Michael

The hawks must have know all along, because they had been circling the house engaged in courtship flight, I think that Saturday morning no light as usual, it wasn’t raining nor was it the middle of the night sound of water precipitating in empty washed out drums the smell of soaps and detergents and neighbors warning each other not to bring rain, since the excess cloth wash meant sun drying evaporation and condensation, I doubt many of them knew the scientific  correctness of their saying to many it was one many hear-says and regurgitation of our father’s we have come to enjoy and participate like grunting to reply a cough. No explanation just what is

Shoe maker!!

 A little boy might call out at the lanky-man who carried a box with a foam cushioned top for sitting and a basket containing the condiments like threat foam, leather polish in a scattered arrangement that was his. beating the box in a rhythmic sound if there were two of them,  they would compose a  melody and lace it with funny tales in the sing song accent of their language which flowed in tune but he was alone.

So was Micheal as he retched and cough hard and hard, covering his mouth so as not to look embarrassing for he was putting on the green jeans and brown extra large shirt which he took at the helm to pour and inspect his phlegm, no the best kind of garb that would have been preferred for one to die in, when I think about it now , the cloth pronounced with those yellow eyes of his,  dusty mustache, and sparsely filled beard that looked like he kept them on purpose lest he be mistaken for a teenager, but the beards fooled no one not even him.

I had almost finished washing, as I left the passage outside to go inside and bring out the jeans I had left intentionally because the sight of it there would make my cloth wash look cumbersome now that I was done with shirts and lighter wears, I decided to soak it with the blackened soap water to harvest some flies until maybe out of pity my mother would wash it for me on Monday, like she did last week, passing by I reflexively looked at the old wall clock engraved with the words “Happy Married Life” one of the many things that senior me in that house according to my mother, and I noticed it was 3’0 clock.

As he turned back and swallowed the disrespect his job gave and moved with the alacrity money induces he followed the lead of the younger male to a compound where a heap of shoes , worn and dusty from the week use, ranging from a size 38 to model sized 47 that served the corporate purpose of just 6 times a week,Saturday gave it time for men like him to run their brushes and polish along its old leather skin,

Christian music played in the car today of the neighbor whose careful dusting squeaked about the stress and savings and salary reduction that bought him his car, sometimes he could play Morocco’s Asili 98, album letting the voice of the sonorous veteran rattle his make do speaker attached with a banding wire at the booth of his car while washing it, he takes his time so that he finishes at the same time with the song Here and there he would whistle, noticing the scratch and silently curse at any child who had held out nails and practice what they were taught in school on his car, hating silently some of their mothers who don’t necessarily caution their kids when they give them a little peace and quiet

Occasionally that woman would join in the music in the distance mainly to prove her vocal prowess  and use it in provoking or making other women jealous, You know her now, she usually stay in that rundown house with a similar marriage with wrappers joined at the front ‘You sabi the song” the man might flirt you know who I be” she might retort with all the encompassing nature of her reply. For a moment the man’s might travel and imagine, blood might rise and then he comes back shakes his head and laughs to himself admitting just how sin is just breathing

Michael have gone inside to die, but not immediately, he sits down in their old rickety and bench hard like couch and fondles with the old game of ludo played last night and imagines himself player and opponent until his lung sees him smiling and recoils again, making him cough so loud tears left his eyes and blood is spat with phlegm in a uneven ratio on the ludo glass smearing Raul with a little blood on his Madrid jersey. All the while his mother is at the backyard, but I don't know what she was doing.

So imagine the melody water from children's’ pail go thud, add the song from the car stereo, add the noise of women gossiping as strength for washing amidst the shuffling sound of the lanky man's  brush on the worn shoe, Girls in the nearby house  complaining to their father about the kind of hair they were asked to plait in school and how it was more expensive than the others in the far distance smokes went up and we all know what that meant, But we were eating yam so it wasn't any business of mine.

Water drops splash close to you as children walk the queue with shaky buckets of water on their head and come out of their respective house popping their atlases while they waited for each other in synchronized unity and purpose. The door of another house might be banged with small boys struggling to get their mattress out after they just found the mattress got wet , how they can't tell you and more surprisingly is how they are blamed for it, what kind of world is this that they tell you that they don’t know who did it and nobody believes the Yes there is a semi circle of dampness found in the nether regions of their trousers but that proves nothing, or the stone wedges at the side of their eyes used in shutting close the window to their souls and dry patch of saliva beside their mouth, frowning at any one who wants to laugh at their misfortune and misjudgment and call them atole

Soon he started convulsing I think, how I know I can’t even tell you but the scream of his cousin brought me close and far from the slippers I was washing to the front steps of a crowd

From the holes of a spectators bangle earring I saw urine forced into the mouth of Michael by the trembling hands of his mother who saw her hands steadied by admonishment of other women who praised it's efficacy

All the while a king cobra hit on the head couldn’t out jerk Michael who had scrape his eye and chin on the hard slab of concrete that welcomed every one into their now ajar door.

Michael Michael they shouted, you know the scene now, all those attention junkies and religious incantations of things the white men taught us.In between said bangle earrings I saw spoon inserted in his mouth.

Someone called me to ask me, imagine my happiness as I was jumping while telling him I don’t know what was wrong with him, that he just fell down, that he, "wait"

When I got back he was dead. We were chased to our house and I told everyone what I saw, death for the first time,  i went back inside, the time on the wall clock was still 3'O clock, and I remember our teacher telling us of someone who died at that same time and i imagined judgement and a television and Michael being thrown in hell because of who i thought i saw him with last night. Soon the voice in a radio carried in his hand close to his ears on legs that were shuffling through his old jeans that were now make do rag said the time is 12:00pm, I was stark naked looking for dry clothes to wear when i knew that the battery of the wall clock had died at 3 am that morning. I ran to change it because some children were shouting "I" one and "I" two outside.

by
Victor Samuel