The Cellar by Minette Walters Page B

for you. They generally do once you’re in your own environment.’
    A tear glistened in Ebuka’s eye as he thanked the man for his kindness. What a sorry sight he was, Muna thought. So small and hunched in the wheelchair, his beard and hair tinged with grey and his skin a shade lighter from being inside for so long. She glanced towards Yetunde, who was arguing with the driver about the fare, and then walked forward to push Ebuka into the dining room.
    Princess said you must sleep in here, Master. She made Olubayo and me bring Abiola’s bed from upstairs because it won’t matter if you mess it. I’ve put the same rubber sheet on that he always used.
    Are you laughing at me?
    No, Master. I haven’t learned how to do that yet. Shall I leave you here or would you like to go somewhere else?
    Tell Princess to come. I need help.
    Muna moved round to look at him. She won’t give it, Master. Your smell offends her. She liked it better when you were in hospital.
    Will a nurse come?
    No, Master. Princess is too poor to pay people to help you. You must look after yourself or let me do it.
    He seemed more frightened now than he’d been in the cellar when he discovered he couldn’t move. Muna stooped to look into his eyes.
    You must learn courage and cleverness, Master. You’ll not survive being the prisoner of people who despise you otherwise. Princess’s temper is very uncertain. If you demand too much or your complaints irritate her, she will open the cellar door and push you down the steps.
    Perhaps Ebuka thought she was talking about herself because he grasped the wheels of the chair and manoeuvred it backwards. Stay away from me, he warned with a tremor in his voice. Only you would do such a thing.
    Not I, Master, but the same isn’t true of Princess and Olubayo. You brought misfortune to them when you brought it to yourself, and they blame you for it.
    And you do not?
    No, Master. As your life gets worse, mine gets better. I thank you more often than I blame you. Shall I ask Princess to come or would you rather show me how to help you? You will find me a faster and more patient learner. Princess is too lazy to do anything well.

Eight
    Muna wondered if all people were like the Songolis. It was hard to tell when her contact with strangers was so limited. She took what she could from the television but Yetunde’s diet of soap operas, American movies and chat shows were as full of anger and aggression as the woman who watched them.
    Sometimes Muna saw love portrayed on the screen when men and women tore off their clothes and grunted like Ebuka and Olubayo, or mothers caressed their children and said they loved them, but she remained unmoved by such scenes. The gestures and words were always the same, as if there were only two ways to express affection.
    Yet as time wore on she noticed that Ebuka’s eyes softened each time she entered his room. It made her curious because it seemed to indicate a feeling for her that he’d never had before. She might have feared it was lust if Yetunde hadn’t delighted in flicking his flaccid penis and telling him he’d never be able to go with white whores again.
    To see him naked disgusted Yetunde but Muna felt only indifference. He had lost his power to hurt her, and the withered muscles of his legs made him seem shrunken and puny. Occasionally she wished she’d been able to see his penis when he came at her in the darkness of the cellar. She’d have been less frightened if she’d known what it was he was thrusting into her hole and her mouth. It was such a poor little thing and she had strong teeth. She could have bitten it off and spat it out along with his filth.
    For the first few days Ebuka closed his eyes and refused to speak when she came to his room. It mattered little to Muna. She had been silent so long that talking was a burden. She was happier living inside her head than moving her stiff, reluctant mouth to form words.
    Her thoughts on Ebuka were always about revenge.