Three

The taxi stops in front of a very beautiful two-story building.

It is located in a beautiful neighborhood. The streets are well-demarcated and the addresses precise. The houses are neat and well-arranged, testifying of the affluence of the rich people living in the neighborhood. The lawns and hedges are beautiful and lush green luxuries.

The men and women here are well-dressed, and the children look neat, prim and proper like showcase mannequins. Once in a while, the wail of a police siren sounds as the cruisers drift silently along, providing a safe haven in this area of the African city.

This is an atmosphere reserved for the rich in the society.

They are different, and they love showing it.

Chris Bawa, sitting in the front passenger seat of the taxi, notices that there are a lot of cars parked in front of the building he has come to. The gates of the house are splendid gold and silver with sliding reinforced metal, making them almost impossible to breach. Next to the main gates is a smaller gate that is being manned by two uniformed security men.

Music and laughter filter out from the house. Chris can see some adult guests and a lot of children moving around the yard, and he can hear excited voices coming from the pool area which he knows is located at the western wing of the house.

The taxi driver looks at Chris and speaks lazily.

"We're here, boss. Twenty cedis, please."

Chris absentmindedly reaches into his breast pocket and pays the taxi driver with a crisp twenty-cedi note. He gets out of the car and remains standing as the taxi reverses, executes a U-turn and speeds away.

Chris takes deep breaths, and then he crosses the street and heads for the gates where the security men are.

They regard him warily, and one of them holds out a hand as if trying to stop him.

"Hold up, sir!" he says, and his voice is unfriendly. "What can we do for you, please?"

Chris' jaws work angrily, but he fights for control. Already his fury is tearing through him, and he knows it will not serve him in any positive capacity. However, if he does not control his fury, it just might blow up all his resolve to remain calm.

"Visiting," Chris says.

"You can't go in, sir, please," the Security guard says. "Not without an invitation card, sir. The birthday party is strictly by invitation, please."

"I want to see the owner, Effe Bawa," Chris says.

"She's not a Bawa, sir," the man said, looking confused. "This is Madam Effe Kedem's house."

The small gate slides open just then, and a group of excited people come out.

There is a man leading the group, and he is holding an expensive-looking camera. He is wearing a white trousers and a shirt that are fashionably designed, and fit him well. Medium-sized and compact, with closely-cropped hair, he looks dapper, trim and attractive.

He is laughing as he tries to focus the camera on the boy directly behind him. The boy, about ten years, is flanked by some of his friends. He is wearing black jeans and a beautiful white Polo shirt, and he is laughing happily as he reaches out to take the hand of his mother.

The boy's mother…

Chris stares at the woman.

Effe!

His Effe!

The pain is a sharp explosion that tears through his whole frame and makes his mouth dry as he stares at her.

She is a very beautiful woman, breathtakingly beautiful…an angel!

She has classic curves and a skin so perfect it seems to radiate its own inner glow. She is wearing an amazing white dress, and she looks absolutely happy as she bends and kisses the boy on the cheek.

And that is about the time she finds out that her son is no longer laughing. He is not even looking at his mother and trying to get her attention anymore. His eyes are gaping wide with a shock so profound that for a moment it appears to be carved from marble.

The woman stares at her son with incomprehension, suddenly appalled by his stillness, and then her eyes follow his gaze. She also sees Chris for the first time.

The boy steps past his mother and walks unsteadily towards Chris. He stops and gazes up at the tall handsome man with eyes bulging with shock and disbelief as he fights with the turmoil evidently raging through him.

They bear an uncanny resemblance to each other, a sort of incredible 'young and old' versions of the same physical make-up. It is evident that this is a man and his son.

The boy reaches out blindly, and his hands shake rather badly as his eyes fill up with unshed tears. His lips tremble, and a single word comes out, hoarse and filed with tight passion.

"Daddy?" Chris Bawa Junior whispers.

For a moment Chris cannot speak.

He has not seen his son for five years, and the agony burns through his heart with its intense passion. His son had just been seven years old when Chris was locked up.

