The Coins

By Pete KJ

How much is "nothing" worth?

 

Is it worth a Lincoln penny? How about four 50-pesewa coins from Ghana?

 

Jude received the coins as a child. Now an adult, he has made it to Singapore as a candidate for a prestigious PhD. He fervently believes academia can save him from his past growing up in Africa, a past of poverty and pain. But far from saving him, his new life seems to be leading him deeper and deeper into conflict.

 

Across the world in Chile, Noemi struggles with depression and loss, and finds redemption through healing other people. Despite her newfound power and purpose, she lives on the edge of an invisible precipice.

 

Against all odds, an uncanny connection forms between these two unlikely friends and changes the course of both their lives.

 

And the coins prove that "nothing" might not be what it seems!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pete KJ
• Release date: Dec 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386527091

Book preview

2011, Seattle

ALL DONE, said Larissa.

She brought Jude to an upright position. He sat all the way up and swung his legs over the edge of the dental chair, and reached to touch the side of his face. My head feels like a football.

You were great! You surprised me. I thought you were going to be tense, but you weren’t. You are about the calmest patient I’ve ever worked on.

You were correct in what you stated in your ad, he said, his words sounding muffled. You have a gentle touch. From the outset I did not worry. Now I am worried that I might bite my tongue.

Yeah, watch out for that. If you taste blood, stop chewing.

He chuckled and brushed the side of his face. I am very appreciative of what you have done for me.

"No problem! Now take it easy for a while, and avoid crunchy foods. Also, you might want to rinse your mouth with some warm salt water a few times a day for the next few days."

And now I must return to the conference and attempt to present my poster, said Jude. And speak to all of those people! This is going to be rather uproarious.

I guess I shouldn’t prescribe you any benzos, huh? Then everyone will really wonder who this Jude guy is.

You better not! This is going to be adequately hilarious as it is.

Just remember, you look normal even though you feel like you don’t. Nobody will be able to tell.

They will just assume this is how people from Ghana speak, said Jude.

Yeah.

He stood up with a massive smile on his face and reached out his hand. Thank you. I will be in touch.

You’re welcome. It was a pleasure. And very nice to meet you! I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay in Seattle.

I will, thanks to you.

And have a great trip back to Singapore. And to Ghana too, whenever you go there next. I’ve always wanted to visit Africa.

I don’t go to Ghana anymore, he said.

You don’t? Why n—

Larissa stopped herself. She moved her eyes to the floor.

After a moment, she said, I didn’t go to the Philippines for a long time. A really long time. It’s hard to explain why. It’s just that the thought of it—it’s hard to explain. She looked at him and grinned. I go now, though.

Maybe I should go too. To Ghana.

Maybe you should.

They stayed quiet for a moment.

Oh! she added. Best of luck with your research! You can grab the paperwork from Luz on your way out.

He nodded and turned to the door. She watched him leave, and bent to pick up her tools. When he got into the doorway, he stood for a few seconds, and then turned around with a grin.

Yes? she asked.

I like your poster.

My poster?

"Your poster." He wiggled his eyes at the space next to the window.

Ah! You mean Kwan Yin.

Yes. Kwan Yin. I like Kwan Yin. A lot.

Me too. It’s always great to have her around.

I have this really good friend who also likes Kwan Yin. In fact, she’s the one who introduced me.

Larissa smiled and nodded.

He turned to go. She closed her eyes. When she opened her eyes, he was gone.

Me too, she said.

Part One

1985

One Coin

September

Navrongo, Ghana

SANDEMA SANDEMA SANDEMA! shouted the lorry tout in an electric baritone, as he pranced alongside the covered flatbed of a Mercedes pickup truck with his gray cap pulled over his eyes. Women dressed in colorful cloth rushed at the truck with huge sacks of goods on their heads, jostling for position to get their wares loaded for the trip to Sandema, where the market would rotate for the next day of its cycle. Two sinewy youths in dirty tee shirts stood atop the truck, hoisting the goods. More ladies clamored through an opening in back to pack themselves onto rows of wooden benches.

