Kinsman
It has to be the smell. I noticed it when I entered the room. At first, I couldn’t put my finger on what exactly was…
Author: Mohammed Yahayah
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It has to be the smell. I noticed it when I entered the room. At first, I couldn’t put my finger on what exactly was…
It has to be the smell.
I noticed it when I entered the room. At first, I couldn’t put my finger on what exactly was off and so I sat down and tried to figure it out. Its elusion gnawing at me like scratches.
The scratches.
For so many nights, I’ve heard claws dragging the boards in the roof of the guest bedroom. I don’t remember when it started. Probably last week or last year. I tried to ignore it but can you ignore something that has always been with you?
Julius didn’t notice at first too. He rarely notices anything.
“It must be bats or a cat." He proclaimed when I drew his attention to the sounds.
I didn’t agree with him. Bats were nocturnal. Would they abandon their nature just to torment me? It has to be something else. A single thing.
The scratches make it harder for me to sleep at night. Although, I can always make up for the lost time during the day. Schedules are useless to me. Now that I think of it, I never hear the scratches during the day. Does it sleep during the day just like I do? Does it lack a schedule too? Is it mimicking my sleep cycle? Am I the one making those sounds at night?
It has to be the smell. His smell.
His shirt looks like it was meant for special occasions but there have been too many special occasions. His brown khaki trousers have also been ironed too much. He looks sharp but the sharpness seems tired.
It’s his smell.
He smells of hard work. Like a tire that has been left in the sun for too long at a mechanic’s workshop. It is not a bad smell neither is it a good one. Julius always complains about how they smell. He also wants me to stop treating with these people.
“These people?" I ask.
“All of them. Stop treating with them."
Maybe he is right. Maybe.
The smell has engulfed the room. I wonder if it will remain when he's gone.
He has not touched the chin-chin Julius set on the table. If it was up to me, these guests would not be served anything.
"Good afternoon, sir." He greets me expressionless.
"How are you?"
"Fine, sir."
His face confuses me. It seems familiar and alien at the same time. Am I sure I have ever seen him in my life? The face keeps slipping from the front of my mind and I try to catch it and hold on to it but I can't. Like a chicken that's infinitely two steps ahead of you.
"I.... I repaired your car once." He states, partly putting me out of my misery.
I nod acknowledging that indeed I repaired one of my cars.
"The Landrover. The blue one."
"Oh."
Was that the one I gave Chief Olalekan? I look out of the window to the space that houses my fleet. I don’t find any Landrovers.
“Last month.”
He seems to have sensed my forgetfulness.
“I remember.”
I really do.
“You have the shop on Malcolm Street?”
“Yes sir. Small mechanic shop.”
He knows I’m just guessing. There are so many mechanic shops on that street for his not to be one of them.
“How’s the business?”
“We are managing, sir. We thank God.”
This one is blunt but he requires something. They all do and it is always the same thing; a shop in market, a car, advice, guarantees, an invitation to their child’s naming ceremony, my daughter’s hand.
“Though it has not been easy.” He continues.
Really blunt.
“It has not been easy for many us, this government.” I add to his voice.
“It’s true.”
My guest keeps quiet. I realize this is a game. Speak only when spoken to.
“How can I help you?”
“I need financial assistance, sir.”
Blunt and truthful.
“Go on.”
He shifts his position on the chair as if that will make it easier.
“Sir, you know Malcolm Street is filled with mechanics?”
“I heard the name was Mechanic Street before they renamed it.”
His face is a blank page. That was a joke.
“Yes, sir. A lot of us, if not all of us are mechanics on that street. Still, I know where I stand.”
“I am listening.”
He takes a deep sigh.
“I am not saying I am the best even though some people have told me that before.”
He stops speaking. It seems he is thinking of what to say.
“But I know what I know and what I don’t and I think that makes me smart enough. Recently my shop has been seeing fewer customers.”
His face is now solemn. More solemn than it has been all day.
“People are no longer repairing their cars?” I ask him.
He laughs.
“No sir. Chidi has been…speaking badly about me.”
Chidi, I have heard that name before.
“I don’t know who Chi….
“He is the owner of the Body Shop.”
Whereas the other mechanics ply their trade under sheds built with left-over logs and rusted zinc sheets, Chidi has built his shop, really built it, setting an unbeatable standard. Although some people said his hands are not…
“Yes sir, and,” he hesitates, “I am not one of those people that likes to talk ill of other people but I can confidently tell you Chidi is not as good as I am when it comes to repairing cars.”
I take a handful of chin-chin and throw it into my mouth. He takes the hint and does the same.
He now seems more relaxed.
“All I am asking sir is some money to upgrade my shop a little and your patronage.”
“My patronage?” I sincerely ask.
“Yes sir. I noticed dust on one of your cars outside and … we mechanics we don’t really have much to do after repairing cars. We talk sir.”
I am sure you do, I think to myself. I always had the feeling Chidi could not be relied on for his discretion and my guest has confirmed it. I will sort him out later.
“Well, the car has been there since. A few of our neighbors have come to look at it but nobody has been able to repair it.”
“Sir, I am not saying I am perfect but if you’ll allow, I’ll check it.”
This one seems to be more useful.
“Let’s leave that for now. How much do you want?”
He tells me the amount without flinching. He will certainly be useful. I mull picking his mind. I start down a tunnel of thoughts and realize this is a smart man. No need to waste time trying to convince him. I resign and ask him the question.
“Are you ready to sacrifice?”
Every green-eyed creature that has sat in the chair my guest is currently seated in has balked at this question. 5 words have seen some people gaze at me.
“Blood drinker.” The lady who had sat there last, shrieked at me before she walked out through my motion-sensor doors.
“I thought you were going to ask for something else.”
Something else? Did she expect me to ask for her flesh? How typical. For as far as I knew that might have been the death of me.
“No women. And never wear the chain when going to bed.” Baba’s words reechoing in my head.
After the shrieking woman had gone out the door, I had almost gone to the bed with the chain around my neck. That would definitely had been the death of me.
But as I ask this mechanic the same question I have posed to over 50 people, he looks hard at all the things in my living room, stands up to look at the cars in my garage and comes back to his chair, reclines, stretching out his legs and I know his unspoken answer and I know for sure he will be useful.
As I retire to my bed that night, I remember the mechanic’s nails; dirty nails and I wonder if he knows my money is dirtier than his nails and all the mechanic stands put together.
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