When The Mask Fell

Chapter 5

The last thing I remembered was seeing my father step out of that black car. I could remember how everything turned blurry, how my heart stopped and continued— raising. It was beating so hard that it felt heavy and was about to escape from my chest. My legs felt hollow, like they were no longer alive. Mrs. Danjuma had already changed her look, so composed as if nothing had happened. It really baffled me. She adjusted her dress and lifted her chin slightly. She faced the direction of the car as though she had been anticipating the arrival so badly. I, on the other hand, felt like a toddler falling off the mother without help. Emeka came out confidently. My father followed behind like a sheep on his way to be slaughtered. Seeing this hurt me more. It wasn't the tension, nor the wealth, nor the car. It was the positioning. Why is my father walking behind him? Why not his side? This caused my stomach to go nuts. When Aunty Shade noticed them coming, she left the store.

"Good evening," she said warily.

"Good night," Emeka gave a smooth, appealing response in a controlled voice. He looked at me for a moment and then averted his gaze as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred at my school earlier. My dad averted his eyes from me. He was not like that. He had always looked me in the eye, even when he was at his lowest. He now gazed at Aunty Shade's compound's tiled floor as if it contained answers he wasn't yet prepared to confront. Mrs. Danjuma murmured, "Mr. Ogunleye," but there were nuances in her voice that I had not yet been able to understand.

"A long time has passed." My father said, "Yes, ma," in a weaker voice than I had ever heard. There was silence between them.

No awkward silence. Silence steeped with history. His throat was cleansed by Emeka. Lightly, he continued, "I proposed that we come meet the girls." "After all, you now have custody of them." presently in your custody. It seemed like a premeditated statement. He seemed to be demarcating his area. She crossed her arms across her chest, Aunty Shade.

"They're all right here," she stated confidently.

"Paying attention."

Emeka grinned a little. "That's excellent. It's crucial to concentrate. His gaze returned to me. And they hung around this time. I was unable to read them. Did they find it amusing? Wondering? I wasn't sure if it was threatening. At last, my dad raised his head. For a moment, I saw something flicker in his eyes as they met mine, guilt. Don't be afraid. Disgrace. Aunty Shade grudgingly responded, "Come inside." They went into the store. I stood outdoors for a while, attempting to calm my breathing. What did my dad do with Emeka? How come Mama hadn't said anything? And why didn't Mrs. Danjuma appear as shocked as I did? The mood had changed by the time I entered. Emeka was standing close to the counter, looking at the merchandise. He replied nonchalantly, "You keep this place very neat." I gave a nod.

"We make an effort."

"You?" he raised an eyebrow in question.

"Yes." He gave a little smile.

"Very impressive." Mrs. Danjuma said nothing. My dad cleared his throat. He declared, "We won't stay long."

"Just stopping by." In a black vehicle. with the woman's son, whose presence had already started to influence my life. This was anything but normal. Emeka took a step toward the counter. His question was straightforward,

"You're doing well in school?"

"Yes."

"What do you do best?"

"Books."

"Interesting." His eyes become piercing.

"Do you enjoy stories?"

"Yes." He leaned forward a little.

"All right. Stories have a lot of power. They can occasionally alter lives. I sensed a change underlying his words. As if he weren't discussing books. Mrs. Danjuma spoke before I could reply.

"We ought to depart," she stated in a decisive tone. Emeka instantly straightened.

He did as she said. That caught me off guard. Seriously, this time. Soon after, they departed, with my father trailing behind once more. I saw the automobile pull away from the doorway. Aunty Shade arrived to join me.

"Take care," she murmured.

"How about?" I inquired.

