Ayobami Adebayo - Spent Lives

SPENT LIVES

by

Alongside an interview with the author, this storyoriginally appeared in the anthology

Gambit: Newer African Writing (The Mantle), edited by Emmanuel Iduma and ShaunRandol. This is a Smashwords edition. Copyright 2014,2015.

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SPENT LIVES

Ayobami Adebayo

She recognized the new tenant from her dreams, butshe did not know this. She assumed that she simply remembered hisface from so long ago, remembered the way his shirt hung on histhin shoulders like it might on a plastic hanger. The truth wasthat he had been muscular when she knew him and his hair had beenblack like a moonless, starless night sky. It was now grey all overlike hers and half of it was gone. What was left lay on the sidesabove his ears and looked like it would fall off if the fan blewtoo hard.

Seated next to the fat estate agent who had come tointroduce him to her, the new tenant looked malnourished. Hisclothes hung loose as though he had recently lost a lot of weight,and she thought that his wife must be too old to cook good mealsfor him. It never occurred to her that he never married, that inthe end Ayandele went about playing his drums from city to city,following a band around, kissing women who stared too long at himwhen he played, and hoping to hear her laughter from their mouths.She had no reason to imagine he would not marry because her smilewas lodged somewhere in his brain. When a woman left you, you foundanother woman; it was what one did. You do not fall from a horseand refuse to climb another one all your life, how would you goabout? On foot from city to city? She had gotten married within twoyears from the last time she saw him.

She was married to her husband for nearly fivedecades before he inconvenienced her by dying before she did. Shewas sitting in his favorite chair, an old armchair he had refusedto let go of whenever they changed their furniture. Ayandele satopposite her on a large leather couch. She had never loved himenough to hate him, or to spend too much time in murderous rageover what he did. Her rage had not even been murderous; it had beenfleeting, forgotten in a few weeks. He had faded from her mindgradually until she forgot that the beads she wore on her wristuntil that day when she saw him again had been something of histhat she had tried on and liked.

Still, she often dreamt of him, not just the youngman she had known, but the man he became and the old man whom shenow saw and recognized immediately. She had seen his first greyhair and the hairline that receded till it disappeared, she hadeven seen the glasses he now wore, all in her dreams. Only that inthe dreams the glasses had green frames. The ones he actually worehad brown frames that matched his skin. She did not know all ofthis because her mind banished the memories of the dreams beforedawn, so that on days she dreamt of Ayandele, she always thoughtshe woke up from dreamless sleep. It was from those dreams that sherecognized him.

When he said to her, Good evening, our mother, shelaughed because it was strange to hear him talk to her soreverently. He had never been polite enough for her. He had aterrible habit, saying exactly what he thought about a matter or aperson. He never mastered that necessary art of smiling at peoplewhile cursing them in his mind.

Ayandele, son of Ayankunle, you dont remember me?She did not look at him as she spoke, she stared at a picture thathung on the wall directly opposite her. Her husband had hung thatpicture so that it was always in his line of sight whenever he wasin the sitting room.

He scratched hiseyebrow. Alake? The one who sings rara?

It is Alake,but I dont sing rara anymore.That was childs play. She leaned back in her chair andsmiled.

Childs play?Alake, it was your spirit; rara was your life.

She bit her lip. It was childs play. Dont talk tome about it again. It was childs play.

Ayandele nodded. So this is your face.

Abi, cant you see? An old face too, not aswrinkled as yours though.

You know that this rag was once a fashionabledress. Surely, you remember when my face was smooth.

Do I remember? She tapped her forehead with afinger. I dont think so. Your face was always a rag.

He laughed. There was no awkwardness, perhapsbecause too much time had passed, perhaps because he knew that theman she had married was dead. The agent had told him the landladywas a widow. He wondered if things would have felt different if hewas to be the husbands tenant and was grateful that the man laysix feet under a concrete cross in the front of the house.

Our mother, so you know the new tenant? the estateagent asked.

Alake nodded. When we were young, we attended thesame secondary school.

People really are water. The agent said.

The stream that flows out of a river will meet theriver again further down the road, Ayandele said.

So should he bring his things? Our mother, youwanted to speak with the new tenant, but since he is a knownperson, the words

have spoken themselves. Alake nodded Abi,Ayandele? Have the words not spoken themselves? The house is yours,bring in your things when you are ready.

*

It was not a house though; it was a room and aparlor downstairs. Alakes sons had lived there as teenagers beforethey left for the university. The girls lived upstairs, so theirparents could pay surprise visits in the middle of the night tomake sure they were not out dancing in a disco. The apartmenthadnt been occupied since the last boy went off to studyengineering in Ukraine.

Ayandele tried to avoid touching anything in theparlor. The room was very dusty and even the green walls looked asthough they had been topped off with a light brown coating. The menwho were helping him move his things kept coughing.

Will you help me clean some of the dust? he saidto them as they brought in a settee.

Baba, you did not pay for that one. You will dropsome change. One of the two men replied.

He sighed. He had no money to spend unnecessarily.It was a strange world now, and everything was about the money. Hehad hoped that the men, both of them barely thirty, would have somerespect for his grey hair and spend some minutes cleaning thedust.

Dont worry, leave the dust, he said.

The movers shrugged.

*

That night, Alake went downstairs to see her tenant.She was eager to meet his wife. She waited impatiently until it wasaround 8:00 p.m. for the new tenants to come upstairs to greet her,but they did not show up. She hissed under her breath as sheknocked on the door, but it was something to do, somewhere to go,some people to speak to other than the house help her children hademployed to take care of her.

Our mother, you have come to greet me, Ayandelesaid when he saw her on the other side of the door.

Alake laughed. Is it old age that has done this toyou? Who is your mother? She looked left and right. Are youseeing ghosts?

Come in, he said.

She started to cough immediately after she enteredthe room; it was still dusty. She concluded that his wife must be aslob; whatever woman could stand in the filth for more than an hourhad to be.

I hope you are enjoying the place. She sat on theonly settee in the room.

He nodded.

How is your wife? Is she enjoying the placetoo?