Doesis Locker Subsea

Doesis Locker Subsea

Someone enters Davy Jones Locker but the lights turn dark orange and flash continuously. It is a sign of an unauthorised entry. Who is he, that has the temerity to come to DJL when he is not supposed to. That someone takes a while to recognise since he approaches me with apprehension. I see the eyes first, then the complexion and his face. It is Talika.

Talika stretches his hand to claw-shake mine. He is not ready for my reaction. A stunning right-hand slap lands on his left cheek with near optimal devastation. But the intruder remains standing. Headbutt. Uppercut. Uppercut. Uppercut. The precise hat-trick spoils his facial expression with dread but he remains standing. His energy is not just for errands and severity, he is a strong dude. I adjust my fists for the kill and he knows my intention.

The intruder turns around slightly and explodes into a sprint you only see at athletics events or when people run for their precious lives. Talika’s exit is a hybrid of fast floating and the cycling of the Road Runner’s feet on screen. The dust along his path of take-off float in the air waiting to resettle. No one has ever even walked fast in DJL. It is a place to retire to, cool-off or relax.

Should I have dazed Talika the way I did? The thought disturbs me. I should have asked him why he was here. The rules are the rules, though. Unless you are on an Ultraviolet Spot or dead, you cannot come here. Well, only Captain Blood has that privilege. He created the place.

I wait. I am waiting for something. And I wait. For three hours not six. Goscolene is by my side but this is no time for lapotidunity. Alertness and my wits are my best assets right now. I use cold brine to wash my face to banish any sloppiness in my mind.

The lights turn indigo everywhere and Captain Blood makes an entrance. He is angry. His gait, lips, and eyes all communicate anger. I am expecting it.

“You Bellicose Tearaway of No Anchoring, how dare you assault and injure my defenceless representative?”

“I was being pyratical according to your very own rules. And the man has fists.”

“Die your festering mouth. Die it.”

“If your rules no longer hold, I will break every single one of them without qualms. Is it not a rule that any unauthorised person should be escorted to the Great Door to cross over? Let Talika enjoy his bruises. I could have sent him the way of the Forgone Terrors.”

“I can change the rules whenever I want.”

“Not without the approval of the Colloquium.”

“You have the temerity to say that?”

“If I am wrong jazz the Micro Wave Spot and let me embrace it.”

“You think you are clever?”

“Yes. Just nowhere as clever as you.”

CB laughs.

He looks me over with a strained gaze. I cannot tell if its rancour, distaste, or admiration. I deserve all three. A post-Okolowist would never find complete favour in CB’s eyes but he is comfortable with enemies. I am his brotherly son not his enemy. I also thoroughly deserve his love and I will forever claim it! Diemirukọvwe! Guynes!

I step forward to hug CB and he hugs me back with a triple pat on the back. He loves Talika more than he loves me, but enough to be sufficient for me.

“It is not easy managing lone wolf personalities like you.”

“I am never lone. People just like isolating me and seeking me out only when it is convenient for them.”

“I know the feeling.”

CB shifts his mood pensive. I guess he is a lone wolf himself.

“CB would you like to visit Davina Deck?”

“You mean a new deck?”

“No. This is old. It is the mirror image of DJL.”

I take CB to my submarine and we surge along the oceans bed. CB says nothing and ignores the marine panorama but takes out a pen and pad and starts scribbling with breath-taking speed. Every few minutes I can hear the ruffling of CB flipping over a new page. I realise he got his Nobel Prize for work he wrote long before word-processors and laptops were tools for authors. I bet he still writes books in longhand.

Welcome to Davina Jones Locker or the Doesis Locker Subsea a reflecting sign reads.

Davina Jones Locker is all female. The enclave is identical. A subsea cave with an escape cove behind. I lead the way in the rendezvous and come across seven women sitting at a stone-cut round-table. The women stand up to greet us. I know them well but I can swear CB knows none of them in person. He has heard their names though.

“O CB, these women know you well. So, I must introduce them to you.”

“Please, meet Carol Yellow Sisi.”

“Elizabeth Kpeskelebe.”

“Okpokpogri.”

“Gbuanem Angelina.”

“Mama Macauley.”

“Ekaette.”

“Maria Killi Me.”

“Nice to meet you girls it such a pleasure. Your names and reputations go before you. Thank you. You can call me Wole.”

“Is this where you escape to, regularly?” CB asks me in a whisper as we leave the seven girls, we just met.

“O CB, this is the second time I have been here.”

He gives me the bad eye.

“If you give me the permission I shall light away. Fuego, Fuego.”

CB giggles shaking his head.

Twenty meters away we can see two older women of the Cosmos Virtual age range. Both women had looks most men would desire their wives or partners have in their seventies and eighties. Slim, lanky, neatly but simply dressed, with sexy silvery hair skirting their pretty faces. The sophistication in their appearance and posture is unmissable. The best of old school. The women remain sitting as we get to their wooden table.

“O CB please meet Bibiana and Suziana.”

Both women turn around with reluctance. Then they scream.

“Goodness gracious me,” Bibiana yells.

“It’s a lie,” Suziana yells.

Both women jump up to smother CB with hugs.

“I was just telling Bibi how I missed Christopher Okigbo all these years. And how good you were together. It’s so great to see you.” says Suziana.

“Awa CB, pipe your Xmas special, Hallelujah. I say pipe you Xmas special, Hallelu Uuyah!”

“Please, ignore this Uncouth Botheration. He just gets overexcited sometimes.”

CB shows no signs whatsoever of anger, annoyance, disappointment nor vehemence. His face and demeanour are cheery, expansive, and rakish. The man so stern and dour earlier today had morphed into an affable young playboy. And he is acting shy! Doesis.

All three seated, CB, Bibi and Suzy quickly revert to the 1950s. The setting is an Ibadan no one would recognise or understand today. I feel like an intruder to it all. The more they chat the more they leave me behind. The laughter they share does not end with talk. The man was thirty-three when I was born. I know my mate.

I break their conversation.

“O CB, let me leave you here I got to get back. I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”

“Make that 5pm. He is such a wonderful young fella. Isn’t he?”

I say my goodbyes but the three are two engrossed in their reunion to hear or care. Who cares? I have just escaped collecting a Micro Wave Spot.

This is not a set-and-pull story. Don’t ask any Whys.

Be good, not Lucky