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Steps Towards The Screen-A Short Story
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LAGOS-NOVEMBER. Silver linings, glittering without recession, was
glinted on the surface of water by the rays of light from the halogen
lamp. The corona cladded moon, interrupted occasionally by nebulas,
beamed
flashes of light that shimmered on corporeal features on the patio:
patina on balustrade, panes of glass on doors and windows, varieties
in
vegetation…
A peal of indistinct sounds pervaded the air. Betokening crisp
tangy air suggested it was harmattan. Twilight gradually began to pave
the way for the roseate glow of the evening.
The back view of the Romanesque lofty peninsular building had a
scenic outlook. A quintessence of typical celebrity edifice located in
Victoria Island, a littoral sub-urb of Lagos . It was a suitable
ambience.
Fair complexion, streaks of grey lines among strands of hair,
rotund averagely heighted shape, characterized a forty-five year old
Remi
Davies. Being the wife of a pilot, she is the custodian of the purse
string in the Davies’ household.
Against her parents’ desire to see her through the pursuit of a
career in Law, she had opted for a profession in Acting-a childhood
ambition. Now a renowned actress at the pinnacle of her career, she
has
traversed every nook and cranny of Nollywood.
She was sat on the deck at the back of her water front castle,
staring far across the surface of the lagoon into the distant drone of
traffic. A dark panorama of structures stood on the other side of the
road. The skyline of houses in view casted a row of shadows that
reached
into the shore of the lagoon.
Her gaze shuttled between the row of houses that jutted out across
the road to the neatly pruned hedges in her garden and the smooth
carpet of grasses.
The past events of the few months behind recurred to her like the
tu-whit, tu-whoo of the owl deep into the impenetrable silence of the
wood. Maybe I shouldn’t have done it. Maybe I shouldn’t have done
it. She soliloquized softly.
Suddenly, a pall of shadows swept through the row of window
curtains. A sharp eerie scream filled the air. Remi’s anxiety was
further
aroused by a following tinkling sound.
Befuddled by the unfolding anomalies, she lollopped speedily up the
staircase.
“What is it? What is it?” Nervousness.
“It is Feyi. He tried to lift a kettle of boiling water from the
cooker.” Shola responded briskly.
“Oh! My leg! My leg!” An excruciating moment of bare steps on
shards of broken glasses. Shola reeled around the dimly lit kitchen.
“Why didn’t you two put on the electrical source of light?”
Remi Davies groped for the light switch. The kitchen was abruptly
illuminated.
Feyi laid wailing on the floor. His mother reached across to him
hysterically and crouched. The walls have been splattered with smudges
of blood from Shola’s cuts.
“Shola, switched on the ceiling fan.” Mrs Davies was stern as
she doled out her instruction.
Shola limped towards the side of the kitchen to which she was
directed, bleeding profusely. She turned the knob of the control box
of the
fan.
Shola Davies had just completed her secondary school education and
was enthusiastically awaiting admission into the tertiary institution
of her choice. An exact replica of her mother, she is the sixteen year
old first child of the family.
Feyi Davies was the fourteen year old younger brother to Shola. He
is an introvert. Being an epileptic from birth, he had sauntered into
the kitchen to pour some hot water into his mash of milk, sugar and
chocolate beverage and then the accident.
He jerked occasionally as his mother administered ointment on his
blistered skin.
“Call Andrew to get the car ready and tell him to come over when
he is set,” Mrs Davies said in a low voice. Tears trickled down her
cheeks.
Shola was gone in a trice. “Mr Andrew! Mr Andrew!” She yelled
on.
Mrs Davies’ strands of hair were tousled masses of awry tangles as
she galloped into the hospital reception.
“Good evening nurse Tina,” Mrs Davies greeted, panting
restlessly.
“Welcome Mrs Davies.” Nurse Tina wore a welcoming smile. She
gestured Mrs Davies to a seat among other patients awaiting medical
attention.