That the boy recognizes him, after all these years, after all those painful years when he has still been not more than a baby, hits Chris very hard, and it robs him of speech momentarily. He looks down at his son, and he is totally overcome by emotions so strong that it threatens to tear his heart apart. Slowly, Chris Bawa gets down on one knee, and when he speaks his voice is an unstable whisper.

"Champ!"

The boy cannot take it anymore. His chest heaves, as if he can barely breathe, and he ejects sudden tears with the force of a waterfall. He is overwhelmed, and his body vibrates. He takes faltering steps with arms still stretched out. His gait, for a split second, looks uncannily like a zombie, and then he falls into his father's arms. The two become enveloped in, perhaps, the tightest embrace two human beings had ever shared. Chris buries his face in the side of his son's neck and holds on hard, his huge frame shaking with the explosive power of his emotions.

Stunned, Effe walks toward them slowly, her face a map of conflicting emotions and shocked incredulity. The man with the camera also steps forward on unsteady legs, and his face is even more shocked than Effe's. He reaches out blindly and puts an arm across Effe's shoulders.

"Chris?" Effe tries to say, but it comes out like a harsh whisper because her throat is so dry. "Is that you, Chris?"

Chris Bawa slowly looks up at his wife, the woman he has loved with all his heart and all his soul, the one woman who affects him and has power over him like no other human been has. He gets to his feet slowly, and his eyes do not leave her stunned face. His face hardens perceptively when he sees the other man's arm across the shoulders of his wife.

That man is Steve Hollison, thirty-five years old, once Chris' best friend, more like a brother. This man has been his best man at his wedding to Effe, and has been as close as Chris' shadow. But now, he has put claims on Effe, the only woman Chris loves.

"Effe," Chris says softly.

At the sound of his voice she recoils a little, and it seems to break the cocoon of shock that had shrouded her. Her confusion and static incredulity ebbs away fast, and he sees the familiar glow in her eyes and the change in her facial expression as her anger soars fast.

"What the hell are you doing here, Chris?" she asks, and her voice is a tight, controlled energy of fury. "Did you escape from prison? Is that it? You dared to escape from prison simply because today is Junior's birthday?"

The boy, still panting with pent-up emotions, stares at his mother with horror and reaches out blindly to take hold of his father's hand.

"Stop it, Mommy!" he cries out in anguish. "Please, Mommy, stop it! It is really, really, really Daddy, my Daddy!"

Steve smiles, trying hard to shake off his shock, but it lurks in the depths of his eyes as he looks at the giant standing in front of him.

"Jeez, Chris, man!" he says with as disdainful a tone as he can muster. "You were sentenced to what…ten years? And how many years have you done now…five, yes? Don't tell me you escaped from prison. That would be a really stupid little act, big man!"

Chris turns his eyes on Steve, and on his face is such a latent expression of disgust, fury and violent tendencies that quickly shrivels up Steve, and makes him take an almost involuntary step back as he drops his arm from Effe's shoulders.

"You've wanted her all along, haven't you, Stevie?" Chris hisses dangerously, his eyes blazing with fury. "All along when you slithered around like the poisonous little snake you are, you were indeed having the hots for her, weren't you?"

It is not so much his words that shocks everyone present into momentary silence, but his voice. It is the sound of raw pain, of misery, of a shattered man's inner horror.

Steve gives a shaky laugh and points the camera at Chris, and when he speaks his voice sounds oddly defensive.

"C'mon, man! Don't blame anybody for your shit. You had your chance with Effe, and you messed up her life. And from the look of things you've just messed up really badly again, man. You hear the sirens? Here come the cops, probably to drag your ass back to prison, no doubt, with more years probably slammed down on you. Damn, Chris! Don't you ever learn?"

Chris turns his head slightly and sees a black police sedan with flashing lights and wailing siren cruising toward them at relatively top speed. He feels his son's fingers curling around his rather tightly, and feels the tremor that rips through his son.

"Come, Daddy, please!" the little boy says fearfully, trying unsuccessfully to stop his tears. "I'll hide you. Please don't let them take you away again, please, Daddy!"