Taduno's Song (4 page)

Their orders arrived promptly, and they ate quietly – Taduno and Aroli with relaxed looks on their faces; Sergeant Bello with a sombre look on his.

Under the poor light, Taduno had the opportunity to study Sergeant Bello away from the police station. And he was surprised to see the face of the city – a city battered
by a regime that used hopeless people like Bello to perpetuate itself.

They finished eating and moved to an open-air bar, still along the canal, where people were drinking and murmuring, drinking and murmuring against the government, and their anger kept rising with their drunkenness. And their voices became so loud nothing they said made sense any more. And all that filled the air in that garden of drinking people was bitter anger against the government. And Sergeant Bello could take it no more – knowing he was against the people, and on the side of evil. And he felt sad knowing that the same people he was against murmur not for their own good, but for his as well.

Taduno sensed Sergeant Bello's state of mind. He cleared his throat. ‘When the people murmur like this, it means there is hope for the future,' he said, trying to sound cheerful.

‘Maybe. But what hope is there for someone like me?' Sergeant Bello was forlorn. He drank some beer.

‘The same hope there is for us all,' Aroli explained. ‘The same hope we share as a society.'

Sergeant Bello gave a small bitter laugh. ‘How can I share the same hope with these people when I'm a part of what they murmur against?'

‘Regardless of which side we are on, hope is universal. When you begin to hope, you begin to murmur against that which hinders you. And when you murmur, change is bound to come.' Aroli shook his head. ‘I wish I could explain it better.'

‘You've explained it well enough.' There was a distant
look on Sergeant Bello's face. ‘I have enough education to understand your words. And you know what?'

‘What?' Taduno and Aroli asked as one.

‘I'm beginning to think there's hope for me after all.' A weak smile spread across the Sergeant's face.

Taduno and Aroli exchanged looks.

‘Why did you suggest dinner?' Sergeant Bello asked.

Taduno went to the point. ‘I need more information about Lela. Why was she kidnapped?'

Sergeant Bello looked thoughtful.

‘Why was she kidnapped?' Taduno persisted.

‘Government is looking for her boyfriend. He is a musician who used his music to cause trouble for government. They can't find her boyfriend, so they kidnapped her – as a ransom.'

‘So it's her boyfriend the government is really after?'

‘Yes. If they find him and get him to sing favourably about government, she will be released. Otherwise, she will be killed. They are afraid that his music could start a revolution and topple the government.'

‘But she is innocent.'

Sergeant Bello laughed quietly.

‘Government does not believe in innocence.'

They drank in silence for a while. And then Taduno asked: ‘What's the name of the man the government is looking for?'

‘They don't know his name, and the girl would not tell. They only know him as a great musician with a magnetic voice.'

‘Have they got a picture of this man?'

‘No, they don't. They used to know his name; they used
to have his picture. But then something happened, something strange nobody can remember, and he became a man with no name and no face. They think he is at the heart of a sinister conspiracy to topple the government.'

‘So the government is looking for a man they don't know, a man with no name and no face?' Taduno wore a bewildered look.

‘Yes, but the girl Lela knows, and they are trying to make her reveal his identity.'

‘And the boyfriend must become a praise-singer for the government if they are to release her?'

‘Yes.'

‘Where are they holding her?'

‘CID headquarters. But I don't advise you to go there! You'll only get yourselves arrested and tortured.'

‘By the way,' Aroli spoke slowly, ‘how would the government identify the man they are looking for if he has no name and no face?'

‘By his voice,' Sergeant Bello replied. ‘His voice is his identity. He has the most wonderful voice in the world. No other human being sings like him . . .'

A slight pause.

‘Look, by telling you all these things, I'm simply joining my voice to those of the people, hoping that my little contribution will make a difference.' The Sergeant shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘As I said before, government does not believe in innocence. If they ever get to know all that I have told you, my life would be worth nothing. So as far as I'm concerned, I never met you two and I don't know you as friends of Lela's.'

They finished their beer. Taduno settled the bill. And they stood up to go. To both Taduno and Aroli's surprise, Sergeant Bello refused to take money in exchange for the information he had given them. ‘Take it as my contribution to the murmurings of the people,' he said.

*

It was easy for Taduno to tell Aroli his story after that.

‘I used to live a simple life at first. I used to be a musician and all I sang was love songs – songs that encouraged people to live as one, to love without asking for love in return, to give without thinking of receiving,' he explained, pacing the small living room of Aroli's apartment.

It was his first time in the apartment since returning from exile, and everything was just the way he used to know it. The fake
Mona Lisa
still hung on the wall above the Sony television. The sofas were still the same, the ceiling fan still had the same hum, and the walls of the living room were still as bright as ever – a bright yellow that always reminded him of a nursery.

He continued.

‘And then everything changed, and I began to sing against injustice and oppression. Everything changed when the June 12th presidential election was annulled and the legitimate winner was thrown in jail. Through my music I became a force, a fierce enemy of the government.'

‘But your name's not on the wanted list published by the government some time ago,' Aroli interrupted.

‘That's because you all forgot me – my family, friends,
neighbours, the government – the entire country forgot me.'

A short silence.