"About being drawn into something you don't fully comprehend yet." I took a swallow. It's too late. I had already entered it. I had trouble sleeping that night, my head was just hot. The scenes kept playing in my head. My sisters had no idea how serious the situation was. It was only Papa's surprise visit to them. Even Kemi was thrilled. She said, "Did you see the car?" "Papa got a good job, must have!" Tosin was more subdued. She saw more than she said. After the lights went down, she whispered to me, "You didn't look happy." I lied and said, "I'm fine." However, I wasn't. because there was a discrepancy. Why hadn't Mama brought up the fact that Papa had unexpectedly become financially stable when she was there last? When I previously mentioned Emeka, why did Mrs. Danjuma respond so cautiously? Furthermore, why did Emeka treat me as though I were more than simply a*****e girl? My mind was filled with questions until fatigue finally pulled me into a restless slumber.

Emeka came back in the morning. By themselves. His automobile came to a stop outside the business once more just before noon. The sight of him through the glass made my stomach knot. Wearing an overly tight navy-blue shirt, he walked out slowly. Aunty Shade saw that I was rigid.

"Are you acquainted with him?" she inquired softly.

"He arrived yesterday."

She gave a nod but remained silent. He walked in with the same restrained assurance. He said, "Good afternoon. I said, "Good afternoon." He stood there for a while after that. He stated, "I wanted to apologize if yesterday felt... overwhelming."

"Too much?" I repeated. He gave a little shrug.

"Unexpected."

"Yes," I said truthfully. He looked closely at me.

"You're not fond of surprises?"

"Not the dangerous kind." His mouth curled slightly.

"And how are you aware of this kind?"

I looked him in the eye. "I don't."

Once more, there was silence between us. It appeared to please him. Finally, he said, "I'll be honest."

"I am aware of you."

My heartbeat accelerated. "From whom?"

"Mom."

I wasn't surprised by it. "What was it she said?" With caution, I asked.

"That you are smart." Written. Distinct. She had used the same word. Not the same.

"Is that your reason for being here?" I inquired.

"To check if she's correct." I wanted to roll my eyes, but I held back.

"And?" His head c****d slightly.

"I haven't decided yet." conceited. But oddly magnetic. I turned aside and said, "I have work to do."

"I have no doubt that you do." He did not, however, depart right away. He walked around the shop slowly, touching nothing, observing everything.

"You're not from here originally," he stated.

"No."

"Your father used to work in the city." There was no question.

"Yes." Slowly, he nodded.

"He was incredible... trusted." My heart skipped a beat.

"Was?" He gave a little smile.

"Mistakes are made by people." Before I could stop myself, I replied, "And people are blamed for them." His gaze grew piercing.

"You know something, then?"

"How about?" He didn't respond. Rather, he put cash on the counter after reaching into his pocket.

"Preserve the change." I instantly said, "I don't take extra money." Then he had a new look at me. Not amused. Not putting it to the test. Curious. "Excellent," he murmured. Then he went away. I didn't waste any time when Mama came over for her regular weekend visit that evening.

"When we were alone, I added, "Papa came here yesterday." She stopped. "With whom?"

"Emeka." Her face was devoid of color.

"What did he say?"

"Not much."

"It's terrible," she whispered. I gazed at her. "What's happening, Mama?"

Slowly, she took a seat on the bed's edge. She started cautiously, "Your father used to work for that family years ago.

"There was a money problem. Things didn't work out."

"What kinds of things?" She paused.

"The money vanished."

"Has Papa taken it?" Something furious flared in her eyes.

"Your dad isn't a criminal." She said while looking directly at me.

"So what happened?" She turned her head away.

"Powerful individuals don't always seek the truth when they desire peace. They search for someone to place the blame on. The words settled heavily between us.

"So Papa was blamed?"

She didn't answer directly.

"He agreed to leave quietly," she said instead. "To protect us."

"From what?"

She didn't respond.

And I learned more from that stillness than from any confession. I saw Emeka at school the next week. This time, he was outside the compound. After closing, he waited outside. I made an effort to get by him without noticing him. He said nonchalantly, "Can I give you a ride?"

"No."

"That didn't take long."

