Must Read: Paradox Of Abel - Season 1 - Episode 3

7 years ago

Must Read: Paradox Of Abel - Season 1 - Episode 3

Remi sat sq££zed up against the window and thought how very odd this morning was––she had slept last night sweating like a sacrificial ram. Now this morning there was cold––she didn’t find it unstrange. In this vehicle now there was a cold stuffiness––the pungent smell of smoke––the smell of cheap soap, and another very unpleasant smell of the body––it came, she though, from the stout woman sitting behind her. The woman smelled of anything other than body spray. Remi sniffed delicately, imbibing the odour of smoke reluctantly.
The bus conductor shouted the next bus-stop and the vehicle pulled over long enough for two passengers to alight and another two to join. Her heart began to beat a little faster as the vehicle proceeded. She though about what life would finally offer after knowing what he looked like. Would things seem right after this? Oh, yes, it would of course––what could go wrong? What?
The curve of Remi’s mouth had a grim determination, that beautiful mouth. For a moment, it looked like the mouth of a child––a mouth that knew only its own desires and that was as yet unaware of guilt.

She looked round her with the curiosity of a child. All these people in the bus––how many of them? Twenty? How strange they were––these Riverians! They all seemed so strange, and likewise proud-looking; they seemed contented with their present status. Their ignorance––their illiteracy––oh! Port-Harcourt––the treasure base of the nation indeed! With just over five million inhabitants––poverty reeked this part of the country, contrary to what her slogan spelled.
Among all, this was a handsome man sitting beside her––Remi thought he was very handsome. She liked his bright eyes and his heavy shoulders––he was meaty, but not fat. He had the graciousness of a Nollywood movie star, and his lips––oh! Those lips––the most impressively carved part of his face. She could feel herself soften as she imagined being kissed with those lovely lips––and being held in those strong hands. More to her glee, Remi could see that the man admired her. She had not looked at him once directly, but she knew perfectly how often he had looked at her and exactly how he had looked.

She registered the fact without much emotion though, but with a considerable feeling of interest. Remi grew up in a neighbourhood where men looked at women as nothing but food, and they did not hide the fact unduly. She wondered if he fell among this class of men and decided that he didn’t––he looked too innocent to belong among those disrespectful monkeys.

The conductor announced the approach of another bus stop, but nobody seemed to be getting off. At the bus-stop after that, the foul-smelling woman and two other passengers got off. Remi quickly pulled back the glass of the window which had been pulled shut by the dirty woman. Then she relaxed comfortably back on her seat and peered out the window at the streets of Port-Harcourt––the mist was already lifting and she could make out clearer images of objects beyond the horizon. She nearly did, but didn’t turn her head as the man shifted his weight closer to her as another passenger came into the vehicle to sit beside him. Remi could feel his strong thigh as it slightly brushed hers––and she wondered if this handsome man was feeling what she was feeling.

She continued to look pensively out of the window, masking her nervousness the only way she could.
Daniel Oliver Famous said, “Would you mind shutting the window a little bit? The cold is too much.”
Remi pretended not to hear him. A pleasant voice, she thought, it has an arrogant lustre in it though, but quite pleasantly warm, strong and bold. He is attractive––very attractive.
“Young lady, I’m talking to you.” His tone was hard. His tongue had been too fast for his brain. This is bad, he thought, he should not have said this––he felt like kicking himself.
Remi replied demurely, “On the contrary, the heat in this vehicle is enough to bake a bread.”
Daniel smiled, the lady spoke English perfectly––he was impressed at that, unnecessarily impressed also by her use of metaphor.
He said, “But today is very cold.”
“Oh, yes, it is indeed cold. But this vehicle does not register that fact, it is so––so uncold here.”
Her sonorous voice poured on him like a soothing hot bath on a cold day.
Remi had not been brought up to believe that it was abominable to talk to strange men in buses. She even found it impolite when ladies ignored men who approached them for a little chat.

If this man had experienced such turn-downs by one of those arrogant ladies he might have felt ill at ease at entering into conversation with a young girl. But Daniel was a friendly soul who found it perfectly natural to talk to anyone, if he found his voice.

He smiled without any self-consciousness and said, “Port is a rather terrible place, isn’t it?”
Remi smiled warmly, “Now we’re having a melding of the minds. I don’t like this place at all.”
“Nor do I. aren’t you an indigene of this state?”
“No, I’m not––but I grew up here.”
“Then you should like it.”
“I should, but I don’t. What about you? Are you an indigene?”
Daniel was appalled, “Me? No, I came here about a year ago.”
“Work?”
“I’m here training as a professional footballer.” He wanted to tell her that he was a policeman, he thought better of it and kept his mouth shut there. Nigerians did not take kindly to policemen. They would rather welcome robbers in their homes. Having served in the Force for years, Daniel knew better now. Things had changed.
“You’re a footballer?”
“I’m training to be one, yes.”
“At the Liberation Stadium?”
“You know the place?”
“My father works there––he tends the grass.”
“Where are you going now?”
“Lagos.”

