you’ve left in a rage to visit your sister so the police will not be called … and that pleases the Master because he doesn’t want whites to know how little his wife respects him.
She peered curiously into Yetunde’s bulging, pleading eyes, and then rose to her feet and began moving the boxes and trunks that were piled against the back wall. Behind them were a series of ancient floor-to-ceiling iron racks, dirty with dust and cobwebs. Some of the slots contained empty wine bottles but most were unfilled. In places, Muna could see where hands had rested on the metal, disturbing the dust, and she wondered if the prints had been made by Ebuka when he removed her mattress, or the police when they searched the cellar for Abiola.
She was careful to leave no marks as she slid her hand through a slot at waist level and used her fingertips to locate the crevice in the thin stone veneer behind it. At first, since it never occurred to her that Yetunde and Ebuka were ignorant of the cellar’s second chamber, her reluctance to touch any part of the iron frame had been through fear of being punished if Yetunde realised she’d discovered it. But as time went by, and she saw that the Songolis were unaware of it, her desire grew to keep the knowledge from them.
The secret belonged to Muna and no one else. The Devil had revealed it to her one night when Ebuka had left his torch on the floor beside her mattress. She didn’t know how long she’d been in the house – A week? A season? A year? – but when she found the courage to switch on the beam, the cellar became less frightening. Until then it had been steeped in ominous shadow, glimpsed only in the backwash of light from the hall when Yetunde held the door open to allow her in at night or out again in the morning.
By torchlight it was smaller than her imagination had made it – half the size of the hall and cloakroom under which it stood – and her attention was drawn immediately to the dusty honeycomb of metal in front of her because the beam of the torch was shining straight at it. She thought it a strange way to build shelves until she saw bottles in some of the slots and guessed what its purpose was. There was nothing else apart from a card that glowed white against the blackness of the iron rack.
It hung by a string from the neck of an empty bottle and Muna could make out the picture even from five yards away. It was simple and clear – the outline of a hand with the long middle finger extended – and she would believe for ever that it had been put there for her to find. Where others might have dismissed the diagram as an obscene joke, Muna took it for a sign and followed the instruction exactly, removing the bottle and sliding her arm into the slot.
She turned to look at Yetunde now as her finger pressed on the latch inside the crevice and a section of the wall detached itself from the rest. She used her toe against the sturdy bar at the bottom of the metal to push it wider, and gloried to see the absolute terror in Yetunde’s face as a new level of cold crept towards her.
On the floor inside the second room lay the picture of the pointing finger. Muna had placed it there to prevent Yetunde discovering the secret, but, as the stale air stirred with the opening of the door, the card flipped over to show the writing on the reverse. Without the ability to decipher what it said, Muna believed the Devil had written it. And what more proof did she need than his rumbling laugh as the card lifted and turned?
This walk-in safe was designed and constructed in 1983 by Joseph Baumgarten. The patented concealed door is a strengthened aluminium alloy frame with a natural stone veneer, operated by cantilever hinges, counter-weights and a finger latch. For optimum performance, maintenance should include regular oiling of these mechanisms. The manufacturer guarantees all moving parts for ten years but takes no liability for breaches of security through carelessness or
She peered curiously into Yetunde’s bulging, pleading eyes, and then rose to her feet and began moving the boxes and trunks that were piled against the back wall. Behind them were a series of ancient floor-to-ceiling iron racks, dirty with dust and cobwebs. Some of the slots contained empty wine bottles but most were unfilled. In places, Muna could see where hands had rested on the metal, disturbing the dust, and she wondered if the prints had been made by Ebuka when he removed her mattress, or the police when they searched the cellar for Abiola.
She was careful to leave no marks as she slid her hand through a slot at waist level and used her fingertips to locate the crevice in the thin stone veneer behind it. At first, since it never occurred to her that Yetunde and Ebuka were ignorant of the cellar’s second chamber, her reluctance to touch any part of the iron frame had been through fear of being punished if Yetunde realised she’d discovered it. But as time went by, and she saw that the Songolis were unaware of it, her desire grew to keep the knowledge from them.
The secret belonged to Muna and no one else. The Devil had revealed it to her one night when Ebuka had left his torch on the floor beside her mattress. She didn’t know how long she’d been in the house – A week? A season? A year? – but when she found the courage to switch on the beam, the cellar became less frightening. Until then it had been steeped in ominous shadow, glimpsed only in the backwash of light from the hall when Yetunde held the door open to allow her in at night or out again in the morning.
By torchlight it was smaller than her imagination had made it – half the size of the hall and cloakroom under which it stood – and her attention was drawn immediately to the dusty honeycomb of metal in front of her because the beam of the torch was shining straight at it. She thought it a strange way to build shelves until she saw bottles in some of the slots and guessed what its purpose was. There was nothing else apart from a card that glowed white against the blackness of the iron rack.
It hung by a string from the neck of an empty bottle and Muna could make out the picture even from five yards away. It was simple and clear – the outline of a hand with the long middle finger extended – and she would believe for ever that it had been put there for her to find. Where others might have dismissed the diagram as an obscene joke, Muna took it for a sign and followed the instruction exactly, removing the bottle and sliding her arm into the slot.
She turned to look at Yetunde now as her finger pressed on the latch inside the crevice and a section of the wall detached itself from the rest. She used her toe against the sturdy bar at the bottom of the metal to push it wider, and gloried to see the absolute terror in Yetunde’s face as a new level of cold crept towards her.
On the floor inside the second room lay the picture of the pointing finger. Muna had placed it there to prevent Yetunde discovering the secret, but, as the stale air stirred with the opening of the door, the card flipped over to show the writing on the reverse. Without the ability to decipher what it said, Muna believed the Devil had written it. And what more proof did she need than his rumbling laugh as the card lifted and turned?
This walk-in safe was designed and constructed in 1983 by Joseph Baumgarten. The patented concealed door is a strengthened aluminium alloy frame with a natural stone veneer, operated by cantilever hinges, counter-weights and a finger latch. For optimum performance, maintenance should include regular oiling of these mechanisms. The manufacturer guarantees all moving parts for ten years but takes no liability for breaches of security through carelessness or
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