Season of Crimson Blossoms by Abubakar Adam Ibrahim Page A

stomach upsets, fevers or headaches to be remedied.
    Dogo’s standing, however, suffered when he had been forced to admit that he had indeed been swindled while trying to obtain an amulet that would enable him vanish in times of trouble. He had stolen from his mother and some of the boys at San Siro and gone on a burgling spree in the neighbourhood. When he had amassed enough money, he went to the travelling mallam and collected the talisman reputed to contain, among other things, the eye of a leopard. For a week he followed the instructions diligently. He refused to come into contact with water or eat anything that had been subjected to the torment of fire; he slept wedged between the wall and some bricks, for the charm demanded he slept only on his back. And he stayed away from babies, whose pee or puke had the power to render the talisman ineffective. After the prescribed seven days of preparations, he put on the amulet anddiscovered that he did not disappear. And when, in a fit of rage, he shredded the talisman, he discovered it contained nothing but the folded pages of old newspapers.
    â€˜Okay, Dogo, cut the crap. We gave as good as we got.’ Reza leaned against the wall, his voice quietly authoritative.
    â€˜Sure.’ Gattuso punched his palm with his fist. There was a timbre of pride in his voice. ‘Kai! I must have slashed off that boy’s arm—’
    Dan Asabe coughed and Sani tried to make him comfortable by prodding the grimy pillow beneath his head. ‘I think we should take him to the hospital.’
    Dogo took a long last drag on his roll and cocked his head to one side. ‘Can I get my balance now?’
    Reza eyed him. ‘Wait, like everyone else. You saw how the rally was disrupted before the boss settled us.’
    â€˜What do you mean? No balance? Kan buran ubannan ! With this broken head and the entire day in the sun, no balance? And I had to travel with my head hanging out of the bus like a travelling chicken, almost grazing my face against the flyover—’
    â€˜Dogo, that’s enough now.’ Gattuso cracked his knuckles.
    â€˜It won’t work, Gattuso, you hear me? It won’t work. I need my money now!’
    â€˜Come and take it then.’ The challenge in Reza’s voice was unmistakable. He looked Dogo in the eye. The tall youth looked away and started rolling another joint, grumbling under his breath.
    â€˜No one has got his balance yet.’ Reza’s voice took in the entire room. ‘I am going to see the boss now about that. Wait until I return.’
    As he stepped out into the compound and stood studying the battered bus parked out at the front, Gatttuso caught up with him.
    â€˜Reza, we need to get Dan Asabe to the hospital.’ Gattuso rolled his head. ‘This thing doesn’t look good.’
    Reza thought for a while and hissed. ‘Have you not lived through worse?’
    â€˜A lot worse.’
    Reza examined the huge spiderweb crack made on the windshield of the bus by a rock missile. ‘Next time, don’t bring this dan daudu to any rally. He doesn’t have the stomach for it.’ He took a finallook at the battered vehicle and walked away, the light of the evening sun in his eyes.

    Reza reached the huge fenced house in Maitama, where peacocks walked the lush lawns. He was ushered into the anteroom where several other people, mostly elderly men, were waiting. A large flat-screen TV showed Barcelona in battle with Osasuna. He leaned against the wall and watched.
    â€˜The senator is in a meeting, you have to wait.’ A man grinned toothily at Reza as if he had known him all his life. Reza smiled back.
    â€˜You know, elections are drawing close, he will be busy seeing all these people.’ The man continued to smile as if imploring Reza to say something.
    Reza said nothing.
    â€˜This is politics!’ The man’s voice made the seven heads in the room turn to him, glaring. When he