I am presently working on a new short story that should be a ghost story, I think so, but I am not so sure it will turn out that way in the end.
well, I have penned the first, second and third part of it. what you have below is the first part. Enjoy, or not... let me know anyway.
working title "the room opposite"
I sat opposite Mr. E watching quietly as he tried to arrange his thoughts. It was that time before dusk, when the sun appeared to shine brighter than ever; only without the heat that had accompanied it at midday.
On a small stool beside him, his four-year-old granddaughter sat, watching him with almost the same keen interest that shone in my eyes, only she was intent on the colourful rope knot he had been knitting for some time now.
The padded stool he sat on squeaked as he gave the lengthening knot a massive tug, securing a new strand to an expended one.
“Aha!” he exclaimed as he peered at the knot that apparently it met his approval. “You know,” he turned to give me his habitual amused gaze. “I never told you about how I came by the title ‘ozor obodo 1’.”
“Yes sir, you never did.” I said, knowing the spice that was needed to draw out a colourful narration from him. “But I bet it was for something great.”
“Ha!” he said, in his half-mocking manner, “some will say it was for something treasonable. Or as my unit commander would call it, an un-gentlemanly conduct unbecoming of a warrant officer.”
I knew he did not rise beyond the rank of corporal in the Nigerian army, so he, must definitely be talking about the Biafran army where he was a non commissioned officer by the war end.
I again waited with bated breath as he carefully manoeuvred through the last twists and turns of his intricate knots before handing the now finished makeshift headband to his grinning granddaughter who ran off with happily to show her playmates. As she ran off, I knew he really felt like talking about this issue.
I had lived directly opposite Mr. E for two years now in a run-down face-me-I-face-you house in the poorer neighbourhoods of Mafoloku, Oshodi. He worked as a security man at a plastic company in the middle class neighbourhood of Ajao Estate.
He was some sort of mentor to a Youngman who had gotten disillusion enough with life to attempt to give it all up. It was he who chanced upon me at the back yard, stringing a rope I meant to dangle on.
Perhaps he had monitored me or it was just pure chance, but MR. E had managed to talk me out of it. He sat down on the stool I brought for the gory purpose and using himself as an example, told me how happy someone as poor as me or he can be without money.
We had gotten closer after that and whenever the stress got too much to bear, I would seek MR. E out and he always found an incident in his life from which to draw a parallel with what was down with me then, and that usually helped me work things out or find new reasons to keep on going.
Today was an exception though for it was Mr. E that sought me out this time. I had just returned from a building site where I worked as a labourer and was lounging on my thread bare mattress, lamenting the absence of electricity, when a shy knock I knew too well sounded on my door and Mr. E’s quick witted granddaughter stepped in to tell my her ‘big daddy’ wanted me.
I followed her immediately to the backyard to find Mr. E fiddling with the colourful lengths of yarn I mentioned earlier. That was another thing about Mr. E, he has clever hands, I have lost count of the things I had seen him do with his gifted hands –Another reason I did not doubt his tales of once having to live off the handicrafts produced by his hands.
I was pondering what might have caused him to send for me even as he waved me to the stool beside his and continued weaving.
Mr E was still smiling as his eyes appeared to tune inward, perhaps the narration he sought was packed with many other incidents, as such he needed to look very deep to Weddle it out.