"I'm not familiar with you."

"You are aware of my name."

"That isn't equivalent." He took a step toward her.

"I'm not against you."

"How could I tell?" He gave me a close look.

"Because I wouldn't be asking nicely if I were." A weird shiver went through me. He posed no threat. However, he was also not innocent. I firmly stated, "I prefer to walk." I didn't let him stop me. However, he observed until I rounded a bend.

"Why? "

" Because my son and other men are skilled at using them." Think he's attempting to take advantage of me? She gave me a steady glance.

"I am certain that he is."

"Why?"

"Because you are in a position that makes him feel exposed." I scowled. "Just a girl working in a store." She laughed softly and without humor. People are never "just" anything. I was uneasy about what she said.

"Did my dad embezzle that cash?" Abruptly, I inquired. Her gaze grew gloomy. She remarked, "Your father was convenient."

"Comfortable?"

"Yes."

"That isn't a response."

"That's the reality." My chest began to rise with wrath.

"Did Emeka do it?" I pushed. She remained silent.

And more was proven by that quiet than by denial. Emeka came back one evening when I was shutting the store. He didn't act like he bought anything this time. He rested his back against the door. He said, "I need to talk to you."

"I'm at work," I responded without looking in his direction.

"It won't be long." I hesitated. Aunty Shade was inside, but I didn't want her overhearing. We stepped outside. The sky was darkening, painted in deep shades of purple.

"What do you want?" I inquired.

"To clear something up."

"How about?"

"About my father." I blinked.

"Your father?"

"Yes. Since we're addressing parents." I was tense.

"I'm not talking to you about mine." He took a step toward her.

"Everything I own was constructed by my father. And if my mother could, she would set it on fire."

"It sounds like an issue in your family.

"When she pulls you into it, it becomes yours." My heart was racing.

"I didn't request to be pulled."

"No," he muttered.

"However, you are present." Again, there was silence. He went on, "I'm not the villain you believe me to be."

"I haven't made up my mind yet." He seems almost amused.

"You exercise caution."

"I now know how to be."

"From whom?"

"Life." He looked at me like he was trying to figure out a riddle. Then he warned, "Be careful who you trust."

"You are included in that." He gave a little nod.

"Especially me." He then made his way back to his vehicle. I was left standing there, scared and bewildered. I listened to his comments repeatedly that evening. In particular, myself.

However, one thing was evident. Whatever game my father, Emeka, and Mrs. Danjuma were playing... The border of it was no longer where I stood. I was on the board. Pieces were already in motion. I simply wasn't aware yet. If I were a pawn or not. Or something far more hazardous. It was a Tuesday when I first realized something was amiss. At the shop, Tuesdays were often slow. The weekend shoppers would still have been conserving their money and strength, and the Monday rush would have subsided. That afternoon's harsh sun made the business feel like an oven as it pressed on the metal roofing. Aunty Shade had purchased new bundles of clothes from the market, and I was arranging them with sweat sticking to my neck, my hair knotted in a scarf, and my blouse sleeves pulled up. My sisters were not present. They were registered at a little vocational center down the street in the mornings by Aunty Shade. Tosin was learning how to do hair; her fingers were constantly eager to practice on anyone who sat still long enough, and she would come home smelling of pomade and relaxer. Kemi's calm tenacity led her to select tailoring. Each evening, she would come back with tales of mismeasured measures and chalk smears on her black skirt.

