The scarf blowing forward and hiding her face. There were hands at your waist. He lifted you carefully out of the dining-room chair and carried you into his kitchen. First, Ruby never smiles and Iago never stops: From this time forth I never will speak word. In light like that there is something very African about Auntie. That image in the air. Mariam reappeared with two teacups. You started to speak. You handed Auntie a teacup. They say she lost a child once. You were there sitting cross-legged when Uncle appeared at the door and you half tried to stand. She returned a moment later with a clean fitted sheet. And there was Auntie. Your little stand-off is about Mahmood? You recognized the expression. The woman smoked cigarettes.
The girls in the garden look more startled than self-satisfied, as if their features are shocked to be forming this face. In the dream, as it happened, you ignore the photographer. Still now there is something about those nights that you miss; maybe the promise of your mother in the morning? We throw the same party every year. The party is in full swing on the back lawn outside. She is shaking her shoulders, hips, braided extensions. It wants to be believed. Bright knives in the dark of her irises. You gave her the sheet, which she shoved into the washer. Up the staircase to the study, skipping every other stair. The pink tip of his tongue on the stringy-gold flesh, the wetness around his mouth, made your stomach drop down. The door was half closed when you came for the books. And as sharply and as suddenly, the consciousness of nakedness. The sounds of the highway, of Lagos at night. Too bright to be real. You finished your pawpaw, surreptitiously watching Iago, his chale-watas wet still from washing the car. You did and found the battered Othello. The house staff, forbidden, use the kitchen path. Mariam went to the kitchen and put a kettle on the stove. Even to Ruby, who was employed before Comfort was born, Comfort says little. You fumbled for the photo you keep under your pillow as an antidote of sorts to the dream or the waking: First, Ruby never smiles and Iago never stops: Whites in the window of the washer, sheets and shirts. Whatever the case, none of your neighbours have machines as impressive as the one in the washroom. You waited for her to finish. No one seems to mind much that you wear them also. There were no guests or hotel staff at the pool after midnight.
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