‘And that’s politics. We want our own Government. They will decide what money you may have, what food you may eat; what hours you may sleep; what films you may see: all this is life. Politics is life. I like it.’
‘Politics is not for young men like ourselves. For you, it’s good. You worked for years under the British Government. Now you have retired. You have your pension. Your children are at the University. What more? You have nothing to risk. But we young men, we are only just starting our lives.’
The Councillor sighed. ‘Too much guts. That is the trouble with young politicians. They see one cause, one belief, and they stake their whole life on it, regardless of consequences. An older man tempers belief with tact – that’s why he gets through.’
The liberation of his ideas had brought a new and more promising light to his eyes.
‘Dele, you know my son.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Well, he returns to the University in October. That’s in a few weeks time. He’s occupying a room h
ere. Why doesn’t your friend share the room with him till he leaves, and then he can have the room to himself. And I don’t want any rent from him. If he’s in difficulty about meals, my wife is there to help.’
Sango was overwhelmed by the kindness of the Councillor; but knowing his own irregular hours, he did not see how he could live as part of a family. He was silent enough to compose his thoughts.
‘I don’t know how to begin,’ he said and glanced at Dele.
‘You’re going to accept, of course! The Councillor has been very generous.’
‘Thank you,’ said the Councillor. ‘It is my plan to devote the rest of my life to sacrifice.’
‘I mean —’ Sango said. ‘I – I wanted to say that I cannot accept your offer. I wish I could, but —’
‘As you wish!’ The Councillor waved his arm. ‘You’re under no obligation.’
‘Thank you. I – I hope you win your seat.’
Sango was embarrassed and confused by Dele’s stare of surprise. Once outside he breathed deeply, filling his lungs with air and slowly puffing it out.
‘You surprise me, Sango.’ Dele did not even wait to get out of earshot.
‘It’s simple. I like freedom. Not too much politics. Not too much moral guidance. You know the sort of life I lead. Jazz . . . girls . . . late hours. Odd assignments. Queer visitors at awkward times. I don’t want to be too much under observation. It might change my character completely. At Twenty Molomo it’s not like that.’
‘I can’t understand it,’ Dele said. He tried to smile as he shook hands with Sango, but for once his acting ability failed him. He was sore as a child.
•
Since Bayo could not put through his plan at his own home, he decided to use Sango’s room. He had called in the afternoon and Sango was out looking for a room; and now it was evening, and still Sango was out, which suited him.
‘Come and open the door, please,’ he told Sam. ‘I want to sit down and wait for him . . . by the way, did a man with a black bag call here for me? Like a doctor.’
‘Man with a black bag? I don’ see anybody, sah.’
Very reluctantly, Sam opened the door. Bayo’s hand trembled but he did not let Sam see it. Every time he thought of his get-rich-quick plan, his heart gave a leap of fear. Something might still go wrong. No, the nurse would not double-cross him. He was a reliable fellow.
‘Sam, trust me. I shall steal nothing. I’ll just play some music till my friend comes.’
‘All right, sah. When you want to go, let me know.’
Bayo was impatient. He walked to the corridor, peered outside, came back. He could not sit still for one moment. He thumbed through a magazine, put it down, searched his pockets for cigarettes. There were none. He sat down again.
This could be a very dangerous business. The penicillin racket had made some people and broken others. He wished he had not posed as a doctor. He wished he had not told that old woman that penicillin would cure all her ills. But there was a matter of five guineas to be considered.
There was a knock and a man carrying a leather bag came into the room. He put his raincoat on the arm of a chair and sat facing the door. He was the ‘nurse’ whom Bayo had engaged to administer the drug.
The man said impatiently: ‘Where’s the woman? I thought you said eight-thirty. Well, it’s time.’