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Nairaland Forum / Entertainment / Literature / What Fox Told The Cocks *A Short Story* (603 Views)
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What Fox Told The Cocks *A Short Story* by Hydronium(m): 7:13am On Dec 25, 2014 |
Those mornings, I’d wake up to the sound of BoneyM classics and perhaps some extra gbedu music from our neighbour’s apartment. Without brushing or attempting to wipe off the dried saliva that lined my mouth, I’d dash out of my room. My dad would be in the living room by his precious turntable, churning out music through four ancient Kenwood speakers strategically positioned in the living room. And I’d wonder how he got the turntable working again, seeing as I spoilt it (at least I thought I did) the last time I went solo trying to find out exactly where the music came from, whether from the slim record plate or from the spindle. After a brief greeting and a pat on my head, I’d race against my record time for the backyard. The heat wave from the crackling firewood mingled with the haze of the harmattan morning wind would embrace me and send me spiralling beyond known electron orbitals. The songs of birds on the Papaya trees would hit seconds later, and when I opened my eyes, tiny snails would be picking their way back to their abode beyond the mossy, abandoned concrete blocks. There, by the fireplace, my mom would be seated on a stool, peeling yams; yams that turned red as soon as the knife cut it. It usually reminded me of tales of people who turned into tubers of yam after picking up some forbidden money, and I kept wondering whether these yams were people also. There would usually be a chicken or two in one corner of the yard, plump and indifferent-looking. Indifferent, because they either did not know what lay ahead of them or because they had accepted their fate, perhaps after having heard death squeals of their mates days before. Usually, when the time came for them to die, I’d grow sober because I had developed a fondness for them. My dad did the killing, whistling tunes as he did so. Each time I tried to talk him out of it, he’d smile and say: one day, fox told cocks that wonders will never cease. And he’d go back to his whistling and throat-slitting. I never understood if this was one of his mini stories, or an adage. My siblings were specialists at knowing the precise moment to walk in. It’s a happy season, so all sins were forgiven. And while I salivated over the aroma of the Ishapa soup, my mom would call me to take some food to our friends, some of whose houses were a bit far. The only reason I liked this part was because I knew that along the line, some of these people would give me some money that could buy me a packet or two of banger at the end of the day. Afterwards, wraps of pounded yam would flow and we’d stare at the blank TV screen as we ate, because nobody remembered to take the TV for repairs, or the fuel stations were hoarding fuel or NEPA chose the day before to cut our lines. But we did not care much; lunch was like a sedative, some people even slept off with their hands still messy. It was this Christmas season that my dad arranged for my eldest brother to take me to LTV children Christmas funfair. Excitement coursed through my veins that night, I was going appear on TV and yes, I was going to see Father Christmas. I remember waking up at some point to check whether it was time to leave only to find that it was just past 2am. He was seated in a poorly lit hut: a short wiry man in red flowing robe, and a sash around his flat middle. His beard was oversize; it looked like the vocal sac under a frog’s chin. He certainly was not as good-looking as the Father Christmas I had seen on Christmas cards, the one with the pleasant grin and flush nose. Suddenly, the hut felt like bogeyman’s hideout and I could have fled, but someone at the door was prodding me into the man’s gloved hands. Go, go, he won’t bite you. The man scooped me into his arms. Then ‘bite’ registered. That was when I bared it all, my mouth wide open like a yawning hippo’s. My friends in class used to say I sounded like a generator whenever I cried, but this time I must have sounded like a long-distance train because the director had to come and get me himself, and with my gift in his other hand, he handed me to my brother with a nervous smile. This your brother dey vex o… I did not stop howling even after we left the hut and as we strolled past the toy stores, I stood still and howled some more, pointing at a toy in one of the stores. My brother snorted and said he did not have money, that he’d had to supplement the gate fee with his own money. I kept my howl steady, and when glances began to turn in our direction, he squirmed and led me to the store. When he squatted and handed me the toy gun minutes later, his looks said he had plans for me. He warned me not to open the wrapper until we got home. I stopped crying. At home, without taking off my clothes, I went brandishing my gun before our neighbour’s kids. They were impressed until I pointed the gun and it did not fire. Their mom called and they had to leave. I stood there, alone, disappointed. I held up the nozzle against my face. Why is this thing not working? I asked myself. Click, click, and ka-pow! The nozzle exploded right in my face and pain shot through my left eye. That led to a series of events that wiped away all my appetite. My eldest brother made sure all my food disappeared. The next Christmas, holes popped up in two molars on either side of my mouth and I couldn’t chew. I evolved and began gulping down bowls of Jollof rice, and whole meat that I stowed away after it was fried. But at night, I’d spend hours on the toilet seat, whimpering and wishing the hole in my teeth away. Another day, a half grain of rice slipped into the hole and my mouth went wild, animating itself. That day, my dad ate my meat. And the day after. And the days that followed. And while he crunched the bones, he would wink and whisper; remember what fox told the cocks? Years later, while we were putting away the Christmas decorations, he reluctantly told me about the fox and the cocks after I coaxed him. One winter, a fox happened upon a brood of fowls housed in a steel wire cage. He boasted about his stash of food supplies and ended with the statement, wonders will never cease. He kept happening by and each time, made the same statement after his winding speeches. One day the cocks, curious, asked what he meant by it. He told them to let him in and he would tell them; that it was something that could only be whispered into their ears. The cocks secured their own food supplies and opened the door, and the fox made off with their heads. I did not share my dad’s laughter because I did not understand. Truth is I still don’t understand. And as I sit here watching these two cocks peck at grains of corn, I’m wondering what the cocks had really thought the fox was up to. |
Re: What Fox Told The Cocks *A Short Story* by Hydronium(m): 7:15am On Dec 25, 2014 |
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