They were adapting. Slowly, like seedlings attempting to establish themselves on unfamiliar ground. I was also getting used to it. The public school that Chioma and I had attended was nothing like the posh school that Aunty Shade had me attend. The complex was gated. Instead of having wooden boards that flapped in the wind, the classrooms featured real glass windows. The teachers spoke English as if they had ingested dictionaries whole, and they were dressed in sharp suits and high heels. I had a harsher accent. I was less confident. Foreign names were plainly emblazoned on the pricey backpacks that the girls in my class were carrying. They chuckled about trips to Lagos, Abuja, and occasionally even overseas. I had never been outside of Ekiti. However, I could still hear my dad's voice. Be the wonderful girl I've always thought you were. Thus, I took a seat at the front. I made inquiries. I studied till my eyes burned at night, after my first impression in class the other day. And slowly, the teachers started to take notice of me. Particularly one. Emeka. The senior pupils were not much older than him. He taught civic education and government, but his solemn demeanor caused others to forget how young he was. He spoke in a soothing, convincing tone. Something would clench in my chest whenever he talked about justice, authority, and rights. Because I had started to yearn for justice. The doorbell jingled quietly on Tuesday afternoon when I was polishing the glass counter in Aunty Shade's business. I knew who it was without having to look it up. Mrs. Danjuma. She was now a routine. She was different from other clients, though. Before departing in a whirl of talk and scent, several ladies rushed in, chatting loudly, moaning about costs, and tossing things into baskets. Mrs. Danjuma made a separate movement. With her clothes ironed and her wrapping always nicely wrapped, she would enter the store as if she were entering her own living room. She always greeted the shelves first, then the people.

"She used to mutter, "Good afternoon, my goods," as she ran her fingertips over a line of textile materials that were neatly arranged. "Today, you people are shining." She would then turn to face me, her eyes beaming with a smile. "How is school going for my daughter?" Her use of the phrase "my daughter" disturbed me for some reason. It was too personal. Too methodical. That afternoon, I forced a kind grin and said, "Fine, ma." She didn't choose anything right away. Rather, she moved slowly down the short aisles, stopping sometimes as if recalling something from a long time ago. Not rumors. Not the empty sort. She would inquire about my father, my sisters, and my subjects. That day, with her back to me, she inquired, "How is your daddy managing?" My hands froze at the question. With caution, I said, "He's fine." Slowly, she turned to examine my face. "You look like him." That was something I had heard before. However, it sounded like a secret coming from her mouth. The bell above the door jingled once more before I could reply. Emeka entered. My heart faltered. He wasn't dressed like the instructor he usually is. He donned trousers and a basic black T-shirt in place of the tucked shirt and tie. He appeared younger. less defensive.

"Is Aunty Shade around?" he said, glancing momentarily at me before focusing on Mrs. Danjuma. The flash between them caught my attention. Not surprisingly, recognition. I blurted out, "She stepped out."

"She went to get things."

He nodded before bowing his head slightly in greeting to Mrs. Danjuma. "Ma, good afternoon." Her voice was quieter than normal when she said, "My son." My chest grew constricted. At first, they chatted in low tones. It's too soft for me to hear well. However, I managed to capture bits.

"Not here."

"...careful,"

"...she is growing," No one mentioned my nam,,e. However, I had the impression that I was the topic. Emeka's mouth clenched. Mrs. Danjuma touched his arm for a moment. It was a swift, almost maternal gesture. However, it was significant. She glanced back at me as she turned to pay for her purchases, staring at me for longer than was necessary.

"Really study," she said.

"This store is not as important as your future." I took a swallow.

"Yes, ma'am."

Emeka stayed after she went. Distracted, he feigned to look at the soft beverages in the refrigerator. "Sir," I said tentatively. "Are you familiar with her?" He hesitated. "Yes," he said after a pause. "She's a longtime family friend." friend of the family. It was like dropping a stone into water.

"Your relatives?" Before I could stop myself, I asked. Now his eyes were entirely on mine.

"Yes." That glance conveyed something unsaid. Something substantial.

He straightened and said hurriedly, "Pay attention to your exams."

"You are among the top pupils in the class. Avoid becoming sidetracked by anything. Anything. Did I cause the distraction? Or was it something else?