“This is an emergency. Feyi is at it again. He’s just been
attacked.” She was succinct. Shola stood beside her.
Andrew came into the reception with Feyi lying helplessly in his
arms. He remained aghast, uncertain of the boy’s fate.
Nurse Tina vacillated in her corner before finally lifting the
hand piece of the intercom reluctantly.
“Hey! Look at that!” Mrs Davies diverted Tina’s attention.
She stomped into the hallway colliding with people as she sped towards
the paediatrics department of the hospital.
“Madam! Madam!” Tina’s call was futile.
“Doctor John! Doctor John!” Remi Davies barged into the
doctor’s office.
A short, bald headed, dark complexioned man looked astonishingly
at her. He had a stethoscope around his neck.
“My son is in a precarious situation!” She lamented. Her eyes
were soaked in tears.
“This is a travesty of cognate professional etiquette. I
mean…” The Doctor ranted.
“Please. Please.”
“It’s alright. Where is he?”
“At the reception.”
“Calm yourself down over there.” He beckoned her to a seat and
rose to use his intercom.
Later a nurse came around to inform him that Feyi was ready for
diagnosis. He marched towards the ward.
“Can I come with you?” Remi Davies requested.
“No. Just remain where you are. I will handle everything.” The
medical maven was stern.
He returned later to a restless Remi Davies: “I am recommending a
referral. If you don’t mind, I wish to forward an authorization to
the emergency patients arm.”
“Go ahead. I just want him back on his feet.” She bent her head
in a pensive mood and folded her arms. Maybe I shouldn’t have done
it. Maybe I shouldn’t have it. She soliloquized.
Feyi was on admission for a week. Diagnosis. Biopsy. Neurolysis.
Analysis.
………………………………………………………………………………………………
KANO-AUGUST.A stench of rotten egusi stew hung vehemently in the air.
Books were strewn higgledy-piggledy on the shelves. Shoes and clothes
were jumbled on the floor. Clara sniffed carefully as she tiptoed into
the room.
What’s wrong with this girl? What’s wrong with this girl? She
wallowed in disgust and smiles. My dear room-mate. My dear room-mate.
Clara was a third year Philosophy undergraduate of the Kano Higher
Institution. She was svelte and graceful. Her set of braids were bound
at the nape. She had felt a stirring of hunger during lectures and had
decided to retire for the day. She was dressed in a blue background
batik gown on a pair of black jeans.
Sliver of refracted rays of light penetrated the room through the
window louvers. A tableau of ancient African warriors designed with
oil
paint on canvass decorated the wall. It was a cosy little room with
electronics, foam, some pieces of furniture, cooking utensils…
Mariam came shambling through the hallway. Her shoe hills clacked on
the floor as she moved. She was a fat, fair complexioned, brilliant
budding Economist with drooping left eye-pupil. She teetered into the
room.
“Why didn’t you wait for the egusi stew to simmer properly this
morning?” Clara ranted.
“Is that the way to say welcome?” Mariam stood akimbo at the
door. “Food glutton.”
“I came in here and the whole…”Clara continued.
“Hey! Save me the stress!” Mariam cuts in. She stretched her
hands forward. “What’s your problem?”
Mariam pulled her shirt and tried to rumple it somewhere in the
room.
“Don’t muddle my clothes and don’t sling yours there!
Bitch!” Clara said furiously. The need to juggle domestic chores,
school
works, campus social occasions and so on had continued to generate
squabbles between the girls.
“You girls are always bickering over trivial issues. We have a
thicket of assignments
here that requires our attention,” said a voice from a neighbouring
room.
An abrupt silence followed immediately. Then a short period of
vicious stares into each other’s pair of eyes. Blinks. Remorse.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I just feel this shoddy attention to domestic
chores won’t help either of us.”
Another short period of silence and then Clara broke the silence
again.
“Do you know Mark?” Requested Clara. She was a mass of
excitement.
“Oh! The notorious Mark of the English department!” Mariam
exclaimed.
