Everything Good Will Come. Sefi Atta

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      “Yes. Almond tree, banana tree... ”

      “Paris,” she said.

      I gave up counting plants. Downstairs, two of the children ran through the washing lines. They were playing a Civil War game: Halt. Who goes there? Advance to be recognized. Boom! You’re dead.

      “I want to go to Paris,” Sheri said.

      “How will you get there?”

      “My jet plane,” she said.

      I laughed. “How will you get a jet plane?”

      “I’ll be an actress,” she said, turning to me. In the sunlight, her pupils were like the underside of mushrooms.

      “Actor-ess,” I said.

      “Yes, and when I arrive, I’ll be wearing a red negligée.”

      “Em, Paris is cold.”

      “Eh?”

      “Paris is cold. My father told me. It’s cold and it rains.”

      “I’ll have a fur coat, then.”

      “What else?” I asked.

      “High, high heels.”

      “And?”

      “Dark sunglasses.”

      “What kind?”

      “Cressun Door,” she said, smiling.

      I shut my eyes, imagining. “You’ll need fans. All actresses have fans.”

      “Oh, they’ll be there,” she said. “And they’ll be running around, shouting, ‘Sheri. Voulez-vous. Bonsoir. Mercredi.’ But I won’t mind them.”

      “Why not?”

      “Because I’ll get into my car and drive away fast.”

      I opened my eyes. “What kind of car?”

      “Sports,” she said.

      I sighed. “I want to be something like... like president.”

      “Eh? Women are not presidents.”

      “Why not?”

      “Our men won’t stand for it. Who will cook for your husband?”

      “He will cook for himself.”

      “What if he refuses?”

      “I’ll drive him away.”

      “You can’t,” she said.

      “Yes I can. Who wants to marry him anyway?”

      “What if they kill you in a coup?”

      “I’ll kill them back.”

      “What kind of dream is that?”

      “Mine.” I smirked.

      “Oh, women aren’t presidents,” she said.

      Someone downstairs was calling her. We looked over the balcony to see Akanni. He was wearing heart-shaped sunshades, like mirrors.

      “What?” Sheri answered.

      Akanni looked up. “Isn’t that my good friend, Enitan, from next door?”

      “None of your business,” Sheri said. “Now, what do you want from me?”

      I smiled at Akanni. His sunshades were funny and his war stories were fantastic.

      “My good friend,” he said to me in Yoruba. “At least you’re nice to me, unlike this trouble maker, Sheri. Where is my money, Sheri?”

      “I don’t have your money,” she said.

      “You promised we would share the proceeds from last night. I stayed up till five this morning, now you’re trying to cheat me. Country is hard for a poor man, you know.”

      “Who asked you?”

      Akanni snapped his fingers. “Next time you’ll see who will drive you around.”

      “Fine,” Sheri said, then she turned to me. “Oaf. Look at his face, flat as a church clock. Come on, let’s go back inside. The sun is beating my head.”

      “Now?” I asked.

      She pressed her hair down. “Can’t you see I’m a half-caste?”

      I didn’t know whether to laugh or feel sorry for her.

      “I don’t mind,” she said. “Only my ears I mind and I cover them up, because they’re big like theirs.”

      “Whose?” I asked.

      “White people’s,” she said. “Now, come on.”

      I followed her. She did have huge ears and her afro did not hide them.

      “You know that foolish Akanni?” she asked as we ran down the stairs.

      “He comes to our house.”

      “To do what?”

      “Visit our house girl, Bisi.”

      Sheri began to laugh. “He’s doing her!”

      I covered my mouth.

      “Sex,” she said. “Banana into tomato. Don’t you know about it?”

      My hand dropped.

      “Oh, close your mouth before a fly enters,” she said.

      I ran to catch up with her.

      “My grandma told me,” she said.

      We were sitting on her bed. Sheri tucked her tangerine dress between her legs. I wondered if she knew more than me.

      “When you... ” I asked. “I mean, with your husband. Where does it go? Because I don’t... ” I was pointing everywhere, even at the ceiling.

      Sheri’s eyes were wide. “You haven’t seen it? I’ve seen mine. Many times.” She stood up and retrieved a cracked mirror from a drawer. “Look and see.”

      “I can’t.”

      “Look,” she said, handing me the mirror.

      “Lock СКАЧАТЬ