Jude Aneba stood in the center of the orange dirt lorry park and observed the scene. The metal school trunk on his head pressed down and shifted, forcing him to swivel his neck to maintain its balance. His hard soled shoes dug firmly in the granular dirt. Drops of sweat ran down his face and back and wetted the white singlet beneath his pink button-up shirt. Additional moisture ran beneath the belt of his khaki shorts and seeped into his underwear, which had ridden up unpleasantly during the long hike from his village and were now pinching at his privates. There was nothing to be done about that now. He stood weary, sweaty, uncomfortable, and completely happy.

The initial rush of women subsided, so he stepped forward and came alongside the truck, his shoes grinding through the dirt.

SanSec? the fare collector asked, eyeing the trunk on his head and his school uniform.

Jude blinked in affirmation. Steadying his load with one hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a moist five cedi note, shook it, and handed it over.

Fifty pesewas for your chop box.

Digging into his pocket again, he found the coin.

The fare collector took the coin and called to one of the youths on top of the truck, who came and stared down at them. His hair was matted and dusty above big eyes and protruding cheekbones. One of his eyeballs was larger than the other and pointed to the side. His soiled tee shirt was torn at the neck to expose a bony shoulder. He looked at Jude and exclaimed in a surprisingly deep voice, Oh how! Such a small boy. Then he added, with barely-disguised envy, Going to SanSec.

Jude nodded as best he could from beneath his trunk. The luggage boy couldn’t have been more than a year older than him. But he was right; Jude was small for age thirteen.

Form One? the luggage boy asked, opening his mouth to expose large teeth. Take care they don’t eat you alive, small boy! He threw his head back in a laugh and motioned for Jude to hand up the trunk.

Jude lowered the trunk to the ground and turned it on its end. With a lunge, he heaved it back onto his head with the long side pointing upward, his thighs burning as he teetered in the dust next to the lorry. Sweat stung his eyes and he blinked as the weight lifted off his head. He felt like he was floating. He opened his eyes in time to see his trunk disappear over the lorry roof’s edge.

Inside the passenger carriage, wooden benches were filled with women dressed in vibrant cloth and head wraps, many holding babies. Sun cut through the slats and made swaths on people’s faces. A baby wailed in someone’s arms. Jude squeezed around the ladies as he searched for a seat, inhaling the scent of humanity and fabric and appreciating, for a change, being a smaller-sized person.

An open slot appeared a few rows ahead, against the side wall next to a large woman dressed in a yellow print cloth. Overlaid onto her yellow fabric was a pattern of bird silhouettes in blue, and her head scarf was made from the same material. In her hand she held a handkerchief and dabbed it at her face. About ten centimeters of bench space remained between her and the end, a spot she clearly did not wish to occupy since it meant getting pressed up against the side once the lorry became fully loaded. Being that he was still a small boy, Jude was used to getting such seats on the bone shakers, even though he now had to pay full fare. But these end seats weren’t all that bad provided you sat next to someone soft, and they had with the benefits of an outside view and a fresher breeze.

He maneuvered over and wedged himself into the space. Through the openings, the afternoon market roundup teemed in the dirt yard of the lorry park. Many faces and names in the crowd were familiar to Jude, due to the unfortunate fact that he had become something of a regular in town during the past year. This past year off had been a distressing, worrisome, and above all mind numbingly boring year in which he had frequently pedaled his brother’s high-seated Chinese bicycle into town to attend to whatever errand for his mother, or to just pass the time. Now the unfortunate year had officially come to a close. Officially! He pressed his forehead against a wooden slat and grinned.

There had been times during the year when he’d nearly despaired of ever reaching secondary school, such had been the state of family disarray and lack of money. Other times he’d been overcome with the fear that, if he ever did get to secondary school, he’d be so much older than the other students that he wouldn’t be able to endure the embarrassment of entering a classroom. But now there was no doubt about it. He was on his way to Form One: on his way, on his own, moving into the future. Putting distance between himself and family tribulations he had no power to address. Nothing could stop him now. He had everything he needed. He had his chop box on top of the lorry, a small amount of money in his pocket, a bright new school uniform, and himself.