“Yeah! It seems he likes me,” Clara was expressive.
“Ah! Don’t mind him. So he had the temerity to walk up to
you…”Mariam was eloquent.
“What’s wrong in that,” asked Clara earnestly.
“I don’t like his face,” Mariam lied to allay suspicion. She
nurses an ulterior motive.
“Mark is okay. A total raver par excellence. I think I can tame
him to my biddings.” Clara rose with poise and began to look
admiringly into the ceiling. She imagined heaven.
“That one that is always kerb crawling around campus and is
always skiving lectures.” Mariam interrupted.
“I have a mind of my own. He likes me,” affirmed Clara.
Mariam brought out a novel and began to riffle through the pages.
“I’m through with this. Can I sway with you?” Asked Mariam. She
had a predilection for interesting stories.
“I don’t have a new novel but I wish to read this. Let me have
it,” answered Clara enthusiastically.
Mariam handed the novel over to Clara and rose towards the mirror to
commence her usual preening. She primped and primped endlessly.
A slight knock came at the door. “Yes who’s there?” Clara.
“Hello and good afternoon. I ask to see Miss Clara Michaels,”
responded the voice. A matured masculine blaring with purpose.
A short period of stillness. The girl’s looked into each
other’s pair of eyes before Mariam gestured at Clara, with the head,
to open
the door.
“Good afternoon young lady,” greeted the visitor.
“Good afternoon. I’m Clara. Any problem?” She was
inquisitive.
“I’m David of Bright Casting International. A corporate
organization that is involved in the casting of artistes for movies,
motion
pictures and general film agency services,” said the middle aged
man.
He was a neatly bearded connoisseur in casting.
“That’s interesting. I’ve been trying to parlay my modeling
success into film acting. This might just be the long awaited
opportunity.” Clara said rapturously. “Please do come in.”
Anxiousness.
She invited David in and ushered him to a seat. David nodded at
Mariam who responded with a right hand wave. Mariam later sashayed out of
the
room.
“We don’t intend a movie with a tacky ending hence the prudence
in selection criteria to avoid miscast. You know favouritism is rife
within the system. We are looking at an X-rated 35mm camera movie
entitled :The Woman in Purdah. This story is based on a novel by John
James.
“I’m here to seek your consent,”continued David.
“Let me mull it over. If it doesn’t friction with my academic
schedule, it will be okay by me. By the way, how did you get to know
about me?” Clara said further.
“You see, in our organization, we consult on modeling agents,
actors/actresses guilds and other related bodies, musicians,
organizers of
television reality shows, drama groups, other film agents and so on in
selecting artistes for our clients-movie producers. Your modeling
agency talked to us about you,” concluded David.
He handed out a document of acceptance to Clara for endorsement
and postage.
“We shall be glad to hear from you.” He stretched out his hand
and shook Clara.
Clara scuttled down the staircase in the hall of residence behind
David.
The hall of residence was a typical accommodation facility for
students. A set of two storey buildings sparsely distributed around
the
campus for boys and girls.
Later in the day, before going to bed, Mariam and Clara lit a joss
stick and prayed:
God that maketh to be; teach us the ways of
wisdom.
Protect us with your power.
We wish to operate within the allowables of
your justness.
We know you love us…
“We are gathered here today to respond to an issue that threatens
our future. Schools should learn to use scholarship programmes to
entice
promising and needing students for the purpose of building a vibrant
alumni network and for the aim of contributing positive developments
to
the global haven.” Tama Lesh was the students’ union president of
the Kano Higher Institution. A courageous, vigilant and erudite orator
in his second year at the department of Mechanical Engineering. His
person was hid behind a small frame.
Their had been this agitation for stability in the ever increasing
school fees. The exco members had deem it proper to organize a summon
of deliberations. The students clamour for suitable and affordable
education hence the peaceful aluta.
“Great Nigerian students!..” He vibrated over the tannoy.
“Great!”Responded the mass of students.
