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Blaring horns from
the trailer ahead jarred Adaeze out of her mind walk. An expectant
mother who sat to the left of the bus driver, buried her teeth in a
brownish loaf of bread. Beside her was another middle-aged woman
nodding back and forth as she battled sleep. Adaeze thought of them,
shook her head and muted a hiss.

The dry wind stung
her eyes. She squinted, but never lost gaze of the mobile images, which
cast a fuzzy greenish relief over the western skies. She adjusted the
blue-coloured scarf, drooping over her eyes, to savour the orange sun.
Her thoughts rolled back to her lover. Rufus loved the setting sun. Its
parting burst of golden rays, heralding a final sinking into the pit of
the night, bewitched him.

Thinking of Rufus
made Adaeze slide into self-doubt. She should have gone home to tell
her parents about her decision to go look for him in Port Harcourt. She
would not bother to guess what their reaction would be. Her father
would say that if she still had some brain in her head, she ought to be
far from Rufus. Her mother would add, “If Rufus’s parents do not
approve of you, keep your distance.” Her parents would not understand
because they never lived in her heart. Adaeze loved Rufus. She also
knew that Rufus loved her dearly. That, for her, was everything. It was
greater than the colonial seal of the queen of England or the federal
fiat of the newly independent Nigeria.

It was one year and
a month into independence, November 1961; the harmattan haze brushed
the skies. Adaeze sat dourly in the bus heading towards Port Harcourt.
The running images of tall palm trees, with low-level plants saddled
between them, fanned her eyes. She looked at her wrist. It was 6:20
p.m. A wave of anxiety flooded her mind. Why is Rufus not back from
work on a day he had promised he would be home early? What could be the
problem?

Adaeze hissed
again, aloud this time around. She wished she could divest her mind of
worries and be free to snooze just like the woman in front of her,
whose head now rocked the headrest and her wide-open mouth wheezed a
filtered snore.

The trailer hooted
again, the bus jerked and slowed down. Adaeze raised her head. They
were approaching Imo River. Port Harcourt was drawing near. Her heart
pounded, as the bus made an abrupt stop by the river. Where could Rufus
be? A sense of foreboding crawled inside her. The driver’s side was on
the right ledge of the bridge and as Adaeze peered in his direction ,
she observed him shake his head.

“A terrible accident happened here this morning.” The driver’s voice filled the bus.

“What’s that?”
Adaeze asked, turning in the direction of the driver’s view. His full
moon afro hair shielded her from seeing what was amiss.

“An accident.” The driver turned backwards.

“Ewoh.” She shifted
from her position, wove her lean body through spaces between the
passengers on the right side of the bus to see the carnage for her
self. A big Mammy wagon had skidded off the road and crushed itself on
the thick stem of a heavyset tree by the hem of the river. The impact
felled the tree.

She probed the
wreckage as if searching for something. On the lorry’s tailboard was a
strip boldly written: En Broda Hoods we stand. Cherubic images of
Nnamdi Azikiwe on the right and Tafawa Balewa on the left waving the
green-white-green flag bordered the message. Was anything familiar with
the vehicle? She wondered. No.

Adaeze tried
recalling the inscription on the bus Rufus had boarded that morning but
realised that, unlike other days, she did not commit it to memory. She
almost bit off her lip in regret.

She shook feverishly as she returned to her seat.

“Anything the problem?” a man sitting next to her, asked.

“I don’t know. It is just that my friend, went to work in Port Harcourt since morning and has not returned.”

“Why do you worry? Pitakwa is home of fun. The person probably went out with friends.”

Adaeze nodded and muttered an inaudible “Thank you.”

Whatever kept Rufus
in Port Harcourt was to Adaeze more serious than the man had assumed.
He did not know that Rufus never said one thing and did another. She
began to pray silently for his safety.

The engine of the
trailer in front erupted into a volcano of sound and smoke. Their bus
jerked and its Austin engine replied with a thunderous rev and their
journey continued. The thick smoke oozing from the trailer shrunk her
bus driver’s visibility to arms length. The choking tang joined the
acrid smell of the fish in one of the baskets under her seat to
nauseate her. She burped and then covered her nose with an end of her
scarf. The driver whistled the National Anthem but the droning engine
drowned a greater part of the song.

Fifteen minutes
later, they were at the Mile 2 Diobu Motor Park in Port Harcourt.
Adaeze ran out of the bus terminal. A Volkswagen beetle almost knocked
her down as she hurried to cross the road. The screech of its brakes
threw her off balance and she missed falling by whiskers. She ran back
and waited for the car to cross.

