When she’d accepted coming to the party, she did not because of Cynthia’s flimsy excuse that it would be low-keyed with no temptation thrown in, but because it had to do with a dying man, to help cheer him up, and maybe make the last of his days on earth pleasurable. Now sitting here, watching his stiff, muscular body outlined against the multi-colored disco lights, she felt she was truly God sent.
“Did you say he is dying?” Maya, unable to get the fact out of her mind, blurted out.
“Yes.”
“How? I mean, why?”
Cynthia glared at her. “I don’t know.If you are that curious, why don’t you ask him yourself?”
“You’re right.”
“Maya, you see, he finds it difficult to socialize ever since he found out the truth about his condition, and you are the onlyone who truly means anything to him. I think you are the right person to bring the smile back to his lips,” she paused and looked into her eyes. “Do you think you can truly help him?”
She hesitated. “Yes, why?”
“That’s good. Be careful what you say to him or what you suggest,” she cautioned and stood to her feet. “I want to dance, care to join me?”
“No, thanks. Go right ahead.”
The party was good and everybody seemed to be in a joyous and happy mood. The food flowed freely and so did the booze. The music was good and blasted off as if it was the last before Armageddon and the people in attendance,mostly students, danced away happily. Everyone in attendance was gay, enthusiastic, and excited about life.
She sat in a corner, sipping juice and refusing to dance. Even as she sat there, she found her mind constantly wandering to Tony and how she could possibly inspire him. She was still thinking about him when he walked over to her.
“I want to thank you for obliging to come to my party, Maya. You don’t know what your presence means to me.”
“Oh, do not mention it. I …I …”
“Cynthia told me you are a reserved person. I hope I am not intruding?”
She shook her head. “Oh, not at all.”
“Thanks,” he said and sat down beside her. “Your friend says you don’t take alcohol, maybe I should offer you some juice?”
“Thanks. I’ve had enough.”
“No, I must offer you something,” he insisted. “What would you take?”
“I’m okay.Thanks all the same. Cynthia seems to have told you a lot about me. What else did she tell you?”
He slapped a veneer of smile over his face. “You’re the curious type, aren’t you?”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. So?” she raised her brow.
“Well, she said you don’t like dancing, maybe you can tell me a story.”
“Did she say I’m a good storyteller?”
His eyes were dancing. “No, not exactly, but I know you must be good at storytelling.”
She swallowed hard. She found it hard to believe he would soon die. Nevertheless, it was good seeing him laugh, and even better knowing she could make him laugh. “I …I don’t know any,” she wished he could believe her. In fact, she would have loved to tell him one if it would bring a smile on his handsome face.
“All right. Maybe I shall tell you one, do you mind?”
“No. Go ahead.”
He told her a story about a rich king who left some garbage on the highway with a prize hidden under the garbage for anyone who would remove it. The first man to get there was a taxi driver with his rickety, weather-beaten Peugeot 504 saloon car. He stopped, got down, and inspected the trash, all the while cursing and blaming the government and the Road Transport Union for not keeping the highways tidy, but instead of removing the garbage, he found a way and passed.
The second man was a missionary, and like the taxi driver, he cursed and blamed the government for littering the highway with dirt but did nothing about it. The next was a university don in his well-ironed and immaculate white shirt and red tie. On getting to the spot, he stopped, pulled out his camera, and took several shots while blaming and cursing the politicians, government and the transport ministry for ineptitude and littering the highways with garbage and how he would sue their damned ass, but he did nothing.
To the king’s surprise, a peasant farmer, dressed in rags with his hoe slung over his shoulder, the type commonly called artisans or never-do-wells appeared. He looked at the garbage and sighed. Without uttering a single word, he proceeded to remove the garbage. To his surprise, he found a note lying on the spot where the dirt had been. It was the king’s reward.
By the time he finished the story, she was laughing so loud. She was impressed by his wits and a keen sense of humor. Her guard was gradually loosening and she wished he wouldn’t have to die.
He told her another story about a Youth Corper named Anthony, who was posted to Lagos state for his primary assignment. Before leaving for Lagos, his father, a former Lagosian lectured him on some important Yoruba words any ‘Johnny Just Come’ (JJC) must know. Such as ma wole (don’t enter), wole (enter), duro (wait), owo (money), etc. When he arrived in Lagos, he stopped at Yaba. As he waited for a vehicle that would convey him to Oshodi, a molue – a long commuter bus-pulled to a shaky stop and the conductors jumped down, shouting. “Oshodi straight! Oshodi straight!! Anthony, Onipani, Palm Groove, Fadeyi ma wale o. Oshodi straight!!! Anthony, ma wole o.”
On hearing his name and having been told ma wole means don’t enter, he stepped back.
A second molue pulled up in a cloud of smoke and the conductors jumped down before it came to a noisy stop and began shouting the same thing again. “Oshodi straight! Oshodi straight!! Anthony, Palm Groove, Onipani, ma wole o! Oshodi straight! Anthony no enter o.”
He became confused and worried. Why were they singling him out? He wondered. The next bus came and another and they all said the same thing. He stood for what seemed like an eternity waiting, not knowing Anthony was a bus stop along the road where molue do not stop.
By the time he was through with his second story, she was laughing so hard that she almost forgot herself. His wits and a keen sense of humor absolutely thrilled her and she wondered why she hadn’t given him a second thought. He was in every way like Jeff and she liked him already. Her misgivings and self-defenses were gradually winding down to zero. Just then, she wished he could live a little longer.