God’s Eyes - An excerpt from Elnathan John’s 'Daydreams etcetera'
- By Elnathan John
- Published September 8, 2009
- Fiction
- Unrated
Elnathan John
Elnathan John is a Kaduna born writer and legal practitioner. A native of Kaduna State, he recently published his debut collection of short stories titled DAYDREAMS ETCETERA. He lives and works in Abuja.
View all Entries by Elnathan John
EXCERPTS FROM “DAYDREAMS ETCETERA” by Elnathan John
GODS EYES
THE CHASE
The guys at the Police Service Commission are such hypocrites. Ruffling the ranks of the force at the whim of Presidency to gain little favors. Promotions today, demotions tomorrow. More nauseating is the self-righteousness that accompanies the entire routine. We all know how they got there in the first place.
I can’t wait to finish my post-graduate degree. Then I’ll be through with this annoying black uniform for good. Then I can tell that corrupt fatso of a Commisioner to go suck a lemon. Sending lowly ill-equipped men like us after the same criminals that they empower, so we can be killed in the process. I hate having to kill these criminals and I bleed each time, but what I hate more is seeing those arrested back out on the street. There is either not enough evidence to go to court or the judge throws the case out for want of diligent prosecution.
Damn! I can’t wait to leave this crazy job. Just last month, my bald Commissioner got an award from the Governor for breaking three notorious rackets based in the State. All tip-offs from my sources and raids from my unit. Not even a word of encouragement from the bulgy-eyed fathead! He wore a new starched uniform for the ceremony. How I wanted to push him down from the podium and spill the filthy contents of his potbelly.
Everyday I lose faith in this country. I see its foundations crumbling under the weight of ineptitude and mindless corruption. Democracy has never really appealed to me. I see nothing wrong with a sincere, purposeful dictatorship. Leadership isn’t a thing to be gotten by the roll of the dice. It won’t be long before this nation’s crumbling mass crashes down on us all- innocent and guilty. I have always been petrified of being guilty by omission. So, I try, and each time I feel powerless. But, I try. That is why I will use the one thousand naira in my pocket to add fuel to the patrol van I will use this evening. An informant of mine has tipped me off and my superior has assigned me as usual. And the glory will be shared in order of rank, starting from the Commissioner and ending somewhere before it gets to me. My superior always complains of lack of funds. While this statement is generally true, I know exactly how the fuel money is spent. It’s split several ways and by the time it gets to us, only a fraction of the original amount remains.
One thousand is a lot considering my salary, but I need to do this. Only then will I not be sleepless with guilt. Only then will I be able to look into my Martha’s eyes and smile when she tells me she loves me because I am a good man. She’s been patient with me and she’s waiting for me until I become a bit more stable. She won’t marry me until I leave the police. I have only a couple of months till I surprise everyone with my resignation. The Assistant Commissioner thinks I’m one of the best officers in the state. Unfortunately, he’s not in the inner circle of power from where officers get helped up the ladder. He’s a good man.
*
It is almost time. My big day. I’m here early so we can observe all movement in an out of the Metro Hotel. It’s a drug bust and my informant has told us of a big exchange this evening. The carrier will be in a blue truck.
My heart is beating faster now. I have to get this right. I’m taking four men with me including the driver. The people in the blue truck will have at least two revolvers in the car. All locally made. That’s a relief for me. No automatic weapons. I trust my informant because he has never once failed me in the six months we have worked together. Our van is in relatively good condition and we should be able to handle a chase.
We drive into our dark corner. Some car is parked there and we badly need the cover. I get down from the van and walk over to the car with my flash light. Fortunately, someone is in the car. Two half-naked people actually. The man winds down his glass cursing in anger and embarrassment. I am in plain clothes, so he doesn’t immediately realize it’s the police. The van moves closer and he can see it’s a police van. He’s struggling to put his clothes back on. I don’t want to create a scene as this might jeopardize the operation. I ask the woman if she’s ok and tell the trembling man to drive off. We have a good laugh while he is at it. Now we have our vantage point.
I see the truck come out of the Metro Hotel. It stops suddenly before the junction fifty meters from where we are. For five minutes, the lights are on and the engine keeps running. A lady drops from the truck and enters a taxi which has just pulled up in front of the truck. I am tempted to follow the taxi but I remind myself that the truck holds my big catch. I take down the number of the taxi. He shouldn’t be hard to find. We’ll pick him up later and he’ll tell us where he took the girl.