“Craze woman, you wan die for my hand? God no go gree! See im head, yeye!” the enraged driver jabbed at her.

As he drove away, a
bumper sticker on the rear fender of the Volkswagen jumbled Adaeze’s
sense of co-ordination. It read Make Babies Not Wars. She smiled and
took more care as she crossed the road.

“Wharf.” She flagged a taxi down.

“Which one?” the taxi driver asked.

“Where the Elder Dempster ships berth.” Adaeze’s hand was on the doorknob.

“Are you sure it’s not their office you mean?”

“Yes, the office.”

“That’s at shed twelve”

“Yes.”

As the driver’s
left hand engaged the gear, Adaeze’s mind engaged worry. She tried to
wave the gale of pessimism off her mind but the bars of doubts grimly
stood against her. She feared that Rufus couldn’t have been hale and
hearty and still be in the office when he was due home by 3:30 p.m. He
was a man with character. When he was leaving in the morning, he had
promised her that he would return earlier. They would spend time in her
shop before going home. He knew she closed by 5:00 p.m but his bicycle
was still in her shop as at 6:00 p.m. when she closed and came looking
for him.

Thinking about the
bicycle, she began to reconsider her action. Was going immediately
after Rufus the wisest step to have taken? What if we miss our paths?
What if he gets there before me? Since I have the shop keys with me,
how would he be able to take his bicycle? That means he will have to
walk another four miles home after a tiresome day’s job. “Good
gracious,” she yelled.

“Anything the problem?” The taxi driver braked.

“No.” Adaeze was embarrassed.

Minutes later, the
taxi stopped. A bold Elder Demptster Shipping sign welcomed her. She
paid the driver and stepped out. The harmattan wind was colder and less
dusty. It must be the sea breeze.

“Good evening.”

“Evening. How are you young woman?” A dark looking man, the receptionist, welcomed her. “May I be of any help to you?”

“Yes sir. My name is Adaeze Ukonu, I am Rufus Esiaba’s relation. He is in the morning shift and…”

“Make yourself
comfortable, Adaeze. Do you care for water or a drink?” His calm and
kind voice temporarily lifted off her load of worry.

“Nothing,” she replied and took a seat opposite him.

She tried studying his face. Maybe it could reveal an attempt to conceal something from her. She found nothing of the sort.

“Wait. Let me check
the duty register and our movement logbook. We have a ship that had a
problem at mid sea and some members of our staff went offshore at short
notice this afternoon. Rufus is probably among them.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Hope coursed through her mind, enlivening her voice.

The clock on the
wall tolled seven times. A large moth joined a party of night insects
flocking the fluorescent tubes above the receptionist’s table. An empty
bottle of Tango sat on his window ledge.

Adaeze watched him
anxiously. The whirling fan hummed. Her fingers drummed her laps
nervously. The receptionist gasped, cleared his throat as he worked.
One of the insects above lost its wings and landed on the thick
exercise book. The man pinched it away and flipped to the next page.

Adaeze’s eyes never
left him. He raised his head from the book. His brows creased. He
asked, “When did you say Rufus left home?”

The question scared her. “This morning.”

“I’m afraid his
name is neither on the daily staff attendance register nor in the log
of the names of those who went offshore.” He paused thoughtfully,
walked past her, turned and said, “You are sure his destination was
work.”

“I am sure. He was dressed for work and had his work things. I mean his bag and the rest.”

The receptionist looked at her with concern. “Wait a moment,” he said and broke into quick strides out of the office.

While Adaeze waited
for him, she studied the office. It was a large room painted sky blue
with three large windows on both sides. It had two large desks. The
wall had a picture of Queen Elizabeth II. There was a footnote
underneath the picture. She did not bother to read it, as her ears
caught the doubled footsteps approaching the office. She hoped the
receptionist was returning with Rufus.

“This is Mr. Ibeme. He was in the morning shift and would have known if Rufus came to work or not.”

“Mr. Douglas, what could have gone wrong?” Mr. Ibeme looked at the receptionist. “This is quite unlike Esiaba,” he added.

“I wouldn’t know, really.”

“I hope I am
wrong,” Adaeze said, as tears gathered in her eyes, “But I have my
fears. I have my suspicions,” she said in between sobs.

“What could they be?” Douglas asked.

“There was an accident near the Imo River this morning.”

“Yes, it was all
over the radio,” he encored. “But if Rufus was involved he would have
given them our office address to locate us.”