Daniel was taken aback, the mention of Lagos raced his heart, “Lagos? You know someone in Lagos?”
She smiled again, “I have people in Lagos. My grandfather, my mother, and the rest of my family members––they’re all in Lagos.”
“But your father is here in Port-Harcourt.”
“But my father is here in Port-Harcourt.”
“Would you be coming back?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You’re leaving your dad?”
“My parents are divorced. I’ve been living with my father since five. Even during those years, I never got to really know him. His work takes most of his time––he would go for days at times, leaving me with neighbours. I’m tired––I’m not a kid anymore. I’m already twenty years old––”
Daniel sighed––he’d guessed right, and he smiled to himself.
“––after fifteen years, it’s high time I saw my mother. And my grandfather, I learnt that he’s a very rich man. I want to see how they all look like––my family. But most importantly, I want to go and live with my mother. I don’t care if she’s remarried.”

Daniel was now getting uncomfortable. This girl was now telling him, more or less, her family secret. He could not help asking, “Why are you telling me all this? You don’t know me.”
Smiled again she did, “I’m telling you because I don’t know you.”
“Oh!”
“At least, it’s a little bit comforting to tell someone about all this.”
“You didn’t even tell me your name.”
“What’s yours?”
“Daniel––Daniel Oliver Famous.”
“Pretty names––I guess Famous is the surname.”
“And Oliver.”

Remi carried, for the first time, a puzzled expression, “How is that possible?”
“It’s a long story. Now, what’s your own name?”
A smile, she smiled easily, “I won’t tell you.”
“But––that’s not fair!”
She knew very much how mad some men could get when ladies refused to divulge their names. But this man wasn’t angry––just a little bit disappointed, and funnily, he was trying hard to mask his disappointment.
“I know it’s not fair––and I’m very sorry about that. I’m only being honest with you, I don’t want to give you a false name.” she continued, turning to really look in his handsome face, “But you know what?”
“What?”
“If by chance we ever meet again after today.

I will tell you my name and any other thing you may want to know about me––I may even marry you.” She laughed out loud, “You’re very handsome.”
And Daniel Oliver Famous––ex-police-officer, footballer in view––found himself blushing hotly, and all he could bring himself to say was, “You’re not bad yourself.”
The bus conductor shouted suddenly again, breaking up the chain of affectionate revelry between Daniel and Remi. The vehicle stopped, this was the bus-stop where Daniel was to get off the vehicle.

He reluctantly got down, not taking his eyes off the fair lady that had caught his attention. The conductor noticed this and smiled, the driver noticed it and smiled, the passengers noticed and smiled too––love was in the air.
It took Daniel a lot of efforts to stop himself from running after the vehicle. It had been three years since he had last felt like this. He longed to see the girl again––he did not have her name, not even her phone number. The chance of seeing her again was slim indeed.

But Daniel was determined––he decided that he would pray to God every night to make their paths cross once more, and he would not let her go again.

But Daniel had no idea about how later events would shape the totem of his destiny with Remi.

However, a decade earlier, in various newspapers were news that a boy was reportedly killed by armed robbers.[/i]
Mark sat silently beside the driver as they made their trip to the bank. The bruise on the left side of Mark’s face was now swollen and needed medical attention. But what was hurting the seventeen-year-old boy was more painful than the injury inflicted on his body.

Earlier, the driver had felt so much pity on the boy that he tried to start a conversation by cracking a very dry joke, but the cold glare Mark rewarded him was enough to hold his tongue where it belonged. If other boys of the same age were in Mark’s position, they would have cried, perhaps even fled, to save themselves from the kinds of punishments unleashed on Mark. Although only seventeen years he was, Mark had been gifted with the mind of an adult.

Even his thoughts were considerably matured as he always did his things with remarkable aplomb. Those times he had been forced to lie on tables with his butt0ckz bared, those times he had been savagely flogged thereupon, and those times he had served corporal punishments for hours nonstop––Mark had never cried out or pleaded for mercy. He took everything life offered him with surprising air of detachment. Mark wasn’t one who talked a lot; a boy of few words he was. Whenever he wanted to say No, he would move his head from left to right; when he acquiesced, he would nod, so slightly that one would hardly see the undulation of his head.
He looked at the cheque in his hand. He had always wondered how such small pieces of papers could be used to claim large sums of money. He read, for the sixth time in two minutes, the sum of money written therein––fifteen million naira. Mark had never seen a million naira in cash let alone fifteen––if his spirit had not been broken from this afternoon’s severe beating, his hand probably would have trembled as he held the check, with the anticipation of carrying such a large sum in a bag. Now though, he saw the cheque he was holding in his hand as plainly as a worthless piece of paper. In his current state of ire, if he was pressed and found no tissue around he would use the cheque to wipe himself. And he would never feel any guilt for his action.

