Something Cruel

Minika stacks her waist beads one after the other. Red coral on eel-bone on bronze. Strength on wisdom on luck. She layers on the traits and breathes out the tying song in her low, gruff voice. The waistbeads sit on her low waist, over the bulge of her stomach. She fingers the beads reverently; she does not know which one might save her life. Her hand moves to her stomach, stroking it as it grumbles. She has not yet eaten. She will have plantain and stew for breakfast, she thinks. A thick, chunky stew with roughly chopped tomatoes, onions, and green pepper. She will also fry two eggs, scatter them in the pan, and layer them on top of her plantain and stew. Yes, she decides as she wraps her locs into a secure bun; that is what she will eat for breakfast. If she survives the mission.

Sunset is bloodying the sky as she locks her kitchen door behind her. Since the message in her dream a week ago, she’s been seeing colours more intensely. When she looks up, she feels like she’s falling into the sky, into all that red, swimming in blood and fire. From the moment she felt the instructions—you do not hear in a dream, not in actuality—she knew she was being punished. They were vague and unhelpful, with no name or description, just a location. It’s the type of lack of detail that could get her killed.

She is being sent to capture an escaped punishment. In the world visible, they are called demons, evil spirits, curses…whatever word a tongue seeking to translate suffering into sense can grasp first. They can be as small as a thorn in a thumb or as large as a mountain.

Minika crushes white chalk into powder in her left hand, muttering an incantation. She stretches her hand out and lets the wind blow the powder away. When the last of the powder is gone, the tip of her finger follows, dissolving into dust. The wind carries her hand and arm and shoulder, until her whole body is swirling in the warm breeze, the day’s last breaths.

Minika coughs as she condenses back into herself. The air in The World Invisible is lighter, crisper. She will never get used to the density here, the soupiness, the heft of humanity. Even drawing breath is an ordeal. She is wearing black jeans and a black crop top which reveals her waistbeads. Her leather satchel, cowries sewn into the flap, bumps against her hip as she walks.

If her incantations were accurate, she should be close to the punishment. She does not know what form it will take. It could be any type of beast, a monstrous manifestation of retribution. To be able to escape, it must be a powerful one—serpentine and ruthless.

Minika is ready for anything. Except, she isn’t. She is exhausted. Her body is fine: muscles tensed for a fight, feet ready to leap, but her spirit is drained. She knows she is being punished for stepping away from the society, and the injustice of it weighs heavy on her. She did not think they would be this spiteful, this petty. Sending her on a mission that could kill her because she asked for early retirement, for claiming her hard-earned right to rest. Minika straightens her shoulders. It doesn’t matter, she tells herself. This is her last mission. After this, she’ll spend her nights sleeping instead of stalking, and her days? Her days will be for joy.

Minika is walking in a park. The grass under her black sneakers is sparse but green, and trees frame the full moon. Up ahead, she sees a figure. She reaches into her satchel for her dagger, an incantation on the tip of her tongue.

As she approaches, the figure turns. She is supposed to move. A lunge, a grab, a stab…she should do something. But she doesn’t. She just looks at him, and he returns her stare, along with an unsteady smile.

The punishment is a boy. Technically, a man, Minika thinks to herself, but “boy” fits better. There is a simultaneous uncertainty and intactness that speaks to boyhood. A boy is a thing unshattered. Sitting in the grass under the full moon, eating strawberry ice cream with a plastic fork and a smile, he seems like something whole.

The boy has midnight skin and short white hair. He is wearing a yellow tank top and tiny blue shorts. He transfers the cone of ice cream to his left hand, eyeing her bronze dagger with curiosity, and waves at Minika. “Hi.”

“Stand up,” she says.

He stands, a tangle of legs and knees, and looks at her expectantly. He’s at least a head taller than her.

“So…are you a security guard? Do I have to pay to sit here? Because if I do, I can just leave.”