“What if he lost his life?”

“Don’t be silly, Woman,” Douglas scowled.

“Must it be death?” Ibeme queried.

Adaeze said nothing.

Ibeme took over the receptionist’s table while Douglas led her out of the premises in search of Rufus.

The coastal
harmattan wind was cooler and the air fresher outside. It was getting
late as vehicles on the road became fewer. Darkness had phased out
daylight completely. However, beams of headlamps, street lamps and
multiple neon lights on buildings helped to awaken the night. Douglas
checked his watch it was already 7.30p.m. He waved down a taxi.
“Waterside Police station.”

“Enter.”

They drove silently until they reached the station.

It was a 1945
building. The imprint of the builder and the year were on the crown of
the yellow and blue house. There was a crowd of anxious people milling
around.

“Obi Amadi,” A burly Lance Corporal called names from a sheet of paper between his thrown up hands.

“Whose names are on that list?” Douglas asked a man nearby.

“Raphael Okorobia,” the policeman continued.

“Whose names?” Douglas nudged the seemingly absent-minded man.

“Those identified in the accident.”

Douglas’s
discomfort was evident. He moved towards a notice board where those who
could read, checked the names on the same list the burly policeman was
calling from. “Excuse me sergeant,” he called at one of the several
police officers pushing files behind the counter.

“Yes.” The sergeant regarded him.

I have a problem. A
colleague of mine, left home for work this morning without showing up
in the office the whole day. We have even checked your board and his
name is not there.”

“Where does he come to work from?” The sergeant asked, fishing out a short note pad and a pen from his breast pockets.

“Obioma, near Aba.’

“Assuming he was in the accident that happened today, can you identify him?”

“Yes.”

“I will give you
the names of the hospitals they were taken to and you may go there and
search for him. If he is not there, then return early to tell us.”

“Okay.”

The police officer wrote the names of the hospitals on a sheet of paper and handed it to Douglas.

It was 8:45 p.m
when they got to the second hospital – Green Waterside Clinic. The
night nurses guided them into the male ward. It was a long hall with
twelve windows six on either side. The smell of drugs filled the air.
It was different from the antiseptic freshness of the Catholic hospital
earlier visited. The ceiling fans maintained a constant buzz in the
rather quiet hall.

Rufus was not there.

They left for the Naval Hospital where, according to the nurse, the most seriously wounded were taken to.

Adaeze began to cry when she heard this and Mr. Douglas tried to console her. “Be positive.”

The Naval Hospital at the waterside was a small but very effective one.

“Can we help you Lady and Gentleman,” said the male nurse.

“Yes. We have a problem.”

“Accident victims?”

“Yes,” Mr. Douglas answered, “A man. A young man.”

Rufus was not there.

“Where then could he be?” Adaeze began to cry.

“Well, I presume you may need to return to the police station. They may be in a better position to make suggestions.”

Something in the
naval officer’s voice seemed to alarm Mr. Douglas. He looked at Adaeze
and nervously turned towards the male nurse. He went towards him and
whispered something.

“Okay, thanks.” The man said in Adaeze’s hearing. “How did you come here?”

“We used a cab,” said Douglas.

“I am not sure you
would be able to find one this time, it is already late. But don’t
worry, I am on my way home, I could give you a lift.”

“That’s very kind of you”

“My pleasure,” the naval man said.

They drove into the
police station at about 11:30 p.m. The place was less busy than it was
a few hours earlier when they first called.

The naval man called the desk officer on duty and told him what the problem was.

“Wait. I will be
back in a moment.” The policeman disappeared into an inner office and
returned with a file. He invited the naval officer into the inner room
while Douglas and Adaeze awaited their return.

After eight minutes, the policeman returned alone. He also invited Douglas to join them.

Adaeze was alone
and unsettled. She prayed silently that the policeman would be able to
furnish them with useful information on Rufus’s whereabouts.

What if he is dead?
The mere thought of this gave her cramps. Cold sweat broke on her
brows, and she felt a hand squeeze her heart. The sound of the
harmattan wind suddenly became a dirge in her ears. She felt nausea and
her legs could hardly bear her weight. Adaeze found a spot on the
stairs outside and sat down.

She turned the
moment she heard their voices. Her eyes queried the three men
curiously. The policeman’s eyes were non-committal, the naval man’s
were saying, no he is alive, but she could not trust Mr. Douglas’s.
They were moist.

“Mr. Douglas, what is the matter?”

“Nothing. I am just worried that we don’t seem to be making any headway.”