__________________________________________________

My mother visited me that evening. She usually showed up on Saturdays, but occasionally she caught us off guard in the middle of the week when transportation was inexpensive or she was unable to travel the distance. She arrived with her typical nylon bag, which was stuffed with letters, groundnuts, and oranges. Letters from Chioma. Chioma's handwriting was dramatic, the ink pressing hard into the paper as though she was fighting the page. I raced to the back room with the mail before even greeting my mother properly. Tosin and Kemi trailed behind, excited to hear the "crazy gists," as we called them. Chioma wrote about everything, including the fight between two girls over a boy who owned a motorcycle, the new math teacher who pronounced trigonometry like "trigono-merry," and how the principal's wig nearly flew off during assembly due to strong wind. For a brief moment, the weight in my chest subsided, but then I reached the last page, when her tone changed. "By the way," she wrote, "there is something strange happening here. I heard Mama arguing with a woman last week. I don't know her name, but they were shouting about 'truth' and 'DNA.' I didn't understand." Mama sent me inside as I got closer. Watch out over there. Something doesn't feel right. I stopped laughing. DNA? The truth?? My first thought was of Mrs. Danjuma. Slowly, I folded the letter. My mom saw my face. She questioned, "What is it?" I lied and said, "Nothing." However, I was unable to fall asleep that night as we lay on Aunty Shade's guest room's tiny beds. The scene at the shop kept coming back to me. The look Emeka had given her. The murmuring. The term "DNA." What mystery was casting its shadow across us all? Days went by.

As examinations drew near, the intensity of school increased. Emeka started providing extra instruction to a select group of pupils after class. A peculiar sensation swept through me when he spoke my name. There were just five of us in the sessions. He passionately and patiently explained political notions. But occasionally, I could feel his eyes linger when the others were occupied copying notes. Not unsuitable. Just looking. As if he were looking for something more profound. He stopped me one day following the additional lesson.

"May I ask you a private question?" he murmured. My heartbeat accelerated.

"Yes, sir."

"You've known Mrs. Danjuma for how long?"

"Not much time. She purchases goods from our store. Slowly, he nodded.

She also inquires about your father.

"Yes."

With a hand through his hair, he let out a breath.

"Tell me if she ever says anything odd to you." My throat became parched. "Why?" He paused.

"Because not everyone with a smile is trying to be nice." Her soft chuckle came to mind. The warmth she brought to the store. What on earth was she trying to accomplish? The school gate sounded before I could push any more. Two SUVs, both black, had arrived. Pupils gathered, enthusiastically speaking to one another. Mrs. Danjuma emerged from one of the vehicles. As always, elegant. However, she wasn't alone this time. Out of the second car came a tall man. Once again, I felt the world tilt. It was my father. This time his face looked thinner. More worn, but it was him. What was he doing here? Emeka went rigid beside me. Mrs. Danjuma's eyes caught mine across the courtyard and she smiled. Not the gentle, motherly smile she gave in the shop. This one was sharper. Not long, my father's gaze finally located me. There was fear and guilt in his eyes. Emeka whispered under his breath, almost to himself.

"It's starting."

Starting?

Starting what?

Students moved aside as the principal hurried forward to greet the visitors.

My heart pounded so loudly I could barely hear the conversation.

My father did not look at me again. Mrs. Danjuma did not look away either. At that moment, I understood something without fully understanding it.

The shop. The letters. The whispers. The resemblance. The word DNA. They were one rope. And it was tightening around my neck.

Emeka's hand brushed mine briefly.

"Be strong," he murmured.

"For what?" I whispered, but he did not answer. Across the courtyard, Mrs. Danjuma leaned closer to my father, saying something I could not hear. His shoulders sagged. Then the principal gestured toward the administrative building. They began walking. Before disappearing inside, Mrs. Danjuma turned one last time. Her eyes locked with mine. And she mouthed two words.

"Your turn."

My turn? What do you mean by my turn? What was I being called into? And why did it feel less like an opportunity— and more like a reckoning?