They had reached their destination. The DreamBank stood out among every other building in the area; its tall edifice looked like the one Superman would have loved to fly over, had Clark Kent been a Nigerian. This particular bank had the reputation of being the richest bank in the country, with close to a thousand branches located all around the states of the nation. It was likewise known that wealthy business syndicates, oil barons and rich politicians all around West Africa had chosen DreamBank as their first choice. In short, DreamBank was Africa’s Cayman.

Mark got out of the car, carefully shut the door, and made his way to the bank. He walked past security and nobody stopped him for questioning, perhaps they thought that a lone seventeen-year-old was incapable of executing a successful bank heist. Mark went into the bank and sat down among other customers to await his own turn. The bank was crowded today, and this was because it was a Friday; an approach of another weekend. It was about half an hour before it was Mark’s turn to cash his own cheque. Because of the large sum of money Mark was cashing, it took another hour and thirty minutes to have the money packaged in a big bag. Afterward, he carried this money in his hand and made his way back to the car.

He had barely stepped out of the bank’s threshold when he saw the five robbers alight from their car––they were armed to the gum.

They were walking towards the bank! Towards Mark! Their walks were with full confidence as if there wasn’t any possibility of anything foiling their mission. Mark had never witnessed a live bank robbery; he had only seen this in the numerous Nigerian home videos he had watched. This was real, not a fiction. A trickle of sweat ran very slowly from his hairline down to the tip of his nose. By the time the sweat dropped from his nose and landed on the floor, the driver was already out of the car and running towards him. Even amidst the chaos, Mark could not help noticing the driver’s act of carelessness––he had not bothered to shut the door of the car. If Mark was in the driver’s position he would not attempt coming out from the car––he would rather sit back in the driver’s seat, relax and enjoy the show as the robbery went on. Like another crime film, Mark would watch it with total concentration. The boy enjoyed violence; that was part of the reason he didn’t compain when beatings were being administered on him. He could still remember when last he had hit another person, physically attacked another human being. If his flashing memories were correct, it was far back in junior secondary school. A boy named John Somebody-or-other had hidden his best friend’s food, and because his friend was small and John Somebody-or-other was bigger than his best friend, Mark had challenged the bully. Unfortunately, in his anger he had beaten the boy named John so severely that the principal sent for Mark’s father, and his father had beaten him so severely that he passed out, he came about only when cold water was splashed on him and the flogging resumed.

Mark never cried out all through the moments, and this had always scared his father.

But if circumstances subjected him to come out, Mark would certainly, surely and firstly detach the keys from the ignition, wind up the windows before he shut and lock the door. He could even wedge the tyres with stones.

The driver was running towards Mark and screaming something the boy could not understand. Mark stood there rigid, he could not move––he continued watching the driver running, and from the corner of his eye he could also see the robbers. Then one of the robbers raised his gun; he seemed to be pointing the gun at Mark but when he fired, it was the driver who slumped and fell down dead. The bullet had shattered the lower part of the back of his head, bringing out splinters of bones, blood and a tiny bit of the brain tissue that might have cared.

The it was all pandemonium thereafter––everybody began running heltery-skeltry; some people ran at the sight of a man being shot, some other people ran at hearing the sound of gunshot, while most people ran only because they saw people running. But in an instant, the road was cleared. The robbers opened the small gate and stepped into the premises of the bank, the two security guards therein tried to act heroic but they were killed with the simplicity of killing beetles. The first guard caught a bullet in the chest and the second had three in the back. This is different from the movies, Mark thought disgustedly, because in the movies most men who were being shot never died as instantly as these ones. The ones in the television still usually possessed enough strength to fight their adversaries, overpower and kill them before realizing that they had been shot. Sometimes, they would even already be having their lunches with the rescued damsels before the wound from the gunshots would begin to give pain. The movie producers are liars, he decided.

Mark was conscious of the bag he was holding in his hand––the bag containing fifteen million naira. He clutched the strap hard. He was not ready to relinquish the money. If these robbers were particularly interested in his money, they should as well kill him before getting it––he was not going to give up the money, not in this life. Mark had chosen the money over his own life. He stood there in front of the bank’s entrance as the robbers approached him––he did not move an inch away from his position.

The robbers were now at the entrance.