“We are going to forward a memorandum of disagreement to the
school authority. We want a rebate on the financial decision and those
of
you who have already paid the new school fees, you have recourse to
refund.
“This upheaval must be checked. But on our own part, we should
not give any avenue for excuses. No violence. No misbehaviour. The nub
of
the matter is we can’t afford exorbitant tuition tolls.”
Later in the day, Mariam tried to start a conversation with Clara.
“Don’t disturb me. It’s my siesta,” said Clara slowly.
Mariam crawled towards the radio set and twiddled with the knob. The
set crackled to life, blaring forcefully.
“You’ve started your usual arrant misbehaviours again,”
complained Clara.
“What a shitty way to talk to a friend,” replied Mariam.
“Please reduce the intensity of the sound a tad,” continued
Clara.
“A light measure of exercise should pep you up. Rise and let’s
muse over today’s demonstration,” added Mariam.
Clara rose reluctantly and with puffy pair of eyes discussed with
Mariam. They traversed a wide array of topical issues ranging from
academic quotidians to the mundanes of human dwell.
“Excuse me. I want to go to the ladies’,” said Mariam.
She ran into Mark in the hallway.
“Hey! Mariam, good day. What about your friend?” Greeted Mark. He
was clad in tartan multi-coloured shirt.A locket with J J Okocha’s
picture hung on a long gold chain around his neck.
“She hasn’t returned from lectures,” lied Mariam. She winked at
him as they talked. She later began to shake her body enticingly. “I
know you are totally besotted with her but unfortunately, she
doesn’t
have time for you.”
Mark turned to walk away. He paused occasionally to catch a glimpse
of Mariam as he moved on reluctantly.
Clara had already helped herself to a generous serving of kedgeree.
She munched happily as Mariam came in.
“I saw Mark now,” started Mariam.
“Is he coming here?” Clara asked anxiously.
“He’s out on the razzle. He tried to talk to me but I rebuffed
him. Not even a scintilla of truth in all he was saying,” lamented
Mariam seriously.
“This is sheer display of irresponsibility. What’s wrong with
Mark.?” Clara complained.
Outside the hostel, Mark in his astuteness, began to make sharp
toots on his car horn to draw Clara’s attention.
Clara peeped through the window and saw Mark. She flashed a quick
suspicious glare at Mariam before rushing out of the room. Her mind was
beginning to work rapidly.
Mariam, in a bid to conceal her despicable act, followed immediately.
“You two should not talk about me.” Mariiam was unusually hostile.
“Did I ask you to follow me?” Clara was inquisitive.
“I didn’t envisage an affray here and I believe you girls
should just play maturity,” interrupted Mark.
“Mark, what happened?” Asked Clara furiously.
“She would be in a better position to apprise you as to dealings.
Please, if you don’t mind, let’s move away from here,” affirmed
Mark airily.
Clara got on the car and they rode off.
“How do you intend to spend your holidays?” Started Mark.
“I don’t want to go for a tedium holiday. I will be going to
contest for a role in a movie that would be shot in Port-Harcourt,”
replied Clara.
“That’s interesting. There is a recital session at the main
auditorium over the weekend. Do I have a company?” Mark requested,
enjoying the romantic escapade.
“I’m sorry; my weekends are usually sacrosanct on so many
activities: assignments, domestic chores, church and Mariam is usually in the mosque…” Clara went on
endlessly.
“In that case, let’s go on a ride outside town.”
“Alright, but we have to make it snappy.”
“Sure. I’m a master in the game.”
Mark drove on happily into town. They exchanged gazes.
“Hey! You’re moving at breakneck speed. You didn’t tell me we
were going for a grand prix,” complained an uncomfortable Clara.
“I’m not comfortable with your driving. Road hog.”
Mark’s adventurous game overwhelmed him as he teetered at the
brink of road accident. He swerved left and right to entertain
himself. He
flashes occasional stares at Clara, with the side of his right eye,
probably to observe her reactions. Clara became increasingly restless.