“I’m a member of Usiene. You were supposed to return to The World Invisible three days ago, but you haven’t. I’m here to take you back.”

The punishment’s face wrinkles in confusion. “I think there’s been a mixup. I got my assignment three days ago and I was sent here yesterday. I haven’t even done what I came here to do.”

It’s not surprising for a punishment to be a good liar. “You don’t say,” Minika hums.

“I just said. That’s exactly what I just said.”

Minika gestures with her dagger r. “Stand in front of me. Let’s go.”

“See…it looks like this is a misunderstanding. You can talk to Usiene. I’m sure they can check their records and—”

“Quiet!”

The punishment is quiet for a while as they walk, looking around and licking his melted ice cream from the soggy cone, having thrown the spoon away.

“My name is Ufen, by the way.”

“Did I ask you?”

“You’re a little abrasive. I don’t know if anybody has told you. It’s a good quality for a hunter to have, I guess, but there needs to be some kind of work-life balance, you know? Like me, personally, I’m not a malicious person. That’s just my job. Outside of work, I’m actually quite kind,” Ufen rambles on, an endless buzzing in Minika’s ear.

“Then can you kindly shut up?” Minika asks, scanning the trees for what she’s looking for.

“No wahala. I can do that. Why not?”

Finally, Minika finds what she’s looking for. She walks them to the base of the dying palm tree. The essence of the tree’s journey from life to death holds the power of transition. This is the place to make the journey to the world invisible.

Minika returns her dagger to her satchel, then grips Ufen by the elbow.

“You have very rough hands,” he grumbles. “Like sandpaper.”

Minika ignores him, crushing her chalk and closing her eyes to start her incantations. She finishes and releases the powder into the night wind. She feels nothing. She rubs the tips of her fingers together. They are still intact. She opens her eyes and looks around. They are still in the park. The incantation didn’t work. That means the punishment was telling the truth. He hasn’t completed his task. He is not done here, and so, neither is she. She collapses at the base of the tree and leans back against its trunk, rubbing her head.

Ufen is standing in front of her, eyeing her with one hand on his cocked hip. “So,” he smirks at her. “What’s your name?”

Minika eyes him, “Minika,” she mumbles begrudgingly, staring at him, her neck tilted back so her head rests on the tree.

“What did you say your task was again?” she asks. The sooner it’s done, the sooner she can take him home. She decides that she won’t even query Usiene. Their mistake is their business, and this is her last mission. She just wants it done.

“Oh, now you’re interested?”

“Tell me.”

“Well, I’m supposed to ruin a funeral.”

“A funeral?” Minika asks, bewildered.

“I know!” Ufen talks quickly, excitedly. “It’s so different from what I usually get. A wedding, I’d understand. A naming ceremony, maybe. A life? Well, I’d never take that kind of assignment. Very stable, but too much stress. Anyway, I’ve never gotten a funeral.”

“Who made the request?”

“Guess.” Ufen places his hand on his chin conspiratorially.

“I’m not guessing.”

“I swear on my life you’re the most boring person I’ve ever met,” Ufen sighs.

“Anyway,” Ufen continues, “the person who made the request?”

“Mhm?” Minika prompts him, rolling her eyes.

“Is the one being buried.”

***

The first thing Ufen does is call down rain. The funeral is being held in an open field dotted with white canopies. Minika and Ufen walk down the field unseen, looking for empty seats. The rain that is beating the family members and guests, darkening light blue ankara and muddying white lace, does not touch them.

They find a canopy at the back, the white plastic chairs not covered with cheap satin. Here, the drinking has started in earnest; even if Minaka and Ufen were visible, they would not have been remembered, and the alcohol would dull the rest of the senses that could have perceived them. Minika scans the canopy’s inhabitants, a women’s group in matching midnight blue head ties, to make sure. One old woman in front of them, tendrils of grey hair peeking out from under her head tie, keeps scratching her ears between sips of her Guinness and moving her neck from left to right. Standing to tier left is a child with a birthmark under his eyebrow who keeps sneezing and squinting in their direction. Minika decides that neither one of them will be a problem.

