16
Because Beatrice the Second had lost her fiancé, because she had tried once – unsuccessfully – to run away from home, because her mother thought the girl was old enough at twenty-two to marry whom she chose and her father could not bear the thought of his illustrious name soiled by a scandal, because the name ‘Amusa Sango’ had rung in the ears of father and mother every minute for the last six months (banned though it had been), because of all this and much more, it was decided that the wedding should take place as quietly as possible.
Sango did not waste much time. The old man’s whims were unpredictable and he could withdraw his consent at any moment. Beatrice had again affirmed her desire that her life be Sango’s with no further delay.
They took a special licence at Sant Amko’s magistrate’s court, and the reception was held at Jogun Lane, where Beatrice’s parents lived.
Sango’s old friends came in their remaining force: the bar
ber, limping as usual, casting curious eyes at Aina and her mother. ‘Ah-ah! But Mr Sango,’ he whispered in an aside. ‘Why you don’ marry Aina? The gal like you too much. Why you don’ marry her?’
Sango merely smiled. If only the barber knew the depth and complications of their relationships! If only he knew what Sango had escaped by that fleeting love affair begun under the shadows of Molomo Street!
But God must be praised for bringing back Aina’s life. The private doctor had done his bit, of course, and had got his pay. But it had been precarious. That borderline between life and death: Aina had hovered on it threateningly for many a soul-searing night. If she had crossed, who would have believed that he never meant to harm her in the first place? Or that the child she had, belonged to another man? Who – in this wide city?
He looked at her. She was smiling. Still pale, her coming here showed that she was a sport, a good loser. Perhaps life had taught her that: perhaps she still hoped . . . The gramophone was playing and those who felt happier than Sango were dancing and drinking beer.
These did not include the father of Beatrice, who sat like a statue, apparently moaning his loss. Now and again he eyed Sango challengingly – a challenge Sango vowed in his young heart to accept in the smallest detail. It was not only those who were born into high society who became somebody. Sure, they began with a bigger advantage, but that did not mean they ended with their breasts against the winning tape.
‘I’ll show him. Or rather – we’ll show him!’
And he looked at the face of Beatrice and from it drew all the courage he desired. At his request she had put on a cool blue frock – simple, without frills. He knew her preference for native wear which added a little more fullness to her figure and with it a little more dignity.
Elina and her mother must be far away now. They had caught the first train to the Eastern Greens and would probably almost be there. Sango wondered why he thought of them at this moment. And he wondered too, what it would have been like to see Elina sitting at a sewing-machine in that room with the lace curtains, idly making a dress while around her sat her friends, sipping lime-juice and eating chicken, a mixture of bashfulness, joy and sorrow.
‘Amusa! Amusa!’ It was Beatrice.
On hearing the happiness in her voice, everyone seemed to feel her longing for the man she loved. And they began to leave.
In the corridor, Sango found himself face to face with Aina’s mother.
‘Sango, your mother was a wonderful woman. She loved you so much! Do you know she died of happiness? When she heard you were to be a father, she was so glad. She said, “Thank God, he is becoming something at last.” So she said, and I swear to you I am speaking the truth. She told me to fetch you at once, that she might see you. She was very glad! But I didn’t know where to find you then. You must forgive me, Sango,’ she said and pressed the edge of her cloth to her eyes. ‘You see, I went there to spoil your name before your mother. Because of Aina. But your mother was above it all!’
Sango saw her to the door. Aina stood there, crestfallen. There were genuine tears in her eyes and a hint of rebuke. She had broken down at last. Sango looked at her, embarrassed.
‘Travel to Gold Coast, Overland!’
‘Kofi! Hello, Kofi. You just coming when everybody is leaving!’
‘Travel to Gold Coast Overland,’ said the boisterous man. ‘Come with me, and bring your bride.’
‘Who told you, Kofi?’ said Sango.
‘There’s no secret in this city. You took a special licence, and you tried to hide yourself. You think no one will know . . . Listen, Amusa. I’m all right now. I’ve recovered from the loss of my Nigerian girl friend. I’m not so sad as last time when we met. It was horrible then.’
Sango looked at Beatrice and smiled. ‘Our secret is out, B!’
‘Let’s go to the Gold Coast. I have always wanted to go there.’ There was a plea in Beatrice’s voice.
‘Yes. We want a new life, new opportunities . . . We want to live there for some time – but only for some time! We have our homeland here and must come back when we can answer your father’s challenge! When we have done something, become something!’
‘Travel to Gold Coast Overland! By Kofi Transport! It is safe, sure and slow.’ Kofi by now had a glass of beer in his hand and was behaving as though the contents had taken effect. ‘But it will get you there – in peace.’
‘Not in pieces,’ Beatrice and Sango laughed together.
Beatrice had slipped her hand under Sango’s arm. ‘Amusa, let’s snatch happiness from life now – now, when we’re both young and need each other.’ She was smiling and her eyes searched his face.
Yet contradicting that smile was the tiny pearl of a tear which he saw stealing down her cheek. He embraced her tenderly, murmuring into her hair.