Sina Mafe Reconciles, Subsea
I sat absorbed in thought at an incredible distance within myself. Meditation had taught me the courage to look inside myself, the innermost recesses of my mind, could be as rewarding as globetrotting or space travel. I am no entheogen experimenter though. My journey inside has only had a boost from rum, and rarely so. My senses were all but in limbo, only the taste of salt in my mouth attempted to bring me back to everyday alertness.
Where I was visiting within was a truly beautiful and serene place. It conformed with several descriptions of paradise. It was full of happy sailors forgone enjoying eternity, one moment at a time. I tried asking these sterling sailors of nether times what the name of the place was, but no one would say, not even the super liberals, Spitfire or Black Dog. They rather I be merry.
The lights change once again and the journey from paradise to the desolate, cold, damp, and lonely Davy Jones Locker Rendezvous took one nanosecond. I had not spoken to my other inmate despite the high inner affinities between us. Cap’n Blood banished us to Davy Jones Locker to reflect, and it is about the only vocation you can have there. We master reflection in brief spans of time. It took my fellow inmate weeks, while it took me almost a year, because I left the place often in my submarine.
Who was it this time, I asked myself with solemn fervour? It was Pinto Limboko. He pretended as if he did not see me and walked straight past. Same furtive eyes, same cautious swagger, same bald head, and same cunning. It was no surprise he made his disdain for me known long ago. In honesty, I earned his disdain for reasons beyond my control. Or so I like to think.
Davy Jones Locker is a massive place and I have not explored even a fifth of it but I know the sea route, to the Great Door which opens unto the Great Gangway. No one else does, not even my fellow inmate. I also know where to dock my submarine.
Pinto Limboko, after much trekking in search of the Great Door, returned past me a few times as if I was not there. I knew the energy he came to the rendezvous expires in three days and before then, if overexerted. Forty hours had passed, and he returned to my station the third time. I guess he could now feel his energy expiring and he did not want to remain in limbo forever. Pinto Limboko walked up to me, maintaining a distance of four metres from me.
“The Wrong Someone,” he said.
I did not know I could do it, but I made him disappear from my vision. I did not have to ignore him; he was not there.
“Someone Wrong, I know I ignored you, but I have to leave this place soon,” he said.
I could hear his voice, but I could not see him.
“You cannot blame me for being furious with you. You know that,” he said.
“Yes. You and your cohorts are always right, never wrong,” I said.
“We were all at fault, but you went too far,” he said.
“You guys went too far in avoiding responsibility,” I replied.
“I am still your Cap’n,” he said.
“True. But in Davy Jones Locker I am the mascot. No one goes to the Great Door without me taking them. I am the mascot here,” I said.
“Then do your job. That is an order,” he said.
“In Davy Jones Locker, there are no orders, just duties and compliance. You are the one who did not comply,” I said.
“I will wait for you when you cross the Great Gangway,” he said.
I knew he was bluffing.
“Just before you arrived here, I saw me being with sailors like Black Dog, Spitfire, Buster Nimo and Sweating Bottle in paradise, not here,” I said.
“Is there such a place?” he asked.
“Yes, but it is not your portion,” I said.
I did not hear an immediate reply and left it at that. Ten minutes later, I heard his voice again.
“Wrong Something, please, help me get to the Great Door. Just do your duty,” he said.
“I will,” I said
My first task was to bring him back into my vision. Then I stood up, and without a word, led the way to the Great Door. We had to make several stops because he was tiring and breathless. He must have walked tens of miles because of avoiding me, which was an unnecessary waste of transition energy. He drank a few times from my water bottle and even asked for a sip of rum. Rum is also medicine. My indignation soon turned to sympathy. In life, he was a good man, open and honest, all-welcoming and generous. He was good to me. However, the politics and dealings of a foul system fouls things and people up.
We reached the fifty-metre mark from the Great Door; I stopped.
“I never go beyond this point. I wish you a wonderful journey into the forgone,” I said.
“Are you afraid of nearing the Great Door?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Okay, Derio, my brother, we forgive each other as we forgive each other,” he said.
“O Cap’n!!!” I shouted with a sudden explosive but unexpected energy.
He was the same sweet person I knew from long ago once again. I could not bear watching him join the forgone sailors. I walked away at gale-speed. From about five hundred metres away from the Great Door, I could hear music of drums and male voices.
Pinto Limboko Don Come
Pinto Limboko Don Come O
We wait o, we tire, ekpe!
Pinto Limboko had crossed the Great Gangway. Like Fabio Romani before him, he was more loyal to Cap’n Blood than Gbogborima. Mens must choose their ways. In the end, every man shall receive measure for measure, blood for blood.
O Pinto Limboko, Grand Consul of Panama,
Farewell, O Cap’n,
Derio to your Rugged Bones!
Be good, not lucky