This Side Jordan

  Aya said she did not know. Her voice faltered and she began to cry, softly, in jerky little breaths.

  Akosua glared at Nathaniel.

  ‘Have you turned to stone?’ she demanded crossly. ‘You’d better hurry if you want to take her to that – that place –’

  She said it as though the hospital were the Pit of Hell. Aya sobbed.

  Nathaniel, angry and terrified, stumbled out to the street. He felt certain he would be unable to find a taxi. But of course he did find one. There were always dozens of taxis in Accra, day and night.

  Akosua said goodbye to Aya as though she never expected to see her again. The hospital seemed quiet as death. At first they went in the wrong door, and finally the watch-night, an old man in a Muslim robe and dishevelled turban, showed them the way.

  They walked across the verandah, their footsteps loud in the dark silence. In the reception room a single bulb burned, and a sleepy clerk sat at the desk with his head propped on his hands. He looked up blankly.

  ‘Amegbe?’ he repeated doubtfully after Nathaniel.

  Nathaniel felt his last drops of confidence ebbing away. What would he do if the clerk said he couldn’t find any record of anyone of that name? Would it work if he dashed him? And how much money would it take for the dash to be effective? Nathaniel realized he had only eight shillings and a few pennies left in his pocket after he had paid the taxi.

  Aya gripped his arm, and looking at her, he saw her face was drawn with pain, but she would not cry out in front of the clerk.

  The clerk saw it, too. Surprisingly, he brought a chair for her. And when he looked in the book, he found the name with no difficulty.

  ‘Wait,’ he said, ‘only a minute. She is coming – the sister in charge of the ward.’

  Nathaniel wondered why he had doubted the clerk. Why, he was a fine man, very polite and thoughtful. Look at the way he had brought a chair for Aya. Why didn’t Africans trust each other more? His relief made Nathaniel feel weak.

  The click-clack-click-clack of heels made him look up. The sister. She was an African. How incredibly white her uniform looked, how stiff and white and efficient. She was a slim, pretty girl, and for a moment Nathaniel felt hesitant about speaking to her. She was obviously a ‘been-to’, probably trained in England. Even her walk showed it – such rapid steps, so much hurry. No African-educated person ever walked like that. Nathaniel wondered if everything Victor said was true.

  Peering for a moment out of his misery, Nathaniel discovered that she was smiling at him.

  ‘Don’t worry about your wife, Mr. Amegbe,’ she was saying. ‘She will be perfectly all right.’

  She was bending over Aya, talking to her in a low voice.

  ‘Please – ’ he burst out, ‘please – be patient with her. She does not speak much English, you see, and she is rather frightened. She has never been in a hospital before –’

  ‘It will be all right,’ the sister said soothingly. ‘She is among her own people here, really, you know.’

  ‘No – ’ Nathaniel stammered, ‘to her, her own people are her family.’

  ‘I know,’ the sister said. ‘But you are not to worry. It will be all right.’

  She spoke to Aya again, this time in Twi. Aya looked up and the fear in her eyes began to recede. She answered the question in a whisper, and then, as another pain came, she reached out for the sister’s arm and held onto it. She reached out to this woman, Nathaniel realized, rather than to him.

  Confidence returned. The sister did know. And it would be all right.

  ‘Thank you!’ he cried fervently.

  The sister looked at him shrewdly, sympathetically.

  ‘You did right,’ she said, ‘to bring her here to have the baby.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ His eyes searched her face. ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said firmly. ‘Yes. Don’t let anyone tell you differently. I know what it is like.’

  A look of comprehension passed between them. Was it possible that this girl really did understand? Yes, yes she did. Victor had been wrong. Nathaniel felt a strange hunger to talk to her, to pour out all his indecision.

  There was no time. But he had to say something.

  ‘Our country needs people like you!’ he cried impulsively.

  That would sound foolish to her. How could he have let himself say it?

  But the sister’s smile had no mockery in it.

  Nathaniel turned to Aya and said goodbye, but she had already turned to the world that was within her. Her eyes were vague, and she said goodbye absentmindedly. Then she followed the sister down the corridor, towards the ward.