Cousins and grandchildren begin to move from canopy to canopy with trays of food. They’re serving the elderly. They drop a plate of pale coconut rice and coleslaw with a shrivelled fish tail in front of the old woman.

Ufen reaches his arm over her shoulder and pinches some rice from her plate. He lets the grain fall into his mouth and chews with unnecessary concentration for a few seconds.

“Okay.” He wipes his hand on the tablecloth. “So the food is already bland. Change of plan.”

He reaches back over the old woman’s shoulder and places one black-nailed finger on the tip of her plate, whispering.

When he is done, he sits back in his seat with a self-satisfied grin. The woman’s next bite of coconut rice comes with a “Hm!”

“What’s wrong, ma?” someone asks.

“The rice!” she says. “I think it’s gone bad.”

A particularly nosy man with a heavy silver watch on his slender wrist picks up the plate and sniffs it.

“It smells rotten!” he pronounces. The woman beside him squeezes her mouth into a crumple of fuschia lipstick and says, “How can you serve this kind of food to people? It’s irresponsible!”

Minika knows that Ufen is fuelling the outrage, spreading disgust and anger and annoyance through the air.

“Why would someone want to ruin their own funeral anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Ufen shrugs. “I just do the dirty work.”

A young man walks up to the canopy and sits beside them.

He wears black instead of the blue or white of the rest of the guests, a sharp contrast to his yellow skin. His eyes are red and watery, and he scratches at his wrists incessantly.

Minika immediately knows what is happening. When the punishment arrives, she is expecting it.

It wears unstained white, and has long locs the colour of congealed blood. Unlike Ufen who could easily be mistaken for a human by an untrained eye, this is four-armed, six-horned and slender, with one eye at the base of its skull.

Minika knows now, what she was sent here to hunt. The second punishment stands, one wrist clasped in one palm. When it speaks, its voice is mellow and melancholy.

“You’re from Usiene,” it says, barely questioning.

Minika nods, reaching for her yellow chalk. “Will you come quietly?”

The punishment moves to stand behind the young man’s chair.

“No,” it says. “I am not done with him.” It places one of its hands on the man’s shoulder, and he shudders and begins to sob quietly.

“This is cruel,” Minika chokes out, rage clogging her throat.

“What did he do?” Ufen asks quietly.

“Something cruel,” the punishment answers in its low voice, cocking its head to the side. “More than once, more than twice. Too many times.”

“You were supposed to be back four days ago. He should have suffered enough by now.”

“That’s what you’d think o,” it giggles. “But can you imagine that he tried to do it again. Can you imagine trespassing in the midst of retribution? The aggrieved has nothing but a mouth to curse him, and I am that curse.” It holds up its two left palms.

“I will return to The World Invisible when I am finished. Enjoy the party.” It taps the back of the man’s head and trails after him as he stands to leave.

Minika does not follow.

She stays in her chair as Ufen drenches the DJ’s laptop in water, directs enemies to the same canopies, breaks bottles of beer and sours palm wine. When he returns with a satisfied smile, she gathers her things so they can leave.

They are walking away from the canopy when they hear the crash and the screams. They stroll to the source of the noise, the road outside the venue. There’s a crowd of guests in blue and white outside. They part like a cloud to reveal the body, arms spread as if in welcome, skull smashed, blood bleeding out onto gravel.

“Did anybody see the driver?” Someone is shouting.

“He just walked into the road!” Someone is wailing.

The second punishment is standing a little way off, watching the crowd watch the body, and smiling. Minika catches its eye, and it nods at her.

Ufen and Minika walk to where it stands, and Ufen holds one of its hands gently, almost reverently, like a boy would take a hero’s hand.

As she crushes chalk for the incantation, she takes one of its left hands. She notices that it is calloused.