Suddenly, a lorry swished past them and Mark was caught unawares.
He fumbled with the steering before finally bringing the car back into
control. It squealed to a halt.
“If you will excuse me, I beg to take my leave.” Clara jerked
the door open and alighted the car. “One more thing; I don’t ever.
I
repeat; I don’t ever want to see you again.”
“Clara! Clara! It was a mistake! I swear to God…” The tone of
his voice began to fluctuate “…Who made me; it won’t repeat
itself!” Mark yelled on pleadingly. “I’m promising you! Believe
in
me!”
“I’m sorry but my life is not an apparatus for your mechanical
experiment.” Clara disappeared into thin air. Out of personal
experiences and basic instincts, she could decipher imminent trouble
and
discern relevant evasive reaction. This seems like a toxic precipitate
in a
frail container. The content-the circumstance, the package-death on a
platter of gold. The gate of heaven is wider than life.
Some days after the examinations, after giving Mark the best of love
making, Clara crammed her belongings into a bag and was off to
Port-Harcourt. En route for her destination, she shot a text message
at her
parents.
………………………………………………………………………………………………
IBADAN-AUGUST. Their was so much hullabaloo in the atmosphere.
“I can’t stand this boy insulting me,” Joy exclaimed.
“Sister, I wasn’t referring to you. It was just coincidental
that it happened at about the time you were passing by,” lamented
Tom-an helpless teenager.
A green four-flat apartments storey building, situated in Ibadan
downtown, out looked a major express road.
Joy was an ample of chic but volatile in nature. She was the
fiancée to Felix- a paragon of creativity who works with an
advertising
agency in town.
Felix would pass for an Adonis. He was handsome, dark in
complexion with glowing red lips, stout and elegant.
Joy fidgeted as the ruckus amassed crowd. Tom’s siblings, Felix
and a group of other neighbours had gathered at the spot to interfere.
“Joy, you heard the young boy quite alright. He wasn’t referring
to you,” Felix explained.
“It’s not true. He looked straight into my eyes and talked.”
An enraged Joy complained.
“Okay, let’s go inside.” Felix drew Joy by the left wrist and
dragged her into their apartment.
“I can no longer condone your unruly behaviours. It’s quite
unbecoming…”
“Hey! What’s your stress?” Joy cuts in. “Advocate of
peace. I have been augmenting your meagre income with my hard earned
money.
So, it’s high time you joined forces with my enemies to assail
me,”
continued Joy.
“No, don’t get me wrong. I just feel we have to live in peace
and harmony with our neighbours,” urged Felix.
“That does not mean I should compromise my standards. No small
boy will insult me, period!” She was stern. She mooched around the
sitting- room disdainfully.
“Please get into the kitchen and prepare something. You know I
will be attending an occasion later in the day,” said Felix. He had
an
appealing smile on his face.
“We’ve not in any way changed the direction to the kitchen and
I know you are very mobile,” replied Joy.
“Come on, we’ve talked this over. We can’t go on all day
ranting over a trivial issue,” responded Felix. He rose towards Joy.
“Don’t come near me,” Joy snapped.
The main bowl of the Heritage Funfair Centre was filled with
celebrants and guests when Felix arrived at the occasion. It was the
launch of
a foundation for the emancipation of women.
Positive Movement International was an organization that was
initiated by Mrs Coker-Felix’ boss. The occasion was attended by
movers
and shakers of the economy,
corporate moguls, members of the diplomatic core…
“Good evening ladies and gentlemen. You are all mostly welcome to
the celebration of the birth of a new dimension in womanhood. We are
gathered here today to witness and co-celebrate a laudable project.
Sometimes I ask myself: What is the purpose of life? It cuts across
lucid
issues of daily dwell and the pungent demands of human existence. My
name
is Emmanuel Clarke and I will be anchoring today’s occasion.” The
compere was admiringly eloquent. He attracted the attention and favour
of his audience. He wore a blue flannel suit on a black pair of glossy
shoes. He paced to and fro on the platform on which the special guests
of honour were seated. The wireless microphone was a good vocal
equipment delight. A piece by Lucky Dube soared into the air.