  Nathaniel phoned the hospital three times the next morning. Each time it was the same.

  ‘Has Mrs. Amegbe had her baby yet?’

  ‘Who?’ a girl’s voice drawled.

  ‘Mrs. Amegbe,’ Nathaniel said clearly.

  There was a short pause.

  ‘She is not here,’ the voice said finally, in a bored tone.

  ‘She is there,’ Nathaniel resisted the impulse to shout. ‘She went in last night.’

  Another pause.

  ‘I cannot find her card. She is not here.’

  ‘She is there,’ Nathaniel said. ‘I beg you – go and ask if the baby is born.’

  Another pause, very short this time.

  ‘She has not given birth,’ the voice said distinctly.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘She has not given birth,’ the voice repeated angrily.

  ‘But –’ Nathaniel began.

  ‘Visiting hours from four to six,’ the voice concluded.

  There was a click.

  Nathaniel did not believe for an instant that the voice knew one way or another, or that anything could have persuaded her to go and find out.

  He could not tell Akosua.

  ‘Well,’ she snapped, ‘what is happening?’

  ‘It is not born yet.’

  ‘What did I say?’ Akosua demanded. ‘She did not want to go there. And now – look! A difficult birth – a difficult birth. How many hours? So many I dare not count –’

  ‘It is just twelve o’clock,’ Nathaniel said testily. ‘It is less than twenty-four hours.’

  ‘Oh, less than twenty-four? Fine, fine. Very easy. What do you know about it? When I had Abenaa, I was in labour only – what? – five hours. Twenty-four – don’t talk to me about your twenty-four. What are they doing to her there?’

  ‘Abenaa was your second child,’ Nathaniel said, certain she was lying anyway.

  ‘If she dies,’ Akosua said hysterically, ‘may her ghost never give you rest!’

  ‘Akosua! Can’t you stop it? Don’t you think I’m worried, too?’

  ‘You!’ Akosua yelped. ‘You! What do you know? If men had to bear the children, the world would die of your fear!’

  Nathaniel walked out and slammed the door.

  He had to come back, though, to eat his lunch. He was almost sorry the school was not in session, so he would have somewhere to go. Then he remembered he was not going back to the school next term anyway.

  At two o’clock Aya’s mother arrived, vast and tent-like in a new dark purple cloth.

  Adua was overwrought. Not trusting Nathaniel, she had gone to the hospital herself, demanding to see her daughter. She had not been allowed in, and they would not even tell her if the child had been born or not.

  Akosua was in command of herself by this time.

  ‘Of course,’ she said scornfully. ‘They would not tell Nathaniel anything, either. What a fine place, where their doings are so shameful they must keep them secret –’

  ‘They’re not keeping them secret!’ Nathaniel cried. ‘In two hours I can go and see her.’

  His head pounded and he wondered how much longer he could stand these two women.

  ‘By that time,’ Akosua said, ‘who knows – it may be too late.’

  Adua rose ponderously, like a cow-elephant shifting up from its knees. Her small ey
es glinted cruelly in the sweat-glistening moon of flesh that was her face.

  ‘How many times did I tell you?’ she cried. ‘Answer me only that one thing – how many times did I tell you not to take her there? She didn’t want to go. But oh yes, oh yes, you knew –’

  Soon it would be over, Nathaniel thought. Soon they would know that the child was born, and they would forget all this. But now, now –

  ‘Wait,’ he said stubbornly. ‘Wait and see. It will be all right.’

  The old woman waved her fat hands feebly.

  ‘She is my only daughter,’ she groaned. ‘Aya! Aya! Who is it that has killed you?’

  ‘She is not dead!’ Nathaniel shouted. ‘Who says she is dead? Can’t you stop it, both of you! You and Akosua! All day long – I’ve had enough. Can’t you stop acting like a pair of parrots cackling from the treetops?’

  Adua’s bulk rose up in front of him and she thrust her face close to his. She was waving her arms frantically now, and her heavy face was distorted with rage and anguish.