The truck begins to move and we follow stealthily. I am positive that we will find the drugs there. The truck picks up speed. They must have seen us. We pull out the siren. It has become a high-speed chase. Soon, we will reach the very busy highway where they will have to stop or cause a big accident. Either way, we will get them.
We are close now. I try to keep my mind on my target but I can’t help wondering if I made the right decision. The lady may have had the drugs and may even be leaving town. If only I had more men on this case and more vehicles perhaps.
I can see the cars on the highway. My blood bubbles as my heart pounds against my ribcage, threatening to burst. Now, everything is quiet save the slow tick of time in my head. We should slam the brakes soon. My gun is out, ready to pump bullets into any resister. The old bulletproof vest I am wearing should keep out any bullets. Only seconds now.
Take off my seat belt... Last junction... Bright lights...
A car!
Damn!
I feel all soggy… and cold… and deaf. I can only hear that slow tick of the clock in my head, slower now. Can’t feel my legs now. The ground is gritty. I see a pale face that is Martha; I hear her whisper. YOU ARE A GOOD MAN. I know I am. I reach out. It’s all receding. Fading. Fading to black… all… black…
THE INTERSECTION
My death, God forbid, when it comes, should have a touch of finesse to it. There should be something grand and momentous about it. I will not die like a roach, some faceless statistic, some obscure number on a chart, faded into oblivion…
The lively debate had taken a quiet, somber turn. There was something intense about the silent concurrence with Ikem’s words. He had pulled something unpleasant right out of the deepest recesses of each of their bourgeois hearts. The three cousins hated it each time their youngest cousin sent them into the dark and weighty realm of deep, sober thought.
About a minute later, Nnanna broke the silence.
“My brother sure knows how to prematurely end a good discussion. But, true, and well said, Ikem. I only wish you were this wise with women.”
He sent everyone in the room into uproarious laughter.
“Why am I always the butt of your sarcasm, Nnanna?”
“Hey dear brother, no harm intended. I was only trying to bring us out of the awkward silence. Plus I really think you need help with the girls.”
Ikem knew better than to drag the issue any further. Besides, he knew the part about the girls was true. His last girlfriend Nma, disappeared suddenly for a while and called him afterward telling him about her plans to marry some other person. Every time it happened, he sought solace in his ever-increasing mass of books.
“Hey, lets all go have a drink on me,” Chinedu, the oldest of the cousins offered. Ikem would’ve said no, but he didn’t want the mockery that was sure to follow. They had called him a woman many times because of his avoidance of alcohol. One drink wouldn’t hurt, he rationalized, even as he hated having to conform to behavior that he sorely detested. He was irritated by their excesses; their spending, their reckless driving, their binges and their contempt for work and for anyone below their social class. Their parents were all products of a corrupt political system, which ensured that they could live their lives in stupendous luxury, without ever having to work for anything.
Ikem was not particularly proud of his father, a retired General and politician whose stolen billions multiplied when Nigeria found oil in Sao Tome. Enough wealth for many lifetimes. Enough to make rascals of all their children. However, he turned out different and he felt lonely among his relatives who were fat with money while the country crumbled under the crushing weight of irresponsible leadership. He knew he couldn’t throw all that money away, yet he found ways to rebel against that elitist order. The car he drove was simple, instead of a custom built, bulletproof luxury car with his name on the plate number. He refused to go around with a bodyguard or wear the diamond-studded wristwatch his mother bought him for his birthday. To soothe his conscience he donated anonymously to the Red Cross and visited refugee camps in West Africa.
Each time, he made his father mad, but there was nothing the old man could do but seethe with anger. His father had hoped that he would succeed him in politics and at least become a senator in the near future. Ikem would have none of his father’s ways.
As he drove out behind the convoy of his cousins, Ikem wondered what life would be like without all the wealth he constantly fought against. After all, the good things he did were possible only because of the money he had. He wanted to leave the country, go somewhere his family was not so well known, and start afresh. He wanted to earn his own living, not have everything he wanted at the snap of a finger and at the expense of millions of his countrymen. Soon, he thought.
Ikem hated the club. He felt sick at the sound of wild delirious laughter and the choking composite smell of tobacco and at least twenty different drinks. The club was a communion of the same hollow conceitedness he saw in his family.
‘Here goes the future of our great Nigeria’, he said to himself as they sat down.
“No beer today boys, today is Vodka day!”