The hall of fame was treated to decorations with lighting effects,
flowers, balloons…The building was surrounded by sleek cars,
jeeps…
“You must be Felix, if my guess is right,” A beautiful young
lady approached Felix. Her eyeballs were unusually red.
“Yes. Yes. If you don’t mind, I wish to know whom I’m
speaking with,” replied Felix.
He was enthusiastic.
“I’m Janet Coker.”
“Oh! My boss’ daughter.”
“Yeap! I flew in from the States to grace the day. I will be
around for a couple of days to execute some personal projects. I’ve
heard so much about you.”
“Really.”
“Of course. My mum often talks to me about you.”
“So how was your flight down here?”
“Splendid!” Giggles. Suddenly, a small transparent polythene
material fell off her bag. It contained a whitish powder.
“What’s that?” Asked Felix. He bent to look closer.
“Never mind.” She picked it up and melted into the crowd.
The launch was an all activities studded night: donations
,speeches, entertainments refreshments, merriments…
Two Days Later. In the office-a Monday.
Mrs Coker invited Felix over to her office.
“Felix, when did you get home on Saturday?” She started.
“Em. Em. Some minutes past eleven, ma,” he replied.
“I quite appreciate your presence at the occasion and then of
course your contributions to the growth of this organization. Your
strives,
endeavours, and so on,” she went on.
“Thanks a lot. I accept your gratitude,” Felix responded
happily, wondering about the cause of the unexpected appraisal.
“You see, my boy. There is a surprise package for you,” she
added, heaving herself on a chaise longue.
“What is the package, ma?” Felix was inquisitive.
“My daughter seems to like you and she would like to be married
very soon.” She was straight.
“Ah! Not even boy friend and girlfriend relationship. Isn’t it
wise we observe each other for some time ?You know I have a fiancée
and the reason for the delay in marriage is my part-time programme at
the higher institution. As soon as I’m through, we are set,” Felix
was remorse.
“And you think she’s the best thing life can offer you,” she
said further.
“Although Joy has her problems, she’s really being supportive.
I’ve devised a method to contend with her flaws and having gone this
far I do not wish to hurt her,” Felix expressed.
“Okay. Okay. If you insist, you can get back to work,” she
concluded.
The following day, a letter was handed over to Felix by the secretary
to the Admin. Manager.
“This letter is for you Mr Felix,” she said, “What happened
Mr Felix? This is a sack letter.”
“The managing director said her daughter likes me and so…”
replied Felix.
“And what followed?” The secretary was attentive.
“One thing led to the other and here we are. Relationships
should be based on mutual agreements. I respect Janet’s profile but
it’s
a difficult situation here,” concluded Felix.
“But. But. I’m confused. Madam is vying for a political post
and with the responsibilities of her newly formed organization, she
should be upgrading her credentials, now,” contributed the
secretary.
“I’m not surprised. This is a country where everything goes.
Hypocrisy in governance and every other facet of sensitive decisions
despite the fact that charity may begin at home,” Felix was
courageous
as he bore out his mind.
“What do you intend to do now?”
“Register with the actors’ guild. You know I have the talent.
I do not wish to work in any office again,” he concluded airily.
“Alright. I wish you the best of luck and let’s meet at the
usual place. It has nothing to do with us. Does it? ,” consoled the
secretary.
“It has nothing to do with us,” Felix replied happily as he
scuttled down the staircase, bade the security guards good-bye and
moseyed
on down roads.
He called on one of his friends in another office to share his
grief.
“Hello John,” Felix greeted.
“Hello Felix. It’s good to see you.” John replied.
Felix narrated his ordeals explicitly to John.
“Look for another job.” John was swift.
“Ah! Not even a gesture of sympathy.” Felix was surprised.
