Tella - Episode 3

 

Music really opens a kind of window to the soul. It speaks when words fail.
That was what I felt after getting my hands on the guitar. It brought a sense of calmness to my tumultuous mind. For two days now, I slept peacefully without waking up in the dead of the night because of a nightmare. Instead, those two white orbs from my first night here kept coming back. The strangest thing was that it didn't scare me any longer.

 Most times, the orbs appear, an unexplainable force draws me to it, just like it does when I find the gift . The voices haven't stopped too. It whispered different songs. 
Sitting in front of my grandfather's house with the guitar on my laps, I stared at the beauty of the leveled green grass as it mingled with the beaming shade of mosses and the dullness of the earth. The trees lay lower in the distance. I couldn't help but smile at the beautiful scenery as the wind grazed my cheeks. I never appreciated the house when I used to live with my grandfather.

During my schooling at Adeyemi College of education, I made it a duty not to bring any of my friends to home out of shame. Truly one appreciates what you don't have more than what you have.

It was morning again, and from inside, Anu called out my name like an abandoned child. Immediately, I stood up and held the guitar by the neck, and then lifted its wooden body to my shoulder

All episodes of this story can be found here >> https://www.ebonystory.com/story/tella

. But as I reached the corridor joining the living room to the room Anu called from, an envelope dropped to the ground. Tentatively, I reached for it then dragged my index finger along the gap and ripped it open. I looked inside to see a piece of paper folded up several times. I pulled it and found my name written in curly fonts.
With my lips slightly parted and my heart slamming against my chest, I started to unfold it.

 Of course, it was a letter from my grandfather; I'd recognize that handwriting anywhere. But why would he keep a note in a guitar? Why didn't he just tell me whatever the note contained on the phone when he was still alive? Use the guitar. The song is the key. After reading the note, confusion etched deep in my heart. I sucked in the air then bit my lower lip as looked around as if searching for answers.

What does the note imply? How can a song or guitar be a key?
Somehow, I couldn't shake off this feeling that my grandfather had been the force pushing me to the guitar. This note must've been very important, so much that he kept it in the guitar as if hiding it from someone.
I just don't get how a mere song would be a key.

Feeling a strong tightness in my chest, I dropped gently to the ground, rested my back on the wall, and then read through the note again.
Of all things, a letter was all my own grandfather could give me. At that moment, I was blinded by the tears in my eyes and a five-course serving of anger that tasted sour. Without thinking, I squeezed the paper then threw it down the corridor.

I felt betrayed by my grandfather and angry that I was a woman. After all, women weren't allowed the right to inherit a property in our family. As I thought about different possibilities pertaining to the note, something clicked in my head. My first night in the house, something or someone made a lot of noise in the house. Then the voices whispered again in my ears. Definitely, my grandfather's note and the whispers were related. It must've been my grandfather. I concluded in my head, and that's when approaching footsteps dragged close to me.
Wiping the tears off my face, I looked up when her shoving feet came to a halt.

"Mummy," she said in a soft voice, an indication she had woken up for quite some time.

Anu tilted her to the side, a gesture her father always did whenever he was confused about something. That girl was too intelligent for her own good.
She has so many things in common with her Ayoni. From his bushy, arched brows, to his shallow cheeks and his slightly tanned skin, one could tell he was her father. 

"Your eyes are red."

"Yes!" I shook my head playfully then lifted her above my head while she squealed. "Something entered my eyes."

Without asking if she was hungry, I told her to stay back before making my way outside onto the cracked sidewalk.
A few motorcycles honked as they passed by the street. People walked the street like high current water flowing in a gutter. A lot of children carried their school bags, but without wearing uniforms. It was the long August break and so, only a few went to school for the holiday lessons.

The pupils reminded me of mine - back in Ibadan -and Mrs. Bello, the proprietor of Prosperous nursery and primary school.
As I took the first turning to the right, at the end of Aborerin Street (not quite far to Baba Majeogbe's house) a couple of people stood in clusters, just in front of her shop.