Everyone bawled in affirmation of Chinedu’s declaration. The clear, odorless liquor began to flow freely. Ikem had never had Vodka before and he didn’t want to be embarrassed at the table. He had already made the mistake of coming to the club. Whatever it was, one glass on ice would not be so bad. Then he would drive home, have a cold shower and sleep it off.
*
GODS EYES
THE CHASE
The guys at the Police Service Commission are such hypocrites. Ruffling the ranks of the force at the whim of Presidency to gain little favors. Promotions today, demotions tomorrow. More nauseating is the self-righteousness that accompanies the entire routine. We all know how they got there in the first place.
I can’t wait to finish my post-graduate degree. Then I’ll be through with this annoying black uniform for good. Then I can tell that corrupt fatso of a Commisioner to go suck a lemon. Sending lowly ill-equipped men like us after the same criminals that they empower, so we can be killed in the process. I hate having to kill these criminals and I bleed each time, but what I hate more is seeing those arrested back out on the street. There is either not enough evidence to go to court or the judge throws the case out for want of diligent prosecution.
Damn! I can’t wait to leave this crazy job. Just last month, my bald Commissioner got an award from the Governor for breaking three notorious rackets based in the State. All tip-offs from my sources and raids from my unit. Not even a word of encouragement from the bulgy-eyed fathead! He wore a new starched uniform for the ceremony. How I wanted to push him down from the podium and spill the filthy contents of his potbelly.
Everyday I lose faith in this country. I see its foundations crumbling under the weight of ineptitude and mindless corruption. Democracy has never really appealed to me. I see nothing wrong with a sincere, purposeful dictatorship. Leadership isn’t a thing to be gotten by the roll of the dice. It won’t be long before this nation’s crumbling mass crashes down on us all- innocent and guilty. I have always been petrified of being guilty by omission. So, I try, and each time I feel powerless. But, I try. That is why I will use the one thousand naira in my pocket to add fuel to the patrol van I will use this evening. An informant of mine has tipped me off and my superior has assigned me as usual. And the glory will be shared in order of rank, starting from the Commissioner and ending somewhere before it gets to me. My superior always complains of lack of funds. While this statement is generally true, I know exactly how the fuel money is spent. It’s split several ways and by the time it gets to us, only a fraction of the original amount remains.
One thousand is a lot considering my salary, but I need to do this. Only then will I not be sleepless with guilt. Only then will I be able to look into my Martha’s eyes and smile when she tells me she loves me because I am a good man. She’s been patient with me and she’s waiting for me until I become a bit more stable. She won’t marry me until I leave the police. I have only a couple of months till I surprise everyone with my resignation. The Assistant Commissioner thinks I’m one of the best officers in the state. Unfortunately, he’s not in the inner circle of power from where officers get helped up the ladder. He’s a good man.
*
It is almost time. My big day. I’m here early so we can observe all movement in an out of the Metro Hotel. It’s a drug bust and my informant has told us of a big exchange this evening. The carrier will be in a blue truck.
My heart is beating faster now. I have to get this right. I’m taking four men with me including the driver. The people in the blue truck will have at least two revolvers in the car. All locally made. That’s a relief for me. No automatic weapons. I trust my informant because he has never once failed me in the six months we have worked together. Our van is in relatively good condition and we should be able to handle a chase.
We drive into our dark corner. Some car is parked there and we badly need the cover. I get down from the van and walk over to the car with my flash light. Fortunately, someone is in the car. Two half-naked people actually. The man winds down his glass cursing in anger and embarrassment. I am in plain clothes, so he doesn’t immediately realize it’s the police. The van moves closer and he can see it’s a police van. He’s struggling to put his clothes back on. I don’t want to create a scene as this might jeopardize the operation. I ask the woman if she’s ok and tell the trembling man to drive off. We have a good laugh while he is at it. Now we have our vantage point.
I see the truck come out of the Metro Hotel. It stops suddenly before the junction fifty meters from where we are. For five minutes, the lights are on and the engine keeps running. A lady drops from the truck and enters a taxi which has just pulled up in front of the truck. I am tempted to follow the taxi but I remind myself that the truck holds my big catch. I take down the number of the taxi. He shouldn’t be hard to find. We’ll pick him up later and he’ll tell us where he took the girl.
The truck begins to move and we follow stealthily. I am positive that we will find the drugs there. The truck picks up speed. They must have seen us. We pull out the siren. It has become a high-speed chase. Soon, we will reach the very busy highway where they will have to stop or cause a big accident. Either way, we will get them.
