NYU Black Renaissance Noire Spring/Summer 2013 | Page 16

Ériga nodded, and watched Dimié Abrakasa from the corner of his eye. Dimié Abrakasa caught his gaze, and he turned away, accepted the roll of notes from Chibuzo. After counting the money, he asked Dimié Abrakasa: ‘You wan’ play me betting?’ ‘Never!’ Dimié Abrakasa replied. Ériga threw back his head and laughed. ‘No fear, I no be Atanda Musa, why you no try your luck, maybe you go beat me.’ His eyes danced as he awaited a response. Then he said, ‘Anyway, since nobody want to play me, I don dey go.’ Dimié Abrakasa shrugged. ‘Me too,’ he said. As Chibuzo gathered the balls and bats, the two boys left together. They strode across the sandscape, their footsteps flopping, their progress marked by the leap-and-dance of their shadows. ‘Dimié.’ ‘Dimi. Dimi Craze…De Craze.’ Ériga nodded, pleased with himself. ‘I go call you De Craze. My name nah—’ ‘Ériga. I know.’ Dimié Abrakasa trapped a wood ant crawling up his arm. He picked it off his skin and looked at the waving legs, the snapping pincers. He crushed it between his fingertips and wiped his hand on his jeans. ‘Why you stone that crazewoman?’ Ériga asked. His eyes were fixed on his companion’s hand—the long, tapered fingers, the bitten-down nails, the network of fine veins. Dimié Abrakasa noticed the direction of his gaze, and balled a fist. ‘Nothing,’ he replied. But the image rose in his mind of his mother sitting in bed with her knees drawn up and her hands pressed against her ears. His fist rose in the air and struck his knee twice, then he let his hand fall onto the carpet of leaves. ‘You be strange person sha. De Craze,’ Ériga said. The street grew busy with schoolchildren returning from extramural classes. A group of uniformed girls was headed towards the hotel. The girls whispered to each other, and darted glances at the boys; as the group filed past the girl who walked in front turned her head to stare at Ér