  ‘Better that my daughter had never married at all, if she had to marry you!’

  She slumped down on the floor and began sobbing.

  ‘I am an old woman – I am an old woman – what is left to me – what is left?’

  She called on her gods, loudly, hoarsely, without restraint, her huge body quivering on the floor.

  Nathaniel thought he was going to be sick. Either that or pass out. Unless his body made him collapse, he would kick her, lying there on the floor like some great animal in its death throes.

  He slammed his hand down hard on the table, his invariable gesture, the assertion that came with desperation.

  ‘Enough!’ he bellowed. ‘Enough! Stop it! I am going now. I will wait outside the hospital until it is time.’

  The mound of flesh trembled on the floor, and then, surprisingly, Adua arose.

  ‘Nathaniel,’ she whispered, ‘I beg you –’

  She was frightened. She was only frightened. It had not been malice against him. Just fear. Only that. And he had given her, for her consoling, the harshest words he dared.

  ‘It will be all right,’ he said. ‘You will see.’

  But by this time their fear had filled him, too, and when he reached the hospital he almost expected to be told that Aya was dead.

  As he had anticipated, the girl at the reception desk told him visiting hours did not begin until four.

  A blue-uniformed African nurse was in the room, consulting a large book with names written in it. She glanced at Nathaniel. Then she asked him his name.

  ‘Amegbe –’ she said finally, as though her mind were on something else. ‘Yes. Let him go in now.’

  Surprised, Nathaniel followed the receptionist.

  ‘Room four,’ she said, pointing down the corridor.

  He did not know what to think. He paused at the door of room four and peered in apprehensively. It was a big room. There were four empty beds in it. The others were screened off with blue plastic screens.

  Aya was there. She was there. Nathaniel gasped. She was lying there neat and beautiful. She could not read, but she was looking at a magazine as though she had been used all her life to such things. She was wearing her new nightdress. It was white cotton with a blue ribbon through the lace around the neck. Her face was calm and she was smiling at him.

  ‘Aya –’ he stammered, ‘what –? Are you all right?’

  She laughed at his startled look.

  ‘Don’t you know?’ she said. ‘You told me you would find out.’

  ‘They would not tell me,’ he said. ‘I tried, many times. Is it born?’

  ‘Of course,’ Aya said complacently. ‘At eleven o’clock this morning. A boy, Nathaniel. Just like you said. A fine one. Seven and a half pounds.’

  ‘Is that big?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said professionally. ‘It is quite big.’

  She laughed.

  ‘He was big enough for me.’

  Nathaniel remembered her.

  ‘Are you all right? Was it all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It was bad, but it was all right, too. It’s over. I didn’t know what it would be like. I didn’t know it would be like that. But it’s over. My mother said a woman forgets as soon as she hears him cry. It’s true.’

  ‘A son –’ Nathaniel said. ‘A man –’

  He kissed her.

  ‘You did well,’ he said.

  He felt he should say something solemn. But he could not think of anything.

  ‘You will be pleased with him,’ Aya said. ‘I knew he was mine as soon as I saw him. You could not mistake him, Nathaniel. Go and see him. They will let you.’

  So he went. The nurse showed him the cot. Nathaniel could not see anything about this baby to connect it with him self. It was a brownish-pink fragment, wrapped around in a shawl, so that only its head showed. Its eyes were tightly closed.

  Nathaniel was pleased and yet disappointed. He had expected to feel something great.

  He took a quick glance at the next cot. It was a European baby and it had no hair. At least his son had hair, a tight black thatch of it, as a child should. Were all white babies born without hair? This baby looked very red and very bald. Nathaniel looked at his son again, this time with satisfaction. He was beginning to feel proud. That was right.

  But something bothered him. He soon became aware of what it was. Once he had told himself that this child might grow up to be anything, to be Someone. A doctor, a barrister, an official of Ghana. But not now.

  Now he knew what his son would be. He would be reared in the bush and he would grow up to be a planter of yams, a teller of old tales, a drinker of palm-wine.

