Narrator’s Name: Unknown, Still
XII. The Bold and Mysterious R
Hint/Confession: The least that can be said about me is that I have my ears to the ground without even trying.
The gun barrel was warm, indicating it had been used not long ago. Or maybe it was just Umar’s fright that made it seem warm.
“Who are you? What do you want?” Umar said. The intruder just stood there with a gun in his hand. It was dark but Umar knew the intruder was smiling; he felt it. “Where is… Did you…?” Umar had wanted to ask if the ruthless stranger did anything to his mother when he remembered Umma had travelled that morning to Kano to see her granddaughter, Hafsa.
The intruder was enjoying it; he had uttered nothing for almost a minute. Umar had multiple thoughts running through his head. He had squeezed out more words from his throat and more air from his nostrils in that endless minute than he had in the past.
The intruder clicked a button on a laptop that he had long placed beside Umar before he woke Umar up. The screen’s light came on and brightened the room. Umar could now see the silhouette of the intruder: he hid his face under a balaclava and wore all black or maybe it seemed black because of the darkness that enveloped the intruder. Umar looked at him hard to see whether he’d recognized his intruder but to no avail. Umar waited for the intruder to speak but he never spoke. Instead, the intruder clicked another button and the following words showed across the screen:
R: Hey U.J. tonight you die. So how excited are you?
Umar was now sure that R was behind this. He didn’t think this was how their first meeting would be. But, he wondered, is the intruder R?
The intruder looked at Umar, waiting for him to respond to the words displayed on the screen but Umar said nothing. What does one say to that – to an invitation to death? Umar was sure the intruder was still smiling broadly beneath his balaclava – he was really enjoying the weight of power he had at that moment. Umar was also sure that he was indeed going to die that night. The intruder clicked the keyboard again and:
R: You haven’t found her words and I don’t like being kept waiting.
“I couldn’t... I don’t know what you want from me?” said Umar. At this point in the conversation, Umar was also sure that either the intruder worked alone or has an accomplice. If he worked alone, that means the words on the screen were long prepared. This whole conversation was long prepared by the intruder before he broke into the house and like a master chess player, the intruder would have predicted all the moves to be made by parties involved. If that’s the case, Umar knew he was doomed to die. Because the endgame, as far as Umar could see, was his death.
However, if the intruder didn’t work alone, that’d mean whoever sent the intruder was listening probably through a phone or a listening device and so would send his replies through the laptop based on Umar’s responses. And if that was the case Umar would have a better chance of surviving the night. Because his survival would be contingent on his power of negotiation; it’d be based on what he’d say. At least that was what Umar thought.
R: Last words. Last words are the most honest part of human deeds. The last thing a man does before he dies. They are words but they are almost like actions. You haven’t found anything because you’re not honest with yourself. Do you want me to make you know what your last words would be?
“Don’t kill me,” Umar said helplessly with a wobbly voice while his body shuddered. Whether the intruder worked alone or not, it didn’t look good for Umar.
R: Are those your last words? I’m disappointed. No wonder! You haven’t found her words because you’re a coward.
“I can’t find her words because I don’t know what to look for.”
R: Sad. To find life, you have to sign your death warrant. You haven’t signed your death warrant and that’s why I’m going to murder you here and now.
The night was silent and dark; the night was waiting for the intruder’s gun to steal more from silence and to bloody the darkness.
Umar thought of what to do. He could try to hit the intruder but the intruder was at the other side of the bed. He’d shoot him before he made any move. He decided this was the end.
“Okay.”
R: Good. Now, choose a number between zero and three.
“What?” Umar was confused. This time the intruder didn’t click a button, instead, he pointed at the screen indicating the answer to Umar’s question was what Umar had just read from the laptop screen. At this point, Umar didn’t really care so he didn’t oblige to what would become of him. The intruder came round to the other side of the bed where Umar was and hit him hard in the face with the butt of the gun. Umar’s head spun, he was unable to hear anything for a while except for a ringing sound while blood trickled from Umar’s face. Umar looked at the intruder’s silhouette to see whether he could recognize who he was –who his killer was.
“Two,” Umar said. His last words would be two.
The intruder bent down picked something from a bag on the floor and gave it to Umar. It was Saleem’s book, The Color of Blood. The intruder, still without uttering a word, now gestured to Umar to put the book across his chest. Umar didn’t know where this was going but collected the book and did as requested. The intruder took another copy of The Color of Blood and gave it to him. He gave Umar two books. Two was the number Umar chose. Two marked the spot. Two would be the color of blood.
Umar held the two books across his chest. The two books were standing between the gun and Umar’s chest. The blood from his face counted seconds and trickled down slowly, softening the books.
R: Good night, U.J. This is the end.
There and then Umar knew that this was no game of chess and this was the end. The intruder pulled the trigger, stealing silence, bloodying darkness, and ending a life.