Chapter VI
VI
She heard humming. It was coming from Monife’s old room up in the west wing. It was probably just a rattling in the pipework. She planned to ignore it, but the humming was taking the form of a discernible tune—Lagbaja’s “Coolu Temper”—and she was forced to go and investigate.
Every few weeks, Bunmi would shut herself in here and dust and mop; but Ebun hadn’t entered Mo’s room in over a year.
The door was ajar. A figure danced past the gap and Ebun stumbled backwards.
She could hear her breathing through her ears.
She took a few moments to calm herself—she couldn’t have seen Mo.
Perhaps a bird had gotten in and was flying around.
She dug her fingers into her palms and entered her cousin’s room.
The room was so…unchanged. And there, there was Mo twirling in front of the mirror, admiring herself in a sundress. For a ghost, she was especially solid; solid enough to touch. And she had taken a younger form. Was Ebun losing her mind? She pinched herself…no joy.
“Mo?”
The ghost spun around and the illusion dissipated. It wasn’t Mo—it was Ebun’s daughter. The daughter she had told time and time again to stay away from this room was dancing in said room, in her dead cousin’s clothing.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Eniiyi blanched. “I…I was…”
“I thought I told you to stay out of this room?”
“I…You did…”
Stop, said a voice. Breathe. But she didn’t stop and she didn’t breathe. “So what are you doing here? Why are you wearing her clothes?”
“I…I just wanted to know…about who I was before.”
“Excuse you?”
“I…You never talk about it. But everyone says it. And I just wanted to know about her. About me.”
“I swear to God, Eniiyi. I do not want you repeating that nonsense.”
Suddenly the young girl clenched her fist and raised her chin. In that moment, she looked like an exact copy of Mo. Ebun took a step back.
“Grandma West says it is called atunwa. When a person comes back.”
“Eniiyi.”
“But Grandma West said—”
“No buts.”
“But Grandma—”
“Your grand-aunt is not okay.”
“You’re lying. You’re always lying.”
Ebun slapped her. And then she slapped her again.
And again. She was not wholly in control.
It was like an out-of-body experience. She did not recognise this woman who was beating her child.
She wanted to stop. She could hear Eniiyi crying, but it was as though it were coming from a distant place.
Sango was barking, but he was on the other side of the door and could do nothing.
If Eniiyi had to fear her, if that was what would deter her from embracing the idea of being a reincarnation, then so be it. She was doing this to save her.
In the end, it was her mother who stopped her. Kemi caught her hand mid-slap, the long nails digging firmly into her wrist. “Ebun. ó ti tó. It is Enough.”
Ebun was indignant, ready to point out the number of times she had been the recipient of her aunt’s or mother’s violent temper; but then she heard Eniiyi’s whimpering.
Her daughter was in tears, holding her arm and wincing.
Ebun felt as though her heart was being torn in two.
She wanted to apologise, but the words would not come.
Instead, she left her mother to soothe her crying daughter, and stormed off down the hallway.