We are close now. I try to keep my mind on my target but I can’t help wondering if I made the right decision. The lady may have had the drugs and may even be leaving town. If only I had more men on this case and more vehicles perhaps.
I can see the cars on the highway. My blood bubbles as my heart pounds against my ribcage, threatening to burst. Now, everything is quiet save the slow tick of time in my head. We should slam the brakes soon. My gun is out, ready to pump bullets into any resister. The old bulletproof vest I am wearing should keep out any bullets. Only seconds now.
Take off my seat belt... Last junction... Bright lights...
A car!
Damn!
I feel all soggy… and cold… and deaf. I can only hear that slow tick of the clock in my head, slower now. Can’t feel my legs now. The ground is gritty. I see a pale face that is Martha; I hear her whisper. YOU ARE A GOOD MAN. I know I am. I reach out. It’s all receding. Fading. Fading to black… all… black…
THE INTERSECTION
My death, God forbid, when it comes, should have a touch of finesse to it. There should be something grand and momentous about it. I will not die like a roach, some faceless statistic, some obscure number on a chart, faded into oblivion…
The lively debate had taken a quiet, somber turn. There was something intense about the silent concurrence with Ikem’s words. He had pulled something unpleasant right out of the deepest recesses of each of their bourgeois hearts. The three cousins hated it each time their youngest cousin sent them into the dark and weighty realm of deep, sober thought.
About a minute later, Nnanna broke the silence.
“My brother sure knows how to prematurely end a good discussion. But, true, and well said, Ikem. I only wish you were this wise with women.”
He sent everyone in the room into uproarious laughter.
“Why am I always the butt of your sarcasm, Nnanna?”
“Hey dear brother, no harm intended. I was only trying to bring us out of the awkward silence. Plus I really think you need help with the girls.”
Ikem knew better than to drag the issue any further. Besides, he knew the part about the girls was true. His last girlfriend Nma, disappeared suddenly for a while and called him afterward telling him about her plans to marry some other person. Every time it happened, he sought solace in his ever-increasing mass of books.
“Hey, lets all go have a drink on me,” Chinedu, the oldest of the cousins offered. Ikem would’ve said no, but he didn’t want the mockery that was sure to follow. They had called him a woman many times because of his avoidance of alcohol. One drink wouldn’t hurt, he rationalized, even as he hated having to conform to behavior that he sorely detested. He was irritated by their excesses; their spending, their reckless driving, their binges and their contempt for work and for anyone below their social class. Their parents were all products of a corrupt political system, which ensured that they could live their lives in stupendous luxury, without ever having to work for anything.
Ikem was not particularly proud of his father, a retired General and politician whose stolen billions multiplied when Nigeria found oil in Sao Tome. Enough wealth for many lifetimes. Enough to make rascals of all their children. However, he turned out different and he felt lonely among his relatives who were fat with money while the country crumbled under the crushing weight of irresponsible leadership. He knew he couldn’t throw all that money away, yet he found ways to rebel against that elitist order. The car he drove was simple, instead of a custom built, bulletproof luxury car with his name on the plate number. He refused to go around with a bodyguard or wear the diamond-studded wristwatch his mother bought him for his birthday. To soothe his conscience he donated anonymously to the Red Cross and visited refugee camps in West Africa.
Each time, he made his father mad, but there was nothing the old man could do but seethe with anger. His father had hoped that he would succeed him in politics and at least become a senator in the near future. Ikem would have none of his father’s ways.
As he drove out behind the convoy of his cousins, Ikem wondered what life would be like without all the wealth he constantly fought against. After all, the good things he did were possible only because of the money he had. He wanted to leave the country, go somewhere his family was not so well known, and start afresh. He wanted to earn his own living, not have everything he wanted at the snap of a finger and at the expense of millions of his countrymen. Soon, he thought.
Ikem hated the club. He felt sick at the sound of wild delirious laughter and the choking composite smell of tobacco and at least twenty different drinks. The club was a communion of the same hollow conceitedness he saw in his family.
‘Here goes the future of our great Nigeria’, he said to himself as they sat down.
“No beer today boys, today is Vodka day!”
Everyone bawled in affirmation of Chinedu’s declaration. The clear, odorless liquor began to flow freely. Ikem had never had Vodka before and he didn’t want to be embarrassed at the table. He had already made the mistake of coming to the club. Whatever it was, one glass on ice would not be so bad. Then he would drive home, have a cold shower and sleep it off.
*