As he sat compressed on the bench in damp underwear, looking out to the sea of humanity, he felt his age go up a notch.

Johnny-oma! someone yelled.

Jude adjusted his view to spy the person shouting: a tall thin man in a brown cap. Jude recognized him as a master at St. John Bosco Teacher Training College.

Johnny-oma! the man repeated. Oh how! Where have you been hiding? I have been looking for you!

The man was calling to Jude’s older brother, John Aneba. Jude leaned forward and watched his brother march onto the scene, striding through the lorry park in his trademark rapid gait. You could pick John out anywhere, instantly and from a distance, simply by the way he walked: swift, high-centered, leaning forward and bouncing a little. Now he carried a plastic bag and darted his head around until his eyes alit on the lorry going to Sandema.

The man who was shouting stepped into John’s path, which was not an effective way to halt John Aneba. He anticipated the move and swerved around him, calling over his shoulder, Yes! I tell you that and then I have to look for another place to hide!

The man pivoted in the dust and laughed. Oh John! Come to my house tomorrow. I need that you repair my typewriter.

John spied Jude’s pink shirt between the slats and came to stand outside the lorry. Oh Ju-ude! he called in throaty sing-song, swinging the plastic bag. I have something for yo-ou, from your mo-om!

Jude reached through the slats to accept the bag and bring it into his lap. Inside were two exercise books and three Bic pens.

John continued to stand outside and look up at his little brother. His face was similar to Jude’s of course, but a little longer and narrower and more chiseled by the years. What gave them away as brothers, however, were their eyes. Both pairs of eyes sat slightly too close together on their faces, although John’s were tinged yellower and decidedly glazed. These eyes conveyed a constant and detached, far-away, almost laughing look, as if one could never know for sure what ideas and emotions lay behind them.

Thanks, said Jude, sliding the bag between his knees.

John leaned forward and looked up through the slats. He lowered his chin and, with a mock-serious face, said, Thank you annnnd?

And what?

And I want to take one quarter akpeteshie, he said in rhythmic syllables, bobbing his head and stifling a grin. As he spoke his breath wafted up through the slats, a sweet alcoholic vapor which informed Jude that there would have been more than two exercise books and three Bic pens in the parcel had John not detoured to the akpeteshie house before arriving at the stationer’s, where he’d spent the remaining money their mother had given him.

What I have is my chop money, said Jude.

And you shall have more chop money! Next payday, I will send you something. In fact I will bring it to you. I will stand outside the SanSec gate.

Jude sighed and squeezed his hand into his damp pocket to pull out the small wad of aged, ragged notes. He peeled off ten cedis. As he reached through the slats with it, the lorry started with a rumble and a shake and emitted two loud honks. Jude thrust his hand out with the money stuck to his palm, and slapped his brother’s outstretched hand in a handshake. The lorry honked again and rolled backwards. His brother kept holding his hand as he jogged alongside. When the lorry stopped, they pulled their hands back until only the tips of their middle fingers were touching, and did a joint finger-snap as the pale red bill fluttered to the ground. John scooped the note out of the air and stood grinning.

The lorry idled and shook. To Jude’s surprise, John didn’t leave. Instead he continued standing alongside, looking up through his shiny, far-away, slightly too-close-together eyes. Jude thought he detected something in his brother’s eyes at that moment, something he hadn’t noticed before. But before he could really verify what it might be, the lorry lurched forward and turned.

Still John did not leave. He pivoted, and raised his hand in a wave. As the truck lumbered toward the road, Jude craned his neck. The last thing he saw before the truck turned onto the tarmac was John, as a diminished silhouette, standing in the lorry park waving.

The truck powered down the short stretch of tarred road, soon to become the dirt road that went to Sandema.

John, John! said a voice.

