Blurb
Nimble feet and perfect timing are all you need to claim treasures from the kitchen at night—or so Ali thought. Follow this thrilling tale told from a child’s POV.
Story
I waited a long time.
My wait seemed never-ending as I listened. It had been a while since I heard Mama’s footsteps echo in the corridor. Now, a serenity blanketed the whole house, and I could no longer see the orange glow of candlelight creeping in from under my bedroom door. The candle must have burned out.
I sat up in bed, quivering with excitement. My little brother was lying asleep next to me, his small body pressed into my side. I contemplated waking him to join me on my expedition; we would bring back plunder from the kitchen! But then again, my brother was not a true shipmate. He would sell me out at first chance. No, I would sail without him.
I sprang from our small bed and crept to the door. I remained still for a moment and listened keenly. There was no sound in the corridor, except for the whistling of the night’s breeze. Surely, Mama and Papa were asleep. I groped the upper length of the door, feeling for the bolt that kept it shut. Upon finding it, I pulled it to unlock the door.
The doorknob yelled a metallic CLANG!
My chest tightened, and my being hung in space. Nothing moved in the silence that followed. And after a moment, I let out the breath I had unconsciously been holding. I proceeded to draw the door open, grateful that I had oiled the hinges earlier in the previous day, carefully mapping out my expedition. The door soundlessly opened, bringing me to my utmost joy.
I peered back into the dark, as if I had night vision, but I could sense no movement from my bed. I sighed in relief and stepped out into the corridor, into the gaze of moonlight beaming from the open windows in the corridor, illuminating my way.
At the end of the corridor was my parents’ room. My brother and I stayed in one of the two rooms along the corridor. The other room was used as the store, but on the other end of the corridor was the kitchen—the lonely island bearing my treasure.
The tiles were cold under my feet, numbing like ice. I crept towards the kitchen, perpetually glancing over my shoulder. I was fearful that my father’s towering form would emerge from nowhere. But alas, I stopped in front of the kitchen door; it was the largest and heaviest door in our house. I suspected Papa made it so to thwart my efforts of stealing from the pot—but this measure only proved proficient when I was younger. Now, I was much older and stronger.
Feeling for the doorknob, I easily found it. I smiled widely to myself in the dark, tasting triumph! I turned the knob and pulled, but the door would not budge. I frowned, feeling heat rise to my face. I pulled again and again but the door remained defiant.
Gasping in frustration, I groped the length of the door searching for an answer to my newfound dilemma. And there it was. It had to be the heaviest padlock I had ever held, bigger than the one Papa used in his shop!
But Why?
I sagged against the door and slunk to the floor, enduring the first throes of defeat. But then, a new idea dinged in my head! My father was an obstinate man, and people remarked that I had inherited that trait, and they were right!
Getting back on my feet, I reasoned that the key would be in my parents’ room, amongst the other keys Papa kept in a bunch on the table next to the matrimonial bed. It was a dangerous quarry, but my resolve was firm–I would get that key!
I turned to size up the door at the other end of the corridor. It was the door to my father’s room, the lion’s den.
I took my first bold steps toward the room with my shoulders high. My father was a sound sleeper, and Mama was no better. I was as nimble as a monkey and as quiet as a mouse. They would not catch me; I always outsmarted them.
“Nine days for the thief and one day for the owner of the house…”
The words surfaced from nowhere and germinated in the back of my mind like unwanted weed. I wasn’t sure where I had heard it, but it was surprising how it emerged when it was least needed. I even mentally began to count how many times I had stolen from the kitchen to be sure I had not exhausted my nine lives.
The images of my back smeared in hot pepper and burning under the beating sun, crept into my mind. I slowed down to rethink this expedition. My back would burn for one week if Papa punished me again in that manner. My steps became unsure and heavy, and soon, I stood trembling before my father’s door, contemplating creeping back to my room.
“What are you waiting for?” a voice scolded me from behind.
I nearly jumped out of my body.
I spun around to find my younger brother, bare except for his knickers, watching me with big hopeful eyes.
“What do you think I’m doing?” I asked, trying to sound indifferent, but instead, I squeaked like a frightened mouse.
“I know you want to steal goat meat from the pot. I want some too!” he beamed, licking his lips.
“Okay, you only follow me on one condition!” I whispered as I cradled his face, conveying hope with my eyes. “You must go in there and get the house keys.”
I watched his small innocent face contort into a frown.
“Why me?” he grumbled.
“Because you are small. If papa catches you, just say you cannot sleep, and he will let you sleep with him and Mama,” I urged.
Besides, Papa never punished him like me. He was everyone’s favorite. The innocent one—the holy of holies.
“But I don’t like sleeping with them. Papa and Mama snore!” his eyes darted from left to right with horrid fear.
“Shhh! Your voice is loud. Okay, if you do this, I will give you my portion of meat tomorrow morning,” I wagered.
“Yes, and you will give me your portion of meat even if I fail? Do we have a deal?” he grinned wickedly.
I was faced with the crossroads of turning my back on him and returning to my room, but I did not.
“Yes, we have a deal,” I nodded.
He jumped happily and pulled the door slightly open before creeping in.
He vanished into the darkness, and I anxiously waited there by the door.