“Do you want me to break down crying? If I were you, I will
agree tentatively on a strict condition that she nakeds herself and
just
hops onto the bed. No hassles. No troubles. No rape charge because it
may
be a trap.” John went on endlessly. “You see…” He began to
reduce the volume of his voice“… I’ve been sleeping with
everybody
that bothers to call for it in this office,” he concluded.
“What’s your view about HIV/AIDS,” asked Felix.
“Foundations and Non Governmental Institutions should channel
their funds and resources towards the training of pharmacists, the
support of research and development projects on relevant drugs, the
encouragement of pertinent alternative therapies, creation of
programmes to
adequately cater for and heal the victims at affordable rates.”
John was
eloquent.
Felix hasted out of the office.
………………………………………………………………………………………………
PORT-HARCOURT-SEPTEMBER. The location was filled with artistes,
production crew, technical crew, management crew…
A seminal lecture was a sine qua non to the main events. The
participants thronged into a large room at the location. The
atmosphere
which was initially akin to the hustles and bustles of traffic
gradually
began to transform into veritable calmness. Their was a light drizzle
outside. A photographic montage of past events was displayed on a side
of
the walls.
“Under the auspices of Global Solutions International, Term
Ventures is trying to foray into full-time film productions. The
financiers
are sponsoring the projects to the hilt. The pays attached to these
roles are tempting. You also stand a chance of featuring in the
Hollywood
edition of the film.
“To some of you, this is a raison d’etre. To some it’s just
fun.
“The film is based on the novel-The Woman in Purdah-by John
James.” Ferdinand Peters was a movie polymath. His profile: a not
too
rosy childhood, mixed parentage, some years of public and private
academic
education, internship at the Oxford Arts School, a ten year career in
journalism with an in and out of prison resultant shuttle, an Academy
Award, an aging face that reflects a displacement tussle between age
and
beauty(he had been handsome) a receding hair scalp, a well traveled
leisure life, pot belly… His duty was to acquaint the artistes with
the
cinematic techniques that are required. He attracted the attention of
his audience with his witty expressions.
“The story has been abridged into manuscripts that would be
handed out to you all for familiarity perusal. It’s a rattling good
read
and should serve as an impetus to whet your preparedness for action.
“You must all qualify to play your intended roles because this is
a meritocratic arrangement and we are tired of the usual hum-drum
industry. If you run your business wisely, there’ll be enough money
in
your pocket. You can visit the club later in the day to do whatever
you
like.” He shared his own opinion.
Clara caught every nuance of his expressions as he talked .She was
sat beside Remi Davies-the veteran.
“Are you a deb in the industry?” Asked a curious Remi Davies,
turning her face to Clara.
“Yes. How did you get to know?” Replied Clara astonishingly.
“Your face doesn’t click into my personal list of
registers,” whispered Remi Davies.
“I’m a model and just trying to fix some other things,”
Clara whispered in return.
“You’ll soon find your footings. Sometimes we confine
ourselves to ascetic restrictions to keep at par with the requirements
of an
intended role.” Confirmed Remi Davies.
“Please give me your audience,” complained the movie maestro.
“The theme of the story line is the misuse of youths for all forms
of
civil unrests.
“A certain political decision had led to an overt revolt and a
female detective was dressed in purdah to investigate the atrocity.
This
was specifically intent at allaying suspicions from the perpetrators
of the despicable act. Although the ruling was fair.” The polydrama
linkman went on.
“When you get the manuscripts, you will see the vignette of the
author on the front page.
“This chronicles of a raconteur is a work of fiction and not a
biography.” Ferdinand Peters reveled in his artistic erudity.
Clara Michaels, “please, juxtapose fictions and phantasms, then
memoirs and biographies.”
Ferdinand Peters, “both fictions and phantasms are figments of
imaginations but fictions are things that seem possible while
phantasms
are the pipedream extremes of fictions. Both memoirs and biographies
are accounts of events through time but while the former are accounts
of
particular periods during peoples’ lifetimes, the latter are the
entire life histories of people.”
