Must Read: Heron At Desert… Part 5 - Gidifans

You Are Here: Home » -Heron At Desert » Must Read: Heron At Desert… Part 5 - By Mr. Maraj On August 1, 2015 At 8:06 pm

If You Missed The Part 4, Read It Here

She is one of those girls that were looking at me… a teenage girl. I guess she is less than eighteen. But she seems to have a big stature. She is gorgeously and decently dressed. Reluctantly I receive the white handkerchief.

“That you so much, Miss.” I flash a smile at her.

“Don’t mention, sir.” She smiles timidly, “ I wonder why you are sitting here alone.”

“You mean me?” I reveal my face from the cleaning with a welcoming smile.

“Yes,” she affirms shyly, “why not sit close to the more lively area over there.” She points towards the set of seats next to their gathering.

“Oh, nothing. Never mind,” I smile, “this very spot is my favourite; Perhaps it’s because of the palm tree behind here. The air feels more refreshing here too… by the way, what’s the name of this young princess?”

“I’m Shewa.”

“That name really befits you, you know…” I say simply with a questioning look.

“Thanks … Anyway, my sister actually asked me to give you the handkerchief.”

“Really? Who is your sister?”

“She is the fair lady on a purple top and a pink bandanna.”

I look straight to confirm the person. I am stunned to realize that it’s the lady that just caught my heart. She diverts her face somewhere else the moment I look towards her.

“Please, can you help me tell your sister I would like to thank her personally?”

“Yeah, why not,” says the girl, enthusiastically. She immediately waves into the air when the least I expect from her is to go whisper to her ears.
The lady sees the gesture, and she pats the girl that is seated beside her on the shoulder. The lady springs to her feet and adjusts her wears. Shewa ascertains that she is really calling her; not the other lady.
Then she takes to her feet elegantly and the other lady sits back slowly. I guess she is really embarrassed, for she supports her cheeks with her two hands while she stares gloomily at her friend.

As the lady walks closer, my heart drums loudly and my eyelids seem to dance to the rhythms. I mean my eyes are really fluttering. She appears more beautiful than what I was seeing from afar.
At that moment her sibling begin to walk away. I quickly call her back and thank her once more. When my heart-throb reaches me I tell her I appreciate her good gesture.

She wears that killing smile again and says: “Don’t mention. I just felt obliged to do that.”

Wow! Her voice sounds very pleasant. And funny enough the voice might not be thrilling for singing; maybe I should try her. I also like a girl that has a nice singing voice. My late Jumoke was the only girlfriend that is endowed with that so far.

“Are you into music?” I am forced to ask her.

“Why did you ask?” She beams.

“I think I’m just curious.”

She seems to be pulsing her lips invitingly while turning her catchy eyeballs. It’s like she is searching for the right way to answer me.

“I wonder if you can sit here for a moment,” I show her the chair across my seat, “that is … if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Thanks,” She settles herself on the chair and says, “ to answer your question; I am, and I am not.”

“How do you mean?”

“I love singing, but I do not take it as a profession.”

“Hmn,” I grunt, nodding knowingly, “I thought as much…

Anyway, you might need to do something for me before you leave, but let me introduce myself to you first.”
I tell her my name and surname with a handshake and she replies animatedly. She is Remilekun by name, and her friends call her by Remson.

“Re-mi-le-kun. That’s a beautiful name, just like the bearer.” I smile.

“Thanks. You’ve got a fine name too,” she blushes as our hands depart from the lustful union. Her palm feels soft and tender in a way that makes me want to feel it more and more.
I let her know how much she shares same look with my deceased lover. She expresses her sympathy, and blushes again when I tell her that the extreme beauty are just the same. She must have known I am proposing to her indirectly, for She grunts knowingly after my statement. I tell her I’m really pleased to meet her.

“It’s a pleasure meeting you too,” She says, but this time the smile seems to show more in her eyes.

After a pause she demands what I said she has to do for me.

“Oh, it’s nothing much,” I say, “I just want you to sing for me. I’m in the mood to listen to a song without a beat.”

She bursts into a giggle and glances back at her friends, “you are so funny. But I told you earlier that am not a musician.”

“I know. I just feel like hearing you sing – any song at all.”

“Maybe later then.” She says shyly, eyes narrow into an inviting slit.

I persuade her that I am really hungry for it than any food. She then laughs like a baby.

“Okay. which song should I sing?”

“Anyone at all.”

