Taduno's Song (22 page)

Two soldiers came in to take Mr Player away.

Taduno broke down in tears when they had left.

*

He languished in that white room for two more days. On the third day, he sent for a soldier and told him he was ready to leave with Mr Player.

‘Are you sure you are well now?' the soldier asked.

‘Yes,' he replied.

‘No more mental illness?'

‘No more mental illness.' His voice was detached.

‘For your own sake I hope you don't have a relapse by annoying Mr President again.'

He ignored the soldier's words. ‘Tell Mr Player that we are ready to leave, please.'

The soldier shrugged. ‘As you wish, sir.'

‘And Lela too. I want her to come with me.'

The soldier laughed quietly. ‘That's impossible, sir.'

‘Why not?'

‘Mr President took her with him.'

‘Took her where?'

‘I don't know,' he said, with a shrug. ‘Even if she were here I do not have the authority to release her to you. Only Mr President can do that.'

‘Can I see Mr President, please?'

‘No, you cannot.'

‘Why not?'

‘Because he has left.'

He could not hide his irritation. ‘Okay, go and get Mr Player, and get us out of here.'

*

They were driven across the border back to Lagos and taken straight to Mr Player's studio. Mr Player wanted them to start rehearsal immediately, but Taduno told him there was no need for that.

‘Please don't tell me you are backing out again?' Mr Player's voice was desperate.

‘No, I'm not backing out. I can't back out any more.'

Mr Player gave a huge sigh of relief. ‘In that case let's start rehearsal straightaway. Mr President has put all the arrangements for the concert in place. We could record the song in three or four days' time, do the concert a day after, and then release the song after the concert. Mr President will be very happy with us.'

‘There is no need for me to rehearse,' he responded quietly. ‘I'm ready. You can do a live recording at the
concert and release the song as you wish. That way, it will be original, straight from the heart.'

‘We have to make sure we get it right,' Mr Player said uncertainly, ‘or Mr President will be very displeased with us. And you know what that means.'

‘Don't worry, I am ready whenever you are.' His voice betrayed no emotion, but there was something in it, and that something troubled Mr Player.

‘Okay, I will double-check with Mr President to make sure everything is in place for us to go ahead.'

‘Do that. By the way, I need you to go to TBS tomorrow and retrieve my guitar. Ask for Thaddeus, tell him I sent you.'

‘We could just buy you a brand new one.'

‘No, if I must play at this concert I must play with my old guitar.'

‘Okay, I will get it tomorrow.'

‘Thank you,' he said. He reached into his breast pocket and touched Lela's last letter.

*

He could not go back to his house. He could not go back to the square. So he just roamed the streets, with a new fedora he bought at a bus stop covering his face. He could not wait for the moment he would take to the stage. He knew it would be his last time. He knew that some would consider him a traitor, others a hero. To himself, he would always be a traitor. And that was why he must attempt to redeem himself with just one song. He would not have an opportunity for a second.

The city was abuzz about the forthcoming concert. And as Taduno roamed the streets he saw huge billboards of himself headlining the ‘Great Concert'. He noticed that no reference was made to the President and he wondered why. In any case, he thought with a shrug, the whole country would be watching.

He suddenly felt hungry and he stopped at a roadside restaurant where he ordered
eba
and
egusi
soup. He ate with his fedora on so that no one could tell who he was. They saw him as a stranger, they admired his new fedora.

‘I like your hat,' the woman who owned the restaurant said to him.

‘Thank you.' His voice was quiet.

‘Why do you eat with your hat covering your face?' she asked.

‘Because I just bought it and I want to enjoy it as much as I can while I can,' he replied.

‘It is a beautiful hat. I'd do the same if I were you,' she said with a smile.

He smiled back at her, but only with his lips; his eyes were hidden beneath the fedora and they were the eyes of a traitor.

He slept under a bridge that night, but he did not think of Lela. He had stopped thinking about her. His thoughts were only of the President.

*

The day of the Great Concert came, a Saturday, a day when everybody could watch. Feverish excitement gripped
the country. The national stadium was packed to overflowing and so were all the viewing centres set up across the country.

When he stepped onto the stage there was a deafening ovation that seemed to last for ever. His eyes roamed the audience, and as he did so he saw the tall muscular assassin who carried a gun that fitted into his huge palm like a mere toy. He saw him in the front row in his black suit, black sunglasses and black shoes. He saw the blackness of his face which gave him the mien of a very angry man. He knew that the assassin was there to take him out in the event that he tried to deliver the wrong message, and he realised that his redemption song would be a very short one.

He held up his guitar for silence. And in a sad voice, he began to sing about a woman he dearly loved, a woman he was about to betray hopelessly.

He sang about love, about how love was doomed in the country they lived. ‘I am a traitor,' he said, ‘I have betrayed love, and I beg for forgiveness.' He told the people, ‘I cannot betray you, so I must betray the one I love most, I must betray the one who taught me to love.'

He looked at his audience sadly, feeling like a hopeless traitor. And as they looked back at him, they somehow understood the sacrifice he was making for them. Some began to weep.

‘Please don't cry,' he implored them with his guitar, ‘dry your tears, my friend TK said a miracle will come.'

And then, addressing the President, he began to sing the last lines of his short song. ‘So you see, where there
is true love you can never win against love, you can never win against the people, we will not surrender to tyranny.' It was too late for Mr Player and the President to stop him. His face was sombre. He leaned back and allowed his guitar to echo his final words. His fingers danced franctically across the strings while his fans screamed in ecstasy.

It was far more time than he had hoped for. He saw the black assassin raise his gun. He reached into his breast pocket and touched Lela's letter one last time. He closed his eyes and begged love for forgiveness.

Acknowledgements

Victoria (BL), thank you so much for believing and for the solitary times you endured. A big thank-you too to Trevor Dolby, for showing me the way; Clare Christian, who rekindled my hope; my agent, Toby Mundy, who gave new life to this story; my wonderful editor, Louisa Joyner; Natasha Hodgson; Lorraine McCann; Alison Rae; ‘The Big Man', Jamie Byng; and, of course, everyone at Canongate. My deepest gratitude goes to the Creator, who wrote this story through me.