She moved close to him; let him hold her hand as they returned silently into the naval man’s car.

It was past 12.00
midnight. Adaeze shook visibly. Douglas held her tighter but said
nothing. She sensed that he was equally worried. She wondered if he was
keeping something from her.

The naval man tried several times to bring up a discussion but met a contiguous wall of silence.

Adaeze regarded at
him and shifted her gaze. The naval man didn’t know Rufus. He didn’t
know what he meant to either Douglas or her. Adaeze looked at Douglas
again and his unusual quietness worried her. “Are you sure there is no
problem?” she whispered in his hearing alone.

Mr. Douglas simply shook his head avoiding her gaze.

At that moment,
Adaeze suspected he knew something she did not know. Since he entered
and came out of the policeman’s office he had become unusually quiet.
Maybe they showed him Rufus’s belongings or a proof that he was either
dead or in a critical condition.

Mr. Douglas stole a
look in Adaeze’s direction and their eyes met. He had wanted to look
away but something in her eyes pleaded with him to tell her something.

“Ada, I will have to find you somewhere to rest, maybe sleep for a while. Our friend…”

“Max Spiff,” the naval man interjected, offering his name.

“Max Spiff and I will continue the search. I am hopeful that we will find him before morning.”

“Mr. Douglas, I
left my family at home in search of Rufus, I don’t intend to rest for a
second until I find him. Please let me continue with you,” she pleaded.

“Okay, Mr. Douglas, let her be.” Max spun the car noisily towards the creek where they had earlier come from.

When they got to
the hospital and began to look for the morgue attendant, the truth
dawned on Adaeze. She needed no one to tell her that it was not Rufus
but his body that they had come there to fetch. They spent about two
hours searching for the morgue attendant. The reality she faced at that
moment devastated her. She left the men with the task and found a quiet
spot where she crooked her head in her elbow, and emptied her sorrows
in tears. When they could not find the attendant, Max had to plead with
the medical director to provide the spare keys.

“Douglas, do you have the courage to look inside the morgue? It is not usually easy,” Max,asked.

“I honestly don’t know. “

Flanked by Adaeze
and a nurse, with gloves, nasal masks and other paraphernalia, the two
men moved to the morgue section of the hospital.

On reaching the
white square building, the group beheld a long trail of blood running
out from the morgue and forming a scarlet puddle outside. They could
not immediately comprehend what it was; the bodies should be in crates
before freezing.

Max dashed forward. He urged the rest to join him.

The moment the
hospital nurse opened the door towards them; waft of morphine hit their
nostrils. Everyone ran back except Max. He switched on the light and
took a step backwards. On the floor of the morgue was the bleeding body
of a young man lying face down. Max bent down, and began to check his
pulse.

He looked frantically backwards and beckoned on the nurse who stepped forward.

On seeing the colour of the victim’s shirt, Adaeze hastened in.

“I’m afraid the guy is alive,” Max said under his breath.

At that moment, Douglas joined them.

He bent over, turned the head of the victim, looked intently at his face, and screamed, “That’s him! That’s Rufus.”

A thin line of hope
illumined Adaeze’s dulled eyes as she felt Rufus’s body with the back
of her hand as a mother would a sick child.

Adaeze moved to lift the body but Max signaled to Douglas to take her away. The nurse guided her out of the morgue.

Max’s eyes
carefully followed the blood from the puddle outside, to the stains on
the inner side of the door, through the marks left by Rufus’s body on
the floor, to the red droplets marking the edges of one of the crates
in the morgue. “Thank God we are here. We must take him to the hospital
right now. He has lost some blood,” said Max.

The military nurse
clearly was able to figure out what happened, “Rufus must have gained
consciousness, tried to get out of the morgue and when he couldn’t, he
slid back into a blackout.”

Douglas nodded.

Max brought down
the stretcher cradled onto the wall, “Douglas please, let’s get him out
of this place fast.”

Adaeze shuffled away from the mortuary entrance from where she had
watched them carry Rufus away. Her whole body shook with trepidation–a
mix grill of nervousness, physical exhaustion and shock. She drifted
towards the open field between the wards and the morgue. Her thoughts
were as unsteady as her wobbly hands. What would have happened if she
did not come looking for Rufus? What would… what? The incident silenced
her. It was also a moment of deep awakening for her. Rufus’s luck was
her luck. If death could not snatch him from her, nobody, no
human–neither her parents nor Rufus’s parents–could stop her from
loving and living with him. She was sure of this more than she was of
anything else.