She wears a thoughtful look for a moment and clears her throat.
The lyric that comes from her mouth is ‘My heart will go on (Titanic)’ by Celine Deon.’
Her voice rises slowly like early morning sun. In my ears her voice is competing with that of the original singer.
I do not realize when my eyes shut and I find myself swimming in ocean of affection. The air I’m breathing smells like the fragrance of a virgin rose. The song continues – one minute .. two minutes … With my sense I am measuring the time which I wish would last an hour or more. With emotion, her voice rises and falls rhythmically like sea waves. In the end, the passionate lyric drops gently from her throat as cold water drops from the mouth of a fish.

“Wow!” I begin to clap wildly as a wave of excitement descend upon me, “This is a great voice!”

“Thank you,” she blushes; her eyelashes flutter.

“So, we still have talent like yours in this country?” I say after a little pause of wonder.

“Don’t flatter me, please.” She laughs.

After a little more compliments we exchange contact. I glance at my phone – 8:40pm. At that moment Remilekun takes an excuse. I can see her sibling waving at her from afar.

“I should be going now.” She says.

“Alright, catch yah.” I wave at her as she hurries away.
I keep staring at her until she disappears with her sibling out of the club compound.

****

After three weeks Remilekun and I have become intimate . Our friendship is beginning to graduate into a romantic relationship. Over the weeks we had one date at chicken republic and we spoke on phone every day and night. Although that didn’t disturb us from pinging every now and then. We have shared our life experiences. I told her my past, including how my housewife left me alone. Immediately she mentioned her father’s name, which she reluctantly did, I got to know that she is a daughter of one of the richest men in town. That, indeed, really shows in her behaviour. She always acts like ‘Ajebota’ or rather ‘Mummy’s pet’.

Although I was brought up the same way, but all that changed when I began to face the mysteries of life.
According to her, she is twenty-six years of age. She just finished serving last year and now she is going to start working as a director in one of her father’s cement-producing companies. During our date she told me she doesn’t like clubbing, but her friends had forced her that very night we met. She said one of them was celebrating her birthday. Remilekun wasn’t even shy to add that all her friends really admire my look.
****

When I’m returning home from the office I pack by the road to call Remilekun. I hardly dial the number before her voice lulls my ear.

“Hello, dear.” She says.

“He-llo-o, my darling, princess Remson,” I say dramatically, and I can hear her smile, “When should I be expecting you? You promised you were coming to know my place yesterday, but you failed.”

“Baby, I am so sorry,” She says with a real sorry voice, “ Mummy went out with my car and I didn’t want to take out any other car.”

“Oh, what is wrong with Mum’s car now?” I mimic her usual babyish voice, and she chuckles.
She says her Mum’s car is under repair. She let me realize that her car has the lowest status in their house, and right from time, she doesn’t like to ride expensive cars in order to disguise her personality. She further says that her elder brother is riding the latest range rover sport, and her only younger sister, whom I met that night, is also using an expensive one.

“And Why don’t you like to show your true personality?” I get curious.

“I’ll tell you later.” She breathes.

“Okay. Is that another promise?”

“Yeah.”

At last she promises that she is coming to my place on her way back from Sunday service, which is tomorrow. They normally close from their church by 2: 0 clock. We say goodbye to each other.

On Sunday evening, around 4:0 clock, Remilekun has not shown up. I have tried her number several times, but I couldn’t get her through. I have been reading daily times in the sitting room. Every slight sound at the door seems to alert me. And any droning of a car would make me go to the windowpane to peep downstairs. I have done that up to four times, for I am staying at the third floor.
If Remilekun should bring her car, there wouldn’t be a parking space for her as the compound is already choked with cars. So the only thing I have to watch out for is a knock at the door. I have already given her my address and she claimed she is used to my area. And therefore the address to my flat wouldn’t prove difficult for her. She is the only guest I am expecting for today.

I’ve filled my bar and freezer with her favourite drinks. I asked Lara to prepare some fried chickens, noodles and salad for her before she left for her Mum’s place in the morning. Of course, I have got to know all her favourites through our regular interactions. Lara is going to return in the night.

About fifteen minutes later I hear a knock at the door; my heart lurches with excitement. But it has started raining heavily outside. I place the daily times on the center table, and I adjust my cloth as I walk to the door.

“Oga, sir. Person dey look for you for ‘down-down’,” Our gateman says to me as I open the door. The old man is an illiterate who speaks pidgin English with a strong Yoruba accent.

“You mean downstairs?” I ask politely.

“Yes, na down-down steer.” The man points his finger downwards from the balcony.

I finally ask the man in Yoruba if the guest is a male or female, and I am glad to hear it’s a female. The old man must have asked her to stay behind. I quickly rush downstairs with the man, but who I meet there is not Remilekun. The lady is one of Lara’s beautiful friends who is completely soaked in the rain.

WATCH OUT FOR PART 6


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