Read Online The Spider King's Daughter by Chibundu Onuzo - Free Book Online Page B

though my vernacular is poor I knew meant prostitute. This too would have been all right if I’d had a chance to reply but they would walk off to be replaced by another and another before I could retort to the first. I was so busy trying to avoid these pedestrians that I didn’t notice the tout until he was standing in front of me and saying, ‘My name is Fire for Fire. Oya, let’s go.’
    Before I could decide how to respond, he grabbed my wrist. I was conscious that minimum fuss would spare me the onlookers that drift towards trouble.
    ‘Release me,’ I hissed.
    ‘Stop pretending. You know you want do am.’ He gripped me tighter and started to drag me away.
    ‘Leave me alone,’ I said more loudly now, my head turning to the passers-by.
    ‘Help me,’ I said, my free hand brushing a man balancing a load of wood on his head.
    ‘Please.’
    I saw a corn seller staring at us. She was sitting on a low stool, one rolling arm fanning the flames, her teeth running over the remains of a cob. Surely she would help me.
    ‘Aunty,’ I called out. ‘Aunty, please stop him.’
    ‘Ashewo, don’t look at me.’ She flung her naked cob at my feet.
    Fire for Fire had not felt my nails that were clawing his arms and when I kicked him he asked, ‘You want make this thing painful?’
    He was going to rape me, a voice murmured in my chest. He was going to take me somewhere and rape me. Abikẹ Johnson raped by a tout.
       
     
    ‘My guy wetin you dey do with my babe?’
    From behind, I heard my hawker’s voice. The tout turned back and in that brief moment, I slid my hand from his grip.
    ‘Who be you?’ the tout said, reaching for me again.
    ‘Don’t try me,’ my hawker said, stepping in front of me.
    There was a moment I thought they would fight. Even though the tout only came up to his chest, he seemed angry enough to test his arms against my hawker’s height. In the end, he settled for an empty threat. ‘Me and my boys go show you.’
    ‘Get out of here before I finish you.’
    I had to save face. I delved into my little store of pidgin and called out, ‘Fire for Fire don meet water.’
    My indulgence drew an impersonal titter from the crowd. I looked at my hawker expectantly.
       
     
    ‘What are you wearing?’
    ‘What does it look like?’
    A driver called out, ‘Sexy lady, how much you dey charge?’
    ‘Mind your business,’ we said, momentarily on the same side.
    ‘How can you be wearing this?’
    ‘Did you give me a dress code?’
    ‘You should have had the common sense to know that this,’ he said, gesturing at my legs, ‘is not appropriate. You can’t even go home and change because your driver has gone.’
    ‘You should have the common sense to know that if you invite someone out, treating them like this is inappropriate. I’m going home.’
    I started dialling my driver.
    ‘No, wait. Don’t do that, Abikẹ. I’m sorry.’
    I kept keying in the digits.
    ‘Please – I want you to stay.’
    The phone was ringing.
    ‘Please, just follow me home. I’ll get you something to change into and we’ll start again from there.’
    Here was an interesting proposition. He was inviting me to his house. Even if it was only for a few minutes, it was still a breakthrough of some sort. He was beginning to trust me.
    Some men were heading towards us with a man who looked like Fire for Fire at their front.
    ‘Let’s go, then.’
    When we had lost the touts, we were too breathless to talk. Somewhere in our run, the tension had evaporated.
       
     
    He lived in a wretched block of flats. Outside, the paint was peeling and no one had bothered to cover the cement on the inside. There was refuse everywhere. It was like the whole street was a giant dustbin. He trusted me enough to show me, something I did not take for granted, even as I stepped over a stinking gutter. His flat was not as dismal as the outside had augured. It was very dark and small, depressingly small, but everything was neatly arranged