The corridor seemed to grow bigger by the second and I shrunk as it grew. The only two pictures in the corridor were that of Mama and Papa. I always thought those photos had souls of their own, with big placid eyes staring down at me, watching me, scorning me, as if they would reveal my deeds in the morning. I tried to ignore their haunting stare by praying that the good Lord would quicken my brother’s steps and make him successful.
The bedroom door creaked as it opened–my brother was coming out! I was overjoyed! The doorway widened and I came face to face with a protruding stomach. It bore a brush of hair that ran from the navel downwards and disappeared under the big buckle of a belt. I knew that stomach very well and fear would not let me look up to meet its owner. So, I kept staring at it.
“Ali!” My father boomed, knocking the air clean from my lungs. I shuddered but I did not answer. I only managed to look up.
A scowl sat on his face and indignant eyes bared down on me. In his arms, cradled against his shoulder…was my little brother, Obi. The Traitor!
“Why are you not in bed?” my father grunted.
“Obi couldn’t sleep, so I brought him here to sleep in your room.” The words came tumbling out as if practiced, my brain racking to save me from impending punishment.
“Hmmm,” he hummed, and my groin tightened. Papa only hummed like that when he knew I was lying.
“Follow me,” he ordered and I stepped out of the way for him to pass. Waves of helplessness washed over me as I followed meekly.
*******
I saw the disappointment in Ali’s face. I made a mental note not to share the same room with him for at least one week, he would beat me tirelessly. But even so, I would still be punished, just not in the manner awaiting Ali. Sleeping with my parents for one week is punishment on its own. It meant sleepless nights for me. I sighed and snuggled into Papa’s neck, averting my eyes from Ali’s glare.
What did he expect me to do? Papa caught me as soon as I walked in. I could never lie to papa, so I told him everything.
Papa opened the front door and stepped out into the moonlight. The cool sea breeze from Ibeno beach whistled past my ear and lulled me to sleep, but I would not sleep. I wanted to see what Papa had planned for Ali.
Papa set me down on his lap as he sat on an old tree stump in the backyard. He motioned to Ali to sit on the other stump close to it. These stumps had once belonged to our mango trees. Papa had cut it down to stop the neighbor’s children from scaling our fence to steal our fruits.
Ali obeyed.
“I’m only going to ask you one more time Obi, and if you lie to me, I will set you to work on the farm for one whole week on your own!” Papa threatened.
Ali remained silent, looking at his hands, frightful.
“How old are you now, Ali?” Papa asked.
“Twelve years old, Papa,” Ali mumbled, looking down at his feet, shuddering.
“When will you be going off to secondary school?”
“Next week, Papa.”
“Do you know how many other children you will meet when you go there? There will be at least a thousand. You will see new faces and make new friends. Wouldn’t you like that?”
“Y-yes!” Ali looked up, brightened for a moment.
“So when you go there, is this what you will be doing every night? Sneaking off to steal what’s not yours? Disgracing your family name?” Papa roared.
Ali paled then returned his attention to his feet. “No, Papa. I only do it here at home.”
“Shut up!” Papa snapped, and we both jerked.
“Charity begins at home. If you don’t learn self-discipline at home, what makes you think you will behave yourself in a different environment? Especially when I am not there to scold and keep you in check!” Papa yelled.
“I am a decent trader, Ali. I do what I can to give you and your brother the best. Your uncles wanted you to stay in the village and learn trading but instead I sent you to school. Is this how you will repay me and your mother when you go off to school?” Papa asked.
Ali and I remained silent. I wondered what would be going on in Ali’s head.
“Do you know what they do to thieves caught in the market places?” Papa leaned in, his beady eyes gazing down on Ali. “They brand them or burn them. If they are lucky, they get saved by the police and get thrown into jail. There are no beds in jail, Ali. Only hard cement floors.”
Ali looked up with fear.
“There are also no toilets there. Prisoners sleep in their own excrement. I think I will send you there tomorrow!” Papa growled.
“Papa no! Papa please!” Ali trembled.
“But even all of that is small compared to you bringing shame to this family,” Papa hissed.
“I will not steal again, Papa,” Ali promised.
Papa said nothing for a moment before waving Ali off to bed and ordering me to follow. I was scared to go back with Ali but I reluctantly followed. Once we had gone back into the house, I expected him to bash me against a wall. But he paid no attention to me. His shoulders sagged, and his head hung. Papa’s words must have hurt him, so I felt bad for him—but I also remembered something else.
“Remember you said you will give me your portion of meat for breakfast in the morning!” I yipped cheerily…
You willl also enjoy:
Author’s note
I hope you enjoyed Nine Lives as much as I enjoyed writing it! My best works come from childhood memories, and I assure you that I can’t stop making stories like these! Wondering if I am the one in the story? I’ll let you decide.
Let’s stay connected!
My name is Racheal Asikpo. I can take the creative weight of completing your stories. I can also give you 70% distance from the writing and research. I offer ghostwriting, developmental editing and copyediting services. How about you allow a fresh pair of eyes give you a fresh breath of air?
You can follow me on:
Linkedin or Facebook to know when I post.
I also write episodic shorts on Medium!
You can also reach out to me after perusing my profiles on my Linktree.
I look forward to hearing from you.
[…] Nine Lives […]
[…] Nine Lives […]
[…] Nine Lives […]