The claws of shadows episode 2

THE CLAWS OF SHADOWS (EPISODE 2)
claws
Tasha had come to spend a month holiday with her parents, from the U.S where she was residing. She happened to meet Tunde and immediately fell for him. Tunde’s first observation was this:
Chief Lawrence asked him to give Tasha a glass of wine at the balcony. Then she was busy staring at him until she spilled the content all over her dress. Tunde was indeed a fine boy, just like our dad. His tallness, fair skin, well-built physique, cute face, red parted l-ips, gripping eyes made him look like those American boys I used to see on TV. And Tasha, too, was a tall girl, with a bronze skin, a typical afro American beauty. After that day, Tasha would sit beside him whenever he was reading. She would insist on reading with him and sometimes snatch the book from him and run to her room. She did that often, in expectation that Tunde would run after her. Tunde would not. And she would later return the book to him, and like that they became close friends. She applied some other tricks, like asking him to help her kill a non-existent rat in her room, and in the process sed-ced him.
“Come on! Am I not beautiful enough?” she would whine, “You don’t seem to like me!”
“No. I can’t do this.” Tunde would object, “See, I really like you, but your Dad is my helper and he likes me a lot. This might lead to something else.”
“Come on, dude!” Tasha would say in her sweet, s€×y, American-accented voice, while holding his shoulders, “I know how to prevent that. Please, Just once. I can’t help it…My Pop aint gonna find out. And if he does, trust me. I know how to handle that old man.”
Still Tunde would resist her, until a particular day she threatened, “F-ck! I will ask dad to get another help. Just bet it!”
Knowing full well that she had the key to her father’s heart, Tunde surrendered to her. It was the day her parents went for a party.
After then, Tunde confided to Tasha that our Dad was also wealthy before our present situation. Tasha felt so sorry. She pleaded with her Dad to get another help and let Tunde finish his education abroad. Chief Lawrence protested and scolded her. But when Tasha refused to eat for days, he was compelled to prepare Tunde’s travelling passport. To satisfy his daughter’s whim. Tunde was very excited. He decided not to inform any of us, neither me nor Mum or Rachael, until it ever happened.
Mrs. Lawrence, Tasha’s Mum, decided to become the pharaoh, and Tunde, the Moses. She wanted to be an obstacle to the Promised Land. “A gold digger!” She would call him. After the failure to poison her husband’s mind, one day she asked Tunde to tidy up his room, after which Chief Lawrence said ‘Ten U.S dollars and N25/3kobo’ was missing in his room.
“Aunty Grace. I never stole that money,” Tunde had concluded the narration to me, tearfully, “That woman must have taken it. She hates me!”
Afterwards, Tasha would come to our house to check on him. Before travelling back to U.S, Tasha bought some designer wears for me and Rachael. We never let Mum know that Tasha was Chief Lawrence’s daughter. “She is Tunde’s friend in school.” Rachael would lie to Mum, since I had also narrated the truth to her. All these happened about four months ago.
As for me, I’m still working as a server at a restaurant, from Thursday to Saturday. My colleague, Bukola, would take the shift from Monday to Wednesday. And we’d resume by 4: pm till late in the night.
Now I just finished changing into a white blouse and blue skirt. As I took my mirror to rub a powder, Tunde called me from behind.
“Yes!” I responded, without looking back.
“I was struck by one idea.” He said.
“What idea is that, aburo?” I said, clapping off the excess powder from my palms.
“Our science teacher hasn’t been coming for about a month now, and I leant that the school is looking for a new teacher. What if Mum applies for it? You know she is good at science.”
“Don’t bother,” I said. “I have suggested the plan to her before. As you know, she will be 52 next month. She said she no longer has the strength to shout.”
“Anyway,” Tunde sighed, “I think she is now used to that fish. It’s not that profitable, and it doesn’t just befit her…for her qualification.”
“You are right, but what do we do….” I said, not in a questioning tone. With that, Tunde left the room with a football.