It was the woman sitting next to him, the woman in the yellow print cloth. Her soft bulk jiggled against him and he turned to see that she was laughing, shaking her plump face and holding her handkerchief. A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead. Your brother, he is a crazy man-O! she said.

Jude grinned and looked through the slats.

The vibration and engine noise intensified as the truck labored in acceleration, then stalled and shook as it slipped into the next gear. His head jostled against the sideboard as it careened down the middle of the road, gaining speed while avoiding the largest of the potholes, keeping well away from the serrated drop-off of the pavement edge. Low zinc-roofed structures moved by in a blur, shops with packets of laundry powder hanging for sale, small covered porches where people sat at sewing machines. Then there was another forceful shake and the truck flew off the pavement and landed in the rutted dirt of the road and plowed onward, the passengers shifting back and forth in rhythmic motion. The lorry gained speed and generated a massive wake of reddish dust.

You are starting at SanSec, said the woman in the yellow print cloth.

Yes mom. I am entering Form One. Jude glanced at her and then back through the slats, where sun slanted over dry savannah. Some green rice fields came into view, as well as some dry season tomato gardens, irrigated by a canal from nearby Lake Tono. A few shirtless youths stood on the raised bank of the canal and looked over their shoulders.

Ah, that is good, said the woman. At Sandema you can concentrate better on your studies, better than at Navrongo. There is less to distract. You have your dormitory, your classroom block, your desks, your dining hall, and the fields. That is all. She waved her handkerchief.

Jude smiled into his lap. And what of masters? Will we have them?

The woman chuckled. That does not matter as much. Well, yes it does. I am joking. Of course you will have masters, the only question is if they will come to the classroom. She narrowed her eyes and peered at him. What I mean to say is, you can only be sure that you will have yourself. Then she began mumbling something.

Excuse me, mom?

She closed her eyes and said in a firmer voice, as if she was reciting a text, If you suffer injustice, save yourself, and leave the house behind to mourn its builder. Your country you will replace by another country, but yourself, you’ll find no other self.

She opened her eyes and frowned at her lap, and massaged the edge of her handkerchief. Her brow furrowed and she continued, deliberately, in a low even voice. Nor with a mission trust another man. For none is as loyal as yourself. And did the lion not struggle by himself, he would not prowl with such a mighty mane!

She appeared dreadfully serious, like she was possessed. Perhaps she was not normal? When she’d finished speaking, she held her gaze straight ahead as if she was lost in some serious thought or vision.

Okay, Jude thought, and turned and continued to look out through the side slats.

I know you, he heard her say. I know your parents and your siblings. Her voice had become lighter and more jovial, and he turned to see her dab her forehead with her handkerchief. Smart. You are all very smart. Just look at your brother James.

Jude winced at the thought of his cantankerous oldest brother.

And look at John. He is a crazy man, true, but he is also brilliant. He’s the way he is because of frustration. There is no place for him to adequately use his brain here.

Jude turned to the woman. You say kind things of my family, mom.

And now here is you, she continued. You are the same. You are of them. A small boy yes, but you are the same. If the masters do not come, you will have to teach yourself. You will try. You have to try! I am very happy to see you in your school uniform today, with your chop box on top of this market truck. It makes me remember your brothers. It also makes me remember my own son, and the joy I felt on this day, when I watched him go off to school. How I struggled, but by the grace of God he attended school. She paused and looked away, and with a low chuckle added: For what that turned out to be worth.

Jude felt for the plastic bag between his knees and ran his fingers over the Bic pens pressed against the exercise books.

Yes! she continued. "You have to try! And when it is not easy, and it will not be easy, that only means you have to try harder. And when it comes to seem like it is impossible, and it will, it does not mean you give up, Jude! It only means that you try even harder. You must not give up."

It was the first time she had used his name. She looked him in the eyes.

You must keep moving forward Jude, no matter what. And that means the time will come when you will have to leave this place. This country.

