Chapter 2: The News

The drive home was quieter than Emeka remembered.

His uncle's old Camry rattled over potholes filled with rainwater, the tyres splashing muddy water onto roadside traders who barely looked up. Enugu bustled around them as though nothing had happened. Buses leaned impatiently on their horns. Hawkers wove through traffic with trays of groundnuts balanced effortlessly on their heads. Somewhere, a church loudspeaker carried the tail end of a midweek prayer meeting into the afternoon air.

Life had gone on.

Only his family's life had stopped.

Mama Ngozi sat in the back seat beside him, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Every now and then she wiped her face with the edge of her wrapper, believing no one noticed.

Emeka noticed.

He noticed everything now.

His uncle cleared his throat as they turned into Ogui Road.

"It happened three nights ago."

Emeka kept his eyes on the passing buildings.

"What happened?"

"There was a fight outside a bar."

His uncle tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

"Two young men. One of them was drunk."

"And?"

"They said one of them picked up a bottle."

Silence settled inside the car.

"When people returned the next morning..."

His uncle hesitated.

"There was a body."

Mama let out another quiet sob.

"The police arrested Chidi the next day."

Emeka finally turned.

"On what evidence?"

"They said somebody saw him leaving the area."

"Who?"

"No one seems to know."

"They're lying."

His uncle sighed heavily.

"In this country, sometimes a rumour is all they need."

The words lingered in the air.

Emeka looked out the window again, but this time he wasn't seeing Enugu.

He was somewhere else.

Eighteen months earlier.

That night had begun with laughter.

His deployment orders had arrived that morning, and the men from his battalion had insisted on buying him drinks before he left for the North-East.

"You'll come back speaking Kanuri," one of them had joked.

Another had laughed.

"If bullets don't make him forget Igbo first."

The bar had been loud.

Music blasted from worn-out speakers.

Beer bottles clinked.

Someone argued passionately over a football match playing silently on the television above the counter.

It was supposed to be an ordinary night.

Then Tobenna Adio walked in.

Even before anyone spoke, people noticed him.

Not because of anything he had done.

Because everyone knew whose son he was.

Lieutenant Colonel Adio's only child.

He carried himself with the easy arrogance of someone who had never been forced to answer for his mistakes.

He was already drunk.

His laughter was louder than everyone else's.

His words sharper.

His temper shorter.

Emeka remembered exchanging a brief look with one of his fellow soldiers.

Neither of them liked the way Tobenna carried trouble around him like a shadow.

About an hour later, Tobenna stood abruptly, still clutching a half-empty bottle of beer.

"There are people outside looking for me," he muttered.

One of his friends laughed.

"Go and settle them."

Tobenna staggered toward the exit.

The bottle remained in his hand.

Emeka watched him disappear through the doorway.

A few minutes later, shouting erupted outside.

Someone rushed to the entrance to see what was happening.

Others followed.

Emeka didn't.

He had an early flight.

Bar fights were common.

Most ended with bruises, curses and apologies by morning.

When Tobenna returned several minutes later...

something had changed.

He was no longer smiling.

The swagger had disappeared.

His breathing was uneven.

The bottle was gone.

"What happened?" one of his friends asked.

Tobenna forced a laugh.

"Nothing."

But his hands trembled as he reached for another drink.

Emeka had noticed.

Then dismissed it.

He had caught a flight before sunrise.

He had gone to war.

And somewhere behind him, another battle had quietly begun.

His uncle's voice pulled him back.

"Everybody knows whose son was there that night."

Emeka swallowed.

His throat suddenly felt dry.

"You mean..."

His uncle nodded once.

"No one will say his name aloud."

The car rolled through the compound gate.

The engine fell silent.

For several moments, nobody moved.

Then his uncle looked directly at him.

"If Chidi didn't do this..."

He paused.

"...someone knows who did."

Emeka lowered his eyes.

For the first time since stepping off the plane...

the weight he carried no longer belonged to the war.

It belonged to the truth.