The bus put him down at Skylark Avenue where he bought a loaf of bread and lingered for a while. At this time of night Skylark Avenue exploded into life in a manner to attract even those who lived on it. Above the noise he could identify the High-life rhythm gushing from a record-dealer’s loudspeaker. On the opposite side of the street cars were gliding into the petrol-filling station where the girls in their spaceman cloaks lunged about like red dervishes charging one car after the other with power.
A hundred yards from his room he recognized Mike – Jagua’s houseboy – standing on the steps, wringing his hands.
‘Sir! Tenk God you return! Madam, she say make you come quick.’
‘Madam? But ah lef’ her in de Tropicana.’
‘No, sah. She sen’ message from police station, sir. She say make you come bail am.’
‘Bail – what? Police station?’
‘Dem fight in de Tropicana. She and Mama Nancy, dem broke all de table, them wound themself with bottle.’
‘Hold on! What you talkin’? Jagua fighting Mama Nancy?’
‘Yes, sah! She say make you come and bail am. Dem arres’ de two and lock dem up in de guardroom.’
Freddie knitted his brows. No self-respecting teacher would like to be mixed up with Charge Offices, certainly not he. When he had changed he had a quick bath, and like a man running away from his own shadow, Freddie got into bed and switched off the light.
In the darkness he could see nothing at first, and then the accusing face of Jagua began staring at him. ‘So you treat me, Freddie?’ There was a twisted smile on her face, cold, unforgiving. ‘When trouble meet you woman, you turn into de bed and sleep. You lef’ her to suffer?’ The face was so real that he could not stand the terrifying judgement contained in the eyes. He found himself getting quickly out of bed and switching on the light. He took a law book from the locker, put it under his arm and set out for the Charge Office.
At the counter he saw a sergeant making entries in a fat book.
‘I wan’ to see Jagua, Sergeant.’
‘You tink I playin’?’ the sergeant said. He looked up and waved his pen at the others on the counter, ‘All of you, see dis man, who tink I come here for play. Man, go siddown till is you turn. Ha, ha! Dis be Charge Office, not school!’
A young woman in the corner of the smelly room seemed to be making a statement which Freddie had interrupted. She stood away from the counter which ran across the room and began bawling swear words at the young police constable, who ignored her and kept on writing steadily. Freddie observed at once that other constables were deriving some lecherous satisfaction from the young woman’s behaviour. She had a defiant twinkle in her eye, her breath smelled of alcohol and her blouse – one arm of which had been torn in some scuffle – slouched over a naked young breast with a dare-devil abandon that could not but be comical. She seemed by her manner to be conscious of the power of her femaleness over the males in the khaki uniforms.
Freddie stared at this ragged woman who confronted him with the eternal struggle to live, so tragic in the lower reaches of Lagos life. She must be a ‘habitual’, Freddie concluded from the brusque manner in which all the men mocked her. He was interrupted by the loud voice of the sergeant who took him to the back of the Charge Office where the cells were. The strong smell of human urine hit his nostrils in the warm air. It seemed to hang in invisible walls of mist along the corridors.
By this time it was nearly midnight and some of the ‘prisoners’ had already accepted their fate and were lying on the cold cement floor, no bed, no pillow and rolling in their own excrements. But Jagua was wide awake. Freddie saw her standing behind bars, and looking directly at him with an animal muteness not unlike the face he had just visualized in his own darkened room. This was his mistress, and this squalor all came along with the kind of life she had chosen. He felt a mixture of shame, grief and pity. He wished that no one would recognize or identify him. He could not say a word as the big key rattled in the lock and Jagua, subdued and silent, her head swathed in bandages, came out and walked away with him after all the papers had been signed and the undertakings given.
Freddie was downcast. Jagua would yet see him in even less reputable places. How often had they quarrelled over her madness at the Tropicana? Once there, she became transformed into a she-devil. What angered him now was that her face showed not even a glimmer of distress. She seemed ready for more.