‘So you started using your music to attack government,' Aroli prodded, eager for him to continue his story.

Taduno stopped pacing and dropped into a chair.

‘Yes, I became an activist, a thorn in the flesh of government. The President's soldiers beat me up on many occasions, sometimes leaving me for dead. They burned my car and closed my bank accounts. I remained unyielding. On many occasions the President tried to persuade me to give up, promising to make me very rich. But I turned him down, and I continued to fight him with my music. And then his soldiers threatened to kill me.'

‘So you went into exile?'

‘No, I continued to be a very vocal critic of the regime through my songs. Then they murdered the winner of the June 12th election in detention. The whole country erupted; the regime used the army and the police to subdue the protests. I realised that it was possible to depose the regime with music, so I continued to fight them with my songs.

‘And then they banned all record shops from selling my music. The army invaded the shops and confiscated all my records. They invaded my house, any house where my records could be found, and they seized every copy of my records. And they burned them all so that not a single copy of any of my records can be found anywhere today. I guess that was when every record of me was erased from all your memories. I no longer existed because
there was no way I could continue to exist without my music. My music was me, and they took it away from me. That was when I gave up the struggle and went into exile.' A deep sigh escaped him.

‘Yes, I know it now. The government took my identity away from me and destroyed it. They mutilated me and turned everyone against me – my family, my friends, my neighbours, the entire country. They ground me into the dust. And now even they can no longer recognise me because they destroyed every bit of me.'

‘What happened to your band members?'

‘I didn't need a band for my kind of music. My music compares to storytelling – it is best sung by one person. Two people cannot weave an enchanting story. I told stories with my music and the only musical instrument I used was the guitar. I had over thirty guitars. The President's soldiers destroyed them all. I was to discover later that the many beatings I received affected my vocal cords. My voice has never been the same.'

‘So you are actually the man the government is looking for, Lela's boyfriend,' Aroli spoke, thoughtfully.

‘Yes, and I must convince the government that I'm their man if they are to release her. Sadly, nobody remembers me and I no longer have the voice to prove I am the musician they are looking for.'

He dropped his head in dismay, remaining like that for several minutes. And then he looked up with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. ‘I think I should just turn myself in and tell them I'm Lela's boyfriend.'

‘No,' Aroli said, shaking his head. ‘As you have said,
nobody remembers you. Without your voice government will only see you as an imposter, and that could get you into serious trouble.'

Taduno saw Aroli's point and nodded.

They talked a bit more without agreeing on what to do. The street was asleep when he left Aroli's place. He went straight to bed. For a long time he lay fidgeting in the darkness, thinking of Lela and of himself, and he wondered what would happen to both of them if, in the end, nobody remembered him.

FIVE

He came alive with hope in the morning when he found a letter from Lela in his mailbox. It came in a stained brown envelope similar to the one he had received in exile, and it bore only his first name, no last name, no address. In the living room, his hands trembling slightly, he sat down to read the letter.

Taduno's eyes were moist with tears by the time he finished reading. He read the letter again, hoping that it would throw up a clue, but he felt only pain and frustration. Finally, not knowing what to do, he got a pen and paper and began to write to Lela. He did not put a date or address on the letter; he wanted his words to reach her without the barrier of time and place.

He finished writing. He wept as he folded the letter into a brown envelope. Somehow, he thought, brown envelopes are best for delivering secrets. As tears rolled down his face onto the envelope, he realised why the envelopes in which Lela sent her letters had stains: the stains were teardrops, the pain she felt, carried across time and place. Now, as he watched his tears drying up on the envelope,
he felt hope, knowing that she would be reminded of his feelings for her upon receiving the letter.

Not until he had sealed the envelope did it occur to him that he had no clue where to send the letter. For a while he was lost in thought, but seeing no way of getting the letter to Lela, he went outside and left it in his mailbox. And, hoping that whoever delivered her letter to him would find it and take it to her, he took the padlock off the box.

*

He hid the letter he received from Lela where no one could find it. For her sake, he reminded himself, he must not allow anyone, not even Aroli, to know about it. Her words kept echoing in his mind: ‘If you receive this letter, keep it a secret.' Although he felt very sad, he also felt relief knowing that she was alive. And now all he had to do to secure her release was learn to sing again. He became filled with a sense of urgency and hope. He realised that if he learned to sing again he could stir the world's memory with his voice and they would remember all that they had forgotten about him. And then he would praise the President with his music and secure the release of the woman he loved!

‘I have to learn to sing again,' he said, when Aroli visited him that morning. He was upbeat, but his eyes were tired.

‘I think we should secure Lela's release before you turn your attention to reviving your career,' Aroli said, studying his face. ‘Get some sleep. You look tired.'

He ignored Aroli's concern. ‘Look, my voice is as good as a croak at the moment. There's no way I can convince the regime I'm their man with that kind of voice. I must learn to sing again to secure Lela's release. Don't you see?'

Aroli gave a slow nod of understanding.

Taduno continued. ‘If I learn to sing again I will be able to convince the regime I'm their man. And then I can praise the government with my music and get them to release Lela.' He was excited. Although he felt the strong urge to tell Aroli about the letter, he remembered Lela's warning.