  – Because of your father, my son. Because I did not know what to do.

  – Kyerema, here is your grandson. Take him. Is it not enough?

  The family would be satisfied but the bitterness of it would never leave Nathaniel. He could not look at the child any longer. He went back to Aya.

  ‘Isn’t he fine?’ she asked eagerly.

  ‘Fine,’ he agreed, exaggerating a little for her sake. ‘A fine boy. Wonderful.’

  He searched for something to say.

  ‘He looks like you,’ he added. ‘I think he will be good-looking like you.’

  She knew he was saying it only to please her, but she was pleased all the same. She reached out and held his hand.

  ‘The nurses –’ Nathaniel said, ‘the hospital – what do you think now?’

  ‘The woman who delivered him,’ Aya said, ‘she was an old woman – not really old, you know, but not young. A big woman, big, like my mother. She was kind, Nathaniel. She was – oh, she was like my mother to me –’

  Nathaniel looked at her, hardly able to believe it.

  ‘Then – everything has been fine?’ he asked. ‘You are not sorry now?’

  Aya’s expression changed. The warmth faded and the beauty of her face turned to petulance.

  ‘I do not like the food,’ she said in a whisper. ‘And the doctor – he came around afterwards, Nathaniel, and I was ashamed –’

  ‘It is always done, for the doctor to examine –’ Nathaniel explained. ‘A doctor is not like an ordinary man, not then. I have told you –’

  He saw with surprise that she was close to tears, and he could not understand the sharp change, in a matter of seconds.

  ‘I know,’ she said, ‘but I cannot help it. Oh – the nurses are kind, Nathaniel. But then there is the food – everything is cooked separately and they give it in little dry heaps on your plate. And most I don’t know – how can I eat it if I don’t know what it is? And it has no taste.’

  ‘It won’t be for many days,’ he said soothingly.

  ‘There is something else.’

  ‘What?’

  Aya looked doubtfully at the blue plastic screen around the bed on the other side of the room.

  ‘Do you know who is lying there?’ she hissed.

  ‘Of course I don’t
know.’

  ‘Mrs. Kestoe.’

  ‘Her?’

  ‘Yes,’ Aya went on in a low voice. ‘She has not had her baby yet.’

  ‘Then what is she doing here? Something wrong?’

  ‘Oh – no. Yes. Maybe. She came in yesterday afternoon. The pains had started, and then, last night, just before I came in, the pains stopped.’

  ‘How can it be?’

  ‘It happens so, sometimes,’ Aya said wisely. ‘Since then, nothing. It is too bad for her.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said insincerely. ‘Too bad.’

  ‘I am sorry for her,’ Aya said guiltily, ‘but I wish –’

  He looked at her suspiciously.

  ‘What is the matter?’

  ‘Oh, Nathaniel,’ she burst out, still speaking in a whisper, as though Miranda could understand Twi, ‘she troubled me all the time. Last night, when the pains were bad, all through the night, she got up and came over here. The nurse was not with me for a long time. I was alone. I was afraid, yes, but I wanted to be left alone. She kept talking and talking, and asking if she could help me –’

  Aya began to cry, silently.

  ‘I did not want her to see me like that,’ she went on, finally. ‘I did not want to talk. I could not remember any English. Oh, Nathaniel! What does she want from me?’

  As Nathaniel listened, he remembered. Everything. Were they meant to be grateful, he and Aya?

  He rose.

  ‘She won’t trouble you again. She won’t trouble either of us again. I am going to tell her –’

  Aya held him.

  ‘No –’ she said. ‘You don’t understand. I – I told her to go away.’

  He looked at her.

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Yes. I had to, Nathaniel! Did I do right?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said fiercely, ‘you did right.’

  Aya’s face grew thoughtful.

  ‘I heard her crying,’ she said, ‘afterwards. I did not think anything of it at the time – I was in pain, then. But later, when the baby was born, I wondered –’

  ‘Never mind,’ Nathaniel said coldly. ‘We’ve had to take enough from them. Let it be the other way for a change.’