‘Why you fight, Jagua?’ Freddie asked when they got back to her room. Jagua was taking off her clothes as if they were already contaminated. Even in his anger the sensual feeling was creeping in on Freddie. Her skin was silken and paler than her face, especially at the back of her neck and sloping down her back beneath the arms. There were no collarbones to be seen when she faced him, and when she turned her back at him, stepping out of her clothes, the voluptuousness of her big moulded hips seduced him and made his anger sharpen at his own weakness for her. ‘You no wan’ to answer me? Why you fight?’
She was nonchalantly lighting a cigarette now, and Freddie watched her put it to her lips and draw in a deep one. ‘Why you sen’ for me? I don’ tell you make we lef’ de Tropicana. Yes, I tell you make we lef’ but you done see de Syrian man and you tink you kin get money from him. So you disgrace me. Instead you get money now, you goin’ to pay fine or get into de white college for assault … you see?’
When she had had her bath and combed out her hair she came and took him to bed and whispered to him. She would not be bad any more. ‘True, Freddie, ah mean it dis time.’
She cuddled him and kissed him, and mothered him, bubbling over with love as she always did whenever she knew she was in the wrong and wanted to be restored to his favour.
‘I goin’ to return proper to mah trade. Ah already arrange to speak wid de manager of de company. He goin’ to open branch shop for me, where I kin sell Accra and velvet cloth and lace. When ah pay security, de shop will be under my control.’
Freddie made a face to show her he was not convinced. Jagua had always promised to be good, to settle down, to open a retail shop and engage in petty trading, mainly cotton-wax prints. He knew she had already made some money in the cloth trade, selling Georgettes and Damasks, and sheer brilliant Manchester prints – the kind which girls like Nancy tied skirt-wise over blouses. Jagua knew the West Coast of Africa from Gambia to Lagos, with Ghana as a kind of Parisian centre of fashion. Before Freddie met her she used to travel regularly to Ghana and beyond, buying there and selling in Lagos. It was partly one reason why they called her Jagua. She had style. Whenever she put on anything it became the fashion in Lagos, and the girls and women came flocking to her and wanting to know where the article had come from. Then she would go into the room and produce the material and more women would hear about it and come too. During that time Jagua was well known to all the Customs men and the Border Police. What had happened to her Freddie could not say. Sometimes she talked of going to Onitsha by the Niger. There she hoped to become one of the Merchant Princesses who controlled tens of thousands of pounds. Freddie had an idea that she was capable of doing it, but she would not leave Lagos. Or while in Lagos she would not exert herself. It was three years now since she had been to Ghana. The Tropicana had sapped all her energy. She seemed to be one of those women who are always trying to prove to men that they are still young. And to do so, she must always remain focused in their sights. Going away from the social centre might make them forget her.
Freddie soon learnt what had happened in the Tropicana after he had left. Jagua told him that Mama Nancy had come in and had lured away the Syrian gentleman from her. He rightly belonged to her, but why should Mama Nancy come and claim him when – that night – he had decided to change over to Jagua. Freddie was so irritated with her story that he cut her short halfway through.
‘You know sometin’?’ Jagua confided now. ‘Freddie I sorry for wat happen. I shame too much. If I tell you I no shame, I tellin’ you lie. So I begin tink, as I lay down in de cell. If to say ah get me own man!’
Freddie grunted. He was used to these fits of repentance.
‘If to say ah get me own man like you, Freddie. I mean – not jus’ lover, but man forever! Den people will point and say, “Das Freddie Namme, husband of Jagwa.” Oh, my heart will full up with proud. I no go care anythin’.’
‘Why den, Jagwa? You keep findin’ trouble. I already tol’ you, le’s leave de Tropicana. I tol’ you I been tryin’ to read de law, so I kin pass all de exam and become a man. You won’ let me learn. Always findin’ trouble for me. How I kin get peace of min’?’
‘No worry, Freddie. I goin’ to sen’ you to England. If you don’ find peace of min’ dere, den. God don’t say make you become lawyer. I goin’ to send you to England so you kin read proper law in de inns of court!’