NYU Black Renaissance Noire Spring/Summer 2013 | Page 16
Ériga nodded, and watched Dimié
Abrakasa from the corner of his eye.
Dimié Abrakasa caught his gaze, and
he turned away, accepted the roll of
notes from Chibuzo. After counting
the money, he asked Dimié Abrakasa:
‘You wan’ play me betting?’
‘Never!’ Dimié Abrakasa replied.
Ériga threw back his head and laughed.
‘No fear, I no be Atanda Musa, why
you no try your luck, maybe you go
beat me.’ His eyes danced as he awaited
a response. Then he said, ‘Anyway,
since nobody want to play me, I don
dey go.’
Dimié Abrakasa shrugged. ‘Me too,’ he
said.
As Chibuzo gathered the balls and bats,
the two boys left together. They strode
across the sandscape, their footsteps
flopping, their progress marked by the
leap-and-dance of their shadows.
‘Dimié.’
‘Dimi. Dimi Craze…De Craze.’ Ériga
nodded, pleased with himself. ‘I go call
you De Craze. My name nah—’
‘Ériga. I know.’
Dimié Abrakasa trapped a wood ant
crawling up his arm. He picked it off
his skin and looked at the waving legs,
the snapping pincers. He crushed it
between his fingertips and wiped his
hand on his jeans.
‘Why you stone that crazewoman?’
Ériga asked. His eyes were fixed on his
companion’s hand—the long, tapered
fingers, the bitten-down nails, the
network of fine veins. Dimié Abrakasa
noticed the direction of his gaze, and
balled a fist. ‘Nothing,’ he replied.
But the image rose in his mind of his
mother sitting in bed with her knees
drawn up and her hands pressed
against her ears. His fist rose in the air
and struck his knee twice, then he let
his hand fall onto the carpet of leaves.
‘You be strange person sha. De Craze,’
Ériga said.
The street grew busy with schoolchildren
returning from extramural classes.
A group of uniformed girls was headed
towards the hotel. The girls whispered
to each other, and darted glances at the
boys; as the group filed past the girl
who walked in front turned her head to
stare at Ér