Seeds of Plenty Read Online Free Page B

have to leave,” she said. Sand flies feasted on her exposed arms, but in her state, she did not notice.
    On the other side of the gate, a Peugeot pulled up, entering the compound. The security guard went over and murmured something to the car’s driver. Sylvia noticed it was the young doctor, Ayo Ogunlesi, coming back from his clinic in town. It was one o’clock in the morning. The doctor parked his car and strode over to her. Suddenly, Sylvia felt embarrassed. She knew there was no logic to her impulsive plan. How would she explain this to the young doctor? She wanted to turn around and speed home, but her hands seemed stuck to the wheel, and she couldn’t move.
    She had seen Ayo a couple of times at the clubhouse and pool on the compound. It was hard not to notice him. He was of African-English descent; his mother was English and his father Nigerian, a taboo marriage against all odds during colonial times. His unique looks—skin, the color of terra cotta, hazel-tinted eyes, a face where cultures collided. It was a sort of talent, these extraordinary good looks, these far-flung genes that had produced this novelty.
    “It’s Sylvia, right?” he said, coming up to her car window. “It’s a bit late for you to be driving around outside. But you know that, I presume.” As he spoke, he dug his hands into his pockets.
    When she didn’t respond, he said, “Right, let me take you home.”
    Sylvia let him help her out of the car. He put his arm around her and coaxed her into the passenger seat. Then he got into her car and drove her back to her house. She felt him glance over at her bare legs. She tried to pull her short silk robe toward her knees. She felt even more agitated, her nerves complicated now by this man sitting next to her. Her long black hair fell over her face, and she kept brushing it back nervously. She felt his attractiveness, and it put her on guard. She kept her face averted, staring out the window, turned away from him. The night air rushed in through the open windows—a faint scent of the thorny bougainvillea blossoms and the smoke of slowly dying cooking fires and burning garbage.
    He parked the car in her garage, but she didn’t move. He reached across her to open the door, his arm lightly brushing her body. That sent her scrambling out of the car, her heart pounding from the adrenalin of fleeing and the closeness of this man. He carried the bassinet into her house with Lila screaming. She needed to nurse her to calm her down. She leaned down to pick up her baby, inadvertently revealing her full breasts. He looked away, saying, “I’ll get your housegirl.”
    He went to the servants’ quarters built behind each house, the one architectural feature on the compound that was unique to colonial Africa. When he came back with Patience, Sylvia was sitting on the sofa, half-naked, nursing her baby in her silk white robe. She felt dazed and not quite herself. She only thought of calming Lila. With his eyes averted, Ayo took his leave.
    Her eyes followed the outline of his broad shoulders as he walked out the door. In the distance, she could hear the harmony of voices and electric guitar matched by a rhythm of talking drums. It was nothing like the music of her culture—the dissonant falsetto voice of Chinese opera or the melancholy wail of the Chinese violin. She thought the music of Africa was filled with joy.
    ***
     
    A few days later at Patience’s insistence, Sylvia ventured out to the compound wives’ coffee hosted by her neighbor, an Indian woman named Meghal. As she walked out of the house without her baby, Sylvia felt empty-handed, as if she were missing an appendage. She wanted to return home, but she instead she kept walking. A part of her was trying to please her husband, just as she worked to please her father. She was trying to do the right thing, even though inside, it felt all wrong.
    She thought of Baba, a Latin-handsome playboy from Shanghai, an accomplished swimmer and