“Please allow us a breather. We are tired and why so much ado
about acclimatization?” A complaint from an artiste.
A slight onrush ensued as they trooped out of the lecture room en
masse.
“Can’t you see, you’re stepping on somebody?” Felix
exclaimed.
“You should have been here in a chopper to avoid contacts with
people,” replied Remi Davies.
“Why not respect yourself and just say sorry.” Felix.
“Com’on get away.” Remi Davies replied in a state of ruckus
with Felix. The rumble was interrupted by concerned participants.
“You must be Miss Clara Michaels.” Clara was discussing with a
newly found friend on location when a group of men came to meet her.
The
group was comprised of a policeman and three young men.
“We got a report from an anonymous source around here that you
are mentally disordered and you being allowed to move around is like
unleashing hell on the society,” they continued.
Clara remained in a state of stillness as the development caught her
unawares. She stood dumbfounded with her mouth opened wide agape.
“My God! My God!” Clara couldn’t control her emotions. She
stood rapt in surprise.
“Since the history of my family, their hasn’t been any report
of such case. Who could be trying to defame my person? I, psycho…”
She lamented on.
“Please we’d like to invite you over for a light medical
test,” they added.
“I wish to speak with the production manager before deciding on
what to do,” Clara said.
They followed her to the production manager.
“Madam, I want my balance. The agreement was as soon as the job is
completed, I get my remaining pay,” said Felix to Remi Davies.
“Don’t worry. I will give it to you in due course,” replied
Remi Davies deceitfully.
“I want it now. You’ve made me to take a decision I would
never have taken under normal circumstances,” continued Felix
worriedly.
“Young man, there are some questions you should have asked
yourself right from onset: First: why didn’t I do it myself? Second:
why
did I ask you to pick quarrels with me each time we meet on location?
“Right from the beginning, I plotted my scheme with alibis to
exempt myself from likely work hazards. We’ve never been friends so
how
do you expect people to believe your story,” she went on.
“Hmm, so it had been a joker of the master planner right from
the beginning,” affirmed Felix.
“You have a right to your opinion,” she concluded.
They parted.
Some days later their was widespread news that Felix had committed
suicide.
“Oh my God!” Remi Davies shouted.
The dismay on location led to an abrupt stop of proceedings.
Nobody knew what to do.
Chaos, pangs of despair, perceptible measure of sympathy filled
the atmosphere.
“You and Felix were never friends, why are you so upset?”
Somebody asked.
“No matter how far someone is, from you, death is death,”
replied Remi Davies. She waddled towards the mourning crowd.
It was about 3 a.m. in the night when Remi Davies heard a slight
scary tap at the door.
“Who’s there?” She asked in a state of fear and slumber.
The verbal exchange went on for a short time then silence was
gradually restored. Remi Davies remained vividly awake till dawn.
The following morning,a meeting of all the participants was summoned.
The meet gathered all and sundry except the alleged deceased.
Suddenly, their was an abrupt silence and all eyes were directed
at Remi Davies. She was transfixed in a shock.
Felix appeared from nowhere and walked towards her. A tingle of
smiles and excitement was on the faces of everyone. Remi Davies knew
she
had been fooled.
“You weren’t expecting to see me alive. Were you?” He drew a
long pause to allow for a response as he ambled through the aisles.
“Excuse my intrusion. Can I be sat beside you?”
He chomped away on some slices of plantain chips: “A recording
of our nightmare is with the necessary authorities.”
Remi Davies tried to feign a perfunctory smile but it was futile.
She rose, puckered her lips in disgust and scooted off in a state of
absolute penitence.
“Hi five! Hi five! Thumbs up! Thumbs up!” Shouted Clara
Michaels. “It’s time to do some recordings!”
Remi Davies was sat on the deck at the back of her water front
castle, oblivious of what lay in wait for her.
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