When a young woman among them made eye contact with me, she said some things to them and all heads snapped towards me. Most of them sent hateful glares at me and I couldn't help but narrow my eyes at them. These were people I didn't even recognize, so why would they give me a nasty stare. When I crossed to the other side where the group gossiped, Iya Ibeji stood up just in time and our eyes met.

In the short seconds of eye contact, something sparked in her eyes before she looked away. It was fear. I could tell. The rest of the group scattered like people running from an attack. Heaving an exaggerated sigh, I walked by Iya Ibeji's shop. Although I wasn't pleased with what just happened, especially when it was so obvious my presence brought an abrupt stop to their gossip, I was more than pleased to be relieved of the burden of greeting an elderly woman with no aorta of a sense of reasoning.

I stopped at a provision store where a woman about my age sat down and pressed her phone. As soon as she saw me, she flinched and her phone dropped to the ground with a clatter.

"Erora o," I said in a clipped tone as I sneered at her.

It was getting a bit out of hand from the looks I received from people. And was even more annoying it came from a woman I patronized for two days now.

I'll soon leave this place for you people, I thought.

"Do you have rice?" When she replied with a nod, I added. "Bring three cups."

I watched as she filled the empty can of milk with rice, each time glancing my way. When she finished putting the rice in black, small nylon, she walked over to me and gave me the rice. But as I proceeded to turn around to walk away, she called me and I stopped with a scowl on my face.

"What?"

"Ehm... aunty... you don't know what is going on?" She asked, her sparse eyebrows lifted and fell almost immediately.

"Know what?" My voice shook with annoyance. "That you people have been gossiping about me with that useless Iya Ibeji ehn?"

The lady shook her head. As she looked down, her neck rolled into flaps of the double chin. "Baba Majeogbe and his son are dead."

A small yelp left my mouth as my palms flew over my mouth. "Oh my God."
Whitish dots started to form beneath my eyelids and my head spun in unison. I didn't even have the strength to stand, so I sat down on a cement block propped up to keep the iron door from closing. Baba Majeogbe, my grandfather's brother and his son were dead only two days after their visit. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't because of people that passed.

"And from the way it looks...people are saying they visited you," she shook her head again. "T-They said the two had terrible dreams about you before their death."

"Me?" I asked, not believing a thing of what she said. "I-I need to go to their house."

Without another word, I started to run towards the street which leads to their house. People who walked by gave me strange looks, but I didn't care. It's what people do when they don't get what was going through your mind. My mind was swarmed with so many questions. How did they die? Did they really dream about me in the last hours before their death? Was I now the owner of my grandfather's property? For a second, I actually felt bad for thinking about my ownership of a property and my eyes began to water. A sense of déjà vu enveloped me as I remembered the very night my parents were killed.

That day with a laboured breath, I pushed the door open as soon as the men left. I was only a young girl stranded in the middle of my street with only one thought, getting myself to safety, far away from where they killed my parents.

I couldn't risk the men changing their minds to finish me off. I didn't even look at my parent's body on the ground before running into the dark night. Pushing my arms back and forth, I ran to my destination, jumping over small potholes, and pumping my young legs as fast as they could go. Once I made it to another turning and saw the roof of our house, I cried in relief. I was almost home.

Few more steps, I told myself.

My breathing was labored. My legs were tired and the wind-tortured my eyes. I wiped away several tears; I would never see my mother's smiling face or my father's deep chuckle. Those men took them away from me and I'd never see them again. I came to a halting stop with my fist against the gate and banged like a maniac. I silently prayed my neighbors hadn't gone out to celebrate the New Year.

"Taniyen?" An angry voice answered and I realized my painful memories had melted away.

I wasn't standing in front of my parents' house in Ibadan any longer. I was standing in front of Baba Majeogbe's house and there's a woman staring at me with cold, swollen eyes with dried tears glued to her cheeks. I had never seen her before and I could tell she hated me.

"You this witch have the effrontery to come," she barked as she started to approach me.

On impulse, I backed away as I remembered what the woman at the provision store told me, they really believed I killed Baba Majeogbe and Ade.