Free Coincidence: A Novel by J. W. Ironmonger Page B

Marxist metaphor, or a single slogan in support of free love. He could not begin to compute the sheer unlikeliness of an orphan from the mission in Langadi buying the very house in which he had been squatting. He was struck only by the penetrating echo of the laugh and by the sheer hopelessness of his situation.
    â€˜It’s OK,’ he managed to say. He turned as if to walk away.
    â€˜Wait, wait, wait.’ Okot’s hand was on his shoulder. ‘Are these your things?’
    Luke surveyed the wet boxes. He hesitated. ‘No.’ And truly they no longer felt like his things. They felt like the loveless impedimenta that occupy the shelves of charity shops. They felt like the clothes and the books and the records of a different, distant person.
    â€˜Let me offer you some hospitality,’ Okot smiled. ‘Come inside. Let’s get you dry. We’ll find you somewhere to stay until you can get back on your feet.’
    â€˜No. But thank you all the same. I’m all right.’ Luke hoisted his guitar case onto his shoulder.
    The African looked at him suspiciously. ‘So,’ he said, ‘we are to meet a continent away from home, and you are to turn and walk away?’ He drew closer. ‘You remember what we say in Acholi? Okom oyoko langwec – the stump of a tree can fell a running man. I think, my friend, you have run into a tree.’
    Luke tried to wipe the tendrils of hair from his eyes. ‘I think perhaps I have.’
    â€˜Then the running man must pick himself up and run on.’
    â€˜It isn’t always as easy as that.’
    â€˜Oh yes it is. Believe me, it is.’
    What could Luke say? With his private education and all the benefits of his birth, what words could he utter that would make any sense to this man who had fought his way from a civil war orphanage in Africa to stand above him on this pavement beside his limousine and his trophy girlfriend and his London house? Luke just shook his head miserably.
    â€˜Do you remember another saying in Langadi, Yoo aryo oloyo lalur , the hyena is defeated by two roads? He’s in full chase of his prey but he comes to a fork in the path. Which way should he choose? He stops. Maybe this way? Maybe that way? Now instead of running he’s standing alone in the road, unable to decide. I think this has happened to you, my friend.’
    â€˜Maybe.’
    â€˜So tell me . . . what are the forks that have left you here?’
    Luke thought. ‘In one fork,’ he said, ‘I will be a famous musician, playing my guitar in the Albert Hall, selling a million records.’ He managed a weak smile.
    â€˜And in the other fork?’
    â€˜I go to teacher-training college. Then maybe I teach for a while in England. Maybe one day I go back and help Lester and my dad at the mission.’
    Okot nodded his understanding. ‘These are both good forks,’ he said. ‘But now, you’re like the hyena. The fork in the road is your prison instead of your way out.’ He offered a genial grin. ‘What kind of music do you play?’
    Luke shrugged. ‘Dylan, Simon and Garfunkel.’
    â€˜Then you’re ten years too late, my friend.’
    Luke grimaced. The comment stung.
    â€˜How many demonstration tapes have you made for record companies? How many auditions have you been to? How many doors of record producers do you knock on every day to demand that they listen to your music? How many have you spoken to today ?’
    Luke shook his wet head. ‘None,’ he admitted.
    â€˜Then you truly are stuck,’ said Okot. ‘You haven’t chosen to be a famous musician, and you haven’t chosen to be a teacher.’
    â€˜But if I choose to be a teacher . . . if I do . . . then I know what would happen. I would have to go back to Langadi.’
    Okot laughed. ‘No you wouldn’t. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to