As she said this, a wave of energy washed over him. It was a feeling of hope, longing, and dreams. He looked at his lap and then out through the slats, to where a group of young women walked alongside the road carrying firewood on their heads. He closed his eyes and felt himself lift into the air and float above the road, above the market truck with its trailing cloud of dust, above the fields, to where he looked down on the tops of the bundles of firewood on the girls’ heads, bobbing alongside the road and the trailing dust cloud of the lorry.

He opened his eyes. The woman in the yellow print cloth was silent. She seemed to be done speaking.

The truck continued over low rolling hills with slight directional shifts and bends along the otherwise straight road. Bands of sunlight illuminated dust particles floating through the carriage between people’s heads. Some passengers held handkerchiefs or wrapped their cloths over their mouths. Without exception the babies were asleep or quiet. Dust settled into the hair of the few men on board, and onto the eyelashes and eyebrows of everyone, tinting them reddish orange in the dim afternoon light. Occasionally the truck stopped to let someone off, usually near to where a mud compound peeked over some old millet stalks. The person, usually a woman with a baby on her back, crawled out and obtained her goods from the top, balanced them on her head, and set off into the fields. Sometimes a man walking in the road would run and jump onto the back of the departing lorry, and hang on, as the newly vacated bench space inside had become instantly consumed by decompressing thighs.

At the midpoint of the journey the truck headed up a long and steady incline to reach a point where the road curved between a pair of rock outcrops. There, a lone dilapidated compound sat nestled among boulders next to the barren bulk of a baobab tree. Through the slats Jude spied a small girl walking alongside the compound’s outer wall, carrying a smaller child on her back. She wore a faded gown and looked about five years old. The child she held, perhaps three, wore underpants. As the lorry approached, they stopped and turned their heads to watch it go by. Then the dust cloud blotted them and their forms became static outlines, a small humpbacked silhouette next to the baobab.

The truck gained speed, sending its orange cloud higher. The way bottomed out and they flew across the gently wash-boarded flats of a particularly soft section of road, churning the dust even higher. Jude leaned his head against the slats and peered out to look ahead.

A solitary figure came into view, possibly a woman, walking along the footpath next to the road. As they drew nearer he could see that it was indeed a woman, finely dressed in a deep purple cloth and a matching head wrap. She held a walking stick. Jude wondered what such a finely dressed woman was doing, walking way out here by herself. Where had she come from, where was she going?

As the lorry overtook her, he tried to look at her face. But all he saw was the top of her purple head wrap because at that moment she leaned into her stick and crouched to the ground. Instantly she, too, became a muted silhouette, kneeling in the midst of a glowing rust-orange cloak of dust, back lit by the descending sun. He moved his head to view her out through the back, but by then she was gone.

He turned and looked ahead between the shoulders of passengers and into the truck cab. The driver had both hands on the wheel and immediately lifted a fist and pounded the horn as a large blue Tata bus careened by in the other direction.

Now it was their turn to get immersed in dust. The thick cloud flowed unimpeded through the openings, dimming and blurring everything as it engulfed all spaces. Jude pulled out his handkerchief and covered his face and mouth, closed his eyes, and leaned forward. He sensed everyone else do the same. The pungent cloud thickened in his nostrils, and he squeezed his eyes shut and felt himself submerge into the soft airy pillow of earth.

He waited. How long? It was difficult to determine. It was as if time had stopped, or rather ceased to exist. Sounds became less. The rumbling of the lorry engine seemed very far away. Its vibrations too were less, softer, and more buzzing.

When he opened his eyes, the dust was still thick. People coughed. A baby let out a cry and then stopped. Forms began to materialize in the thinning cloud, and more people coughed as they methodically wiped their handkerchiefs over their faces, their noses, their necks, and behind their ears. They slapped their shoulders, and dug their cloths into the corners of their eyes. Jude did the same.

As he twisted a hankie-covered finger into his ear, he felt his elbow jiggle.

It was the woman in the yellow print cloth. She was laughing!

Oh this dust, she said. Her voice was light now, almost girlish. She held out her handkerchief and shook it, then dabbed it over her forehead and cheeks and into her eyes, chuckling the whole time.

Jude inspected his pink shirt, unbuttoned