Actually, there were older teachers in my school. Mum had lost most of her vigour, probably because of her worries. She hadn’t lost her beauty, but that agility was no longer much—not even because she was a little bit fat. Rachael and I took after Mum with our shiny mud-coloured skin. Our similar dominating statures, pretty oblong faces, curvy figures, round br-asts, and bubble-like backsides made us look like twins. I was a little taller than her, and despite our age difference, her boyfriends in school would confuse me with her, until I started wearing skirt and blouse.
***
On the following day, I arrived at the restaurant at 4:30pm, and my boss scolded me for a few minutes before I set to work. The restaurant was on Oladipo Street, facing a highway linking to Mushin. It was just like a regular shop, but there was a ten feet verandah where deck chairs were arranged in circles. There was no customer as at the time I resumed, but now three old men were approaching, each with a tummy like a pregnant goat, and in their hands were daily times.
“Mama Eko, se Arewa mi ti de?” shouted one of them. (Lagos Mama, has my beauty arrived?)
I was behind the counter, preparing a pepper soup. My boss was always addressed as Mama Eko. The man was actually referring to me. To retain customers at a pub, one had to be very smart and jovial. Many customers, old men and young boys, would ask me on a date and I’d cunningly turn them down. A man had spanked me on my behind before, and I scolded him and smiled shortly after. It was among the rules my boss had given me before I started the work.
I walked to the men outside and curtsied. They flattered me, and I exchanged pleasantries with them for a while. “Bring me three bottles of Harp Lager and a bush meat,” The man said in Yoruba. He held out his hands to hear from his friends, and they requested for five Foreign extra stouts and a plateful of pepper soup each.
As I made to serve their orders, I heard them arguing over the content in the PUNCH newspaper. It was about our new president. “Look at what I’m talking about!” One of them said and read out the headline, “GENERAL MURTALA MUHAMMAD HAS INITIATED A COMPREHENSIVE REVIEW OF THE THIRD NATIONAL DEVELOPMENT PLAN.”
If I were to study socialism in the university, I would probably be the best student. The update on politics from our customers surpassed that of any radio station.
About an hour later, my boss asked me to get some ingredients at Oshodi market, and one of the customers, a young man on glasses, offered to drop me off, since he was heading the same way. He pointed at his car across the road. It was the latest Peugeot. I wonder what a rich guy like him had come to do at our local pub. Likes of him would rather go to places like The Londoners, La koreana, Benson Moore and others. To crown it all, he was extremely handsome—with his shiny dark figure, afro haircut, goliath frame, smart white shirt, flaring black trousers and brown shoes. He should be in his late twenties, probably a university student or graduate.
“Thanks,” I said shyly, intending to walk away, “I will get a taxi.”
“Do you realize you’re insulting me?” His said calmly. I turned back to him. On his face was that gracious embarrassment which befitted a gentle man.
“How…how is that an offense?” I said, watching out for my boss.
“Do you mean I’m a kidnapper or something?” His voice was still relaxed, a smile creeping on his adorable l-ips.
I was finally defeated by his persuasive words. I walked after him to the car. I was examining my wears (a shabby pink blouse and black shirt) as if to confirm whether it would befit such a luxurious car. I quickly adjusted my ‘shuku’ hairstyle. Finally, I sat awkwardly beside him at the front seat, and he wound down the glass.
“Thanks for the gesture.” I said timidly, as he was about to start the engine.
“Never mind….Miss Grace…Am I right?”
“Yes.” I said with a slight nod. He must have heard my name when Mama Eko was calling me.
For over two minutes of setting on the road, he didn’t utter a single word again. And his face was not what I saw earlier on. It was as if he was now wearing a horror mask, for the way his face was stiff and harsh. At that moment, I felt obliged to interrupt the silence, maybe ask him about his mission in that area or about his educational status. But a voice at the corner of my mind scolded me: “Don’t ask him any question. Let him do. You are a woman. Where is your pride? Show your dignity, even though you like him!” I obeyed the thought. Just then, he wound up the glasses….under this tense atmosphere? I wondered. I wanted to protest, but I heard a ruffled sound behind me, then a rough, menacing voice.
“Don’t bother to look back at all. Just cooperate with us!” My heart flew away immediately I felt a cold metal against my skull. It was a gun, I guessed. Then a wicked grin erupted from the throat of my Good Samaritan.
Tbc