s. A very short man was trotting beside a girl who might have come from the pages of a South Sea travel book. Yet Sango knew she was a West African. Everything about her was petite, delicate. Her almost transparent dress was cleverly gathered at the waist. Her ear-rings and smile shone.
‘Who is she?’ Sango asked, with a heart now beating faster. His eyes followed her to her seat.
‘I don’t know,’ said the First Sax. ‘My, my!’
‘Who is she?’
Faces lifted from music scores. Heads shook. ‘Don’t know her . . . Must be new! Yes, sir!’
Sango was conscious of that strange excitement which had possessed him that night when he first saw Aina. The symptoms were the same: an insistent restlessness, a desire to be near this creature, to bask in the radiance of her beauty. He could restrain himself no longer, and during the interval went over to Bayo. Behind the dum palm, Bayo was making a scene. He was a little drunk, and Dupeh was having the worst of it.
‘I’ve told you I don’t want to be interfered with! If you love me, love my ways! That’s my policy.’
Sango stood for a moment, surveying the scene with amusement. Bayo, talking of policy! His sports shirt open at the neck, he was pacing up and down before the table, bellowing and waving his arms. Dupeh sat still, her head drooping. A handkerchief was pressed against her nose. She was crying. A number of men were trying to tell Bayo not to hurt the girl.
‘Bayo, come here!’ And when he came, Sango spoke in low tones. ‘Stop this wretched show you’re making of yourself. There’s something you must do for me. Look! That girl over there . . .’ He indicated her without moving his arm.
‘Pale blue dress, sort of off-the-shoulder?’
‘Gipsy ear-rings too . . . they’re always in the fashion, aren’t they? Which reminds me. I have an ear-ring to return to Dupeh! And the condition you left my room in! Sam will never forgive you!’
‘Forgive me, Sango; I’ll explain. Now what about the girl? Champagne on her table! He must be somebody, then!’
‘Find out who they are. Okay?’
‘Trust me. Got a match?’
Sango walked between the tables back to his band and struck the cymbals. The band boys began to return from various parts of the club. In a few minutes, Bayo came across.
‘Her name is Beatrice; the man is called Kofi something or other: a timber-dealer from the Gold Coast. He also runs an over-land transport to Accra.’
He paused, pulling at his cigarette.
‘You’re fast, Bayo.’
‘Was that all you wanted to know?’
‘What is she in this city?’
‘I don’t know what she does . . . she’s new. I’ve never seen her before. They say her mother is here, but I don’t know. She’s hot stuff, Sango. Keep clear. The Europeans are crazy about her. I hear tales of disputes settled out of court on her behalf. If you’re looking for trouble, well . . . remember Aina!’
‘I’m not falling for Beatrice, make no mistake. But she looks so much like my fiancée back home in the Eastern Greens. She attracts me.’
Bayo tapped him on the shoulder. He went back to the little table under the palm tree and took Dupeh’s hand. Sango was pleased to see them dancing happily together.
But Sango was not being honest with himself. The fleeting picture of Beatrice was giving him no respite. He saw her when he went to sleep. She was with him in his dreams, his waking hours, his band practice. And night after night, Amusa came to the Club. He wanted to meet Beatrice again. He wanted it so badly, he even took to playing for the Hot Cats Rhythm. When he was too early, he passed his time playing darts, or ping-pong, or talking to the barman.
The proprietor had been in the Civil Service when the idea of the All Language Club occurred to him. He wanted to take a practical step towards world unity, he said. To create a place where men and women of all languages and social classes could meet and get to know one another more intimately. It was his earnest desire that the spirit of fellowship created here would take root and expand.
‘But as you can see, one cannot do very much without adequate funds.’ He smiled. ‘Still, we are trying.’
Beatrice came there one night – but not alone. The Englishman who came beside her was a well-known engineer named Grunnings. He lived on Rokiya Hill, a wooded area outside the city. Sango learnt that Beatrice was married to Grunnings – according to African law and custom.
‘She has three children for Grunnings,’ the barman told him. ‘They all go to St Paul’s School.’
Sango said. ‘When he completes his usual eighteen months tour, does he take her to England with him?’
‘No; she goes to her home in the Eastern Greens. Grunnings has just returned from leave in England, as a matter of fact. She has been waiting for him. He’s a bit late this time.’