So as far as I’m concerned, I never met you two and I don’t know you as friends of Lela’s.’
They finished their beer. Taduno settled the bill. And they stood up to go. To both Taduno and Aroli’s surprise, Sergeant Bello refused to take money in exchange for the information he had given them. ‘Take it as my contribution to the murmurings of the people,’ he said.
*
It was easy for Taduno to tell Aroli his story after that.
‘I used to live a simple life at first. I used to be a musician and all I sang was love songs – songs that encouraged people to live as one, to love without asking for love in return, to give without thinking of receiving,’ he explained, pacing the small living room of Aroli’s apartment.
It was his first time in the apartment since returning from exile, and everything was just the way he used to know it. The fake Mona Lisa still hung on the wall above the Sony television. The sofas were still the same, the ceiling fan still had the same hum, and the walls of the living room were still as bright as ever – a bright yellow that always reminded him of a nursery.
He continued.
‘And then everything changed, and I began to sing against injustice and oppression. Everything changed when the June 12th presidential election was annulled and the legitimate winner was thrown in jail. Through my music I became a force, a fierce enemy of the government.’
‘But your name’s not on the wanted list published by the government some time ago,’ Aroli interrupted.
‘That’s because you all forgot me – my family, friends, neighbours, the government – the entire country forgot me.’
A short silence.
‘So you started using your music to attack government,’ Aroli prodded, eager for him to continue his story.
Taduno stopped pacing and dropped into a chair.
‘Yes, I became an activist, a thorn in the flesh of government. The President’s soldiers beat me up on many occasions, sometimes leaving me for dead. They burned my car and closed my bank accounts. I remained unyielding. On many occasions the President tried to persuade me to give up, promising to make me very rich. But I turned him down, and I continued to fight him with my music. And then his soldiers threatened to kill me.’
‘So you went into exile?’
‘No, I continued to be a very vocal critic of the regime through my songs. Then they murdered the winner of the June 12th election in detention. The whole country erupted; the regime used the army and the police to subdue the protests. I realised that it was possible to depose the regime with music, so I continued to fight them with my songs.
‘And then they banned all record shops from selling my music. The army invaded the shops and confiscated all my records. They invaded my house, any house where my records could be found, and they seized every copy of my records. And they burned them all so that not a single copy of any of my records can be found anywhere today. I guess that was when every record of me was erased from all your memories. I no longer existed because there was no way I could continue to exist without my music. My music was me, and they took it away from me. That was when I gave up the struggle and went into exile.’ A deep sigh escaped him.
‘Yes, I know it now. The government took my identity away from me and destroyed it. They mutilated me and turned everyone against me – my family, my friends, my neighbours, the entire country. They ground me into the dust. And now even they can no longer recognise me because they destroyed every bit of me.’
‘What happened to your band members?’
‘I didn’t need a band for my kind of music. My music compares to storytelling – it is best sung by one person. Two people cannot weave an enchanting story. I told stories with my music and the only musical instrument I used was the guitar. I had over thirty guitars. The President’s soldiers destroyed them all. I was to discover later that the many beatings I received affected my vocal cords. My voice has never been the same.’
‘So you are actually the man the government is looking for, Lela’s boyfriend,’ Aroli spoke, thoughtfully.
‘Yes, and I must convince the government that I’m their man if they are to release her. Sadly, nobody remembers me and I no longer have the voice to prove I am the musician they are looking for.’
He dropped his head in dismay, remaining like that for several minutes. And then he looked up with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. ‘I think I should just turn myself in and tell them I’m Lela’s boyfriend.’
‘No,’ Aroli said, shaking his head. ‘As you have said, nobody remembers you. Without your voice government will only see you as an imposter, and that could get you into serious trouble.’
Taduno saw Aroli’s point and nodded.
They talked a bit more without agreeing on what to do. The street was asleep when he left Aroli’s place. He went straight to bed. For a long time he lay fidgeting in the darkness, thinking of Lela and of himself, and he wondered what would happen to both of them if, in the end, nobody remembered him.
FIVE
He came alive with hope in the morning when he found a letter from Lela in his mailbox. It came in a stained brown envelope similar to the one he had received in exile, and it bore only his first name, no last name, no address. In the living room, his hands trembling slightly, he sat down to read the letter.
14th March, 19—
Dear Taduno,
I hope this letter finds you well. I had to write, to tell you that I have been arrested by the President’s soldiers.
I don’t understand exactly why I’m being held, but I think it is connected to the fact that the government is after you. They say I’m an accomplice – to what? – I do not know. They have interrogated me countless times, asking me to tell them where to find you but I cannot tell what I do not know. They asked me all manner of stupid questions: they want to know what you look like, where you live. They don’t even remember your name; they only refer to you as my boyfriend. I don’t understand what is going on.
I’m well. I have learned to be a woman of faith and courage. I remember you once told me that holding on to our faith till the end is what matters, even if we fail to realise our miracle. So I will not allow them to break me.
I hope they will release me if they can’t find you. If you receive this letter, keep it a secret. I don’t know what they will do to you if you fall into their hands.
I will try to write to you again soon. Please keep me in your prayers. I miss you so much.
Love you always,
Lela
Taduno’s eyes were moist with tears by the time he finished reading. He read the letter again, hoping that it would throw up a clue, but he felt only pain and frustration. Finally, not knowing what to do, he got a pen and paper and began to write to Lela. He did not put a date or address on the letter; he wanted his words to reach her without the barrier of time and place.
He
