laughed. Ireti laughed also and zoomed off.

Salewa scurried back towards the house, peeked at Dede’s room, and wondered why it was totally dark and silent. No sound at all, not even his hoary ‘Kchibo’ radio, he fondly listened to every night, made any sound, not even a sound in search of radio frequency. Maybe he was asleep, Salewa assumed, then entered inside the house.

Dede laid on his bed with his phone on his chest, expecting the call from Ireti. Not long as he was almost falling asleep that his phone tickled his chest, Ireti’s call came in. He answered it. Quickly, after the call disconnected, Dede rushed to his cupboard to get the last protective-rubber he had left. He had used two out of three the night before on Salewa. He slipped it in his pocket, changed his shirt, wore a slippers, and quietly walked out of his room.

Dede closed the door without a sound. He crept through the lawn, to the path leading to the garage, to the frontage, now to the main road. He looked to the left and right of the road, trying to decipher the description Ireti gave. After seconds of looking far into the dark, in both directions, he chose to go to the right, the right way. He paced very fast, his slippers slapping his heels. He took another route to the left and found Ireti’s car parked. Ireti opened the door, as she’d seen him beforehand, Dede entered and she zoomed off.

His number was switched off, Salewa had dialed Sanmi’s line countless times. She wanted to hear his voice, at least to give her body a soothing relief that her husband still loved her. Her body ached for Sanmi. The words she said to Dede that night played over and over again in her subconscious. Salewa agreed with the still small voice that told her not to defile herself again, but her body said otherwise. She rolled out of bed, shuffled between the bedroom and the sitting room, lost in thought on what exactly she’d do. Masturbation was a no no. Calling Ireti wouldn't be a good idea. Wet dreams would be the result if she forced herself to sleep. It was a battle of ideas. She couldn't hold it any longer. She was already running wet, the pictures of the one-night stand she had with Dede pervaded her mind. Dede was the way out, Salewa concluded, then walked out of the house, headed towards the BQ.

*********************************************************

She moved closer and realized It was her house. The chants sounded violent. She panicked. She decided to run back to church when she bumped into her son, Dike.

“Dike bia, what’s going on in front of the house?” She held him by his wrist.

“Mama, don’t mind them o. Onye Nzuzu! They can do me nothing. Is it their fathers’ yam or money?” Dike said, snatching his hand away.

“Chineke! Which yam and money? So you know about them.” She gripped him by his belt. “Dike have killed me. Who owns the yam? Who owns the money o, Dike? Who owns it?”

She cried.

He frowned. “Mama, I don’t like what you are doing o? I don’t like...”

“You won’t kill me Dike.” She interjected. “Just tell me who owns the yam?”

Her grip still firm on his belt, Dike turned, facing another direction. “It’s the yam from Ihanele community.”

“Chineke!” She resounded. “Where in Ihanele?”

“Mama chere mu. I don’t like this o.” He struggled to let go his waist, but to no avail. “Okay, I got them from one of their shrines.”

“Chineke izoputa mkpuru obi m. God save my soul o, chai!” She cried out loud.

Dike covered her mouth with his palm. “Mama biko, don’t shout.”

She bit the center of his palm, setting her mouth loosed to let out the words she mumbled. “...ozugbo just follow me. We are seeing the Reverend now and not tomorrow.”

Dike tried holding his ground, but his mother angrily pulled him on. He grumbled all the way to the church, still gripped by his belt. She knocked, but then nobody answered. She hit the door harder, and this time the door opened.

The Reverend stunned at their presence. “I said tomorrow you should bring him, and not tonight.” He said, laying emphasis on each word.

She jerked him forward, closer to the Reverend. “Father, I haven’t gotten home when I saw from afar people gathered at my house, shouting, with big big sticks in their hands.” She added. “I know it would Dike again. Father it is Dike o, help me.”

The chants drew closer. They paused, and strained their ears to be ascertain of it. The Reverend shared his gaze between the mother and the son, which asked the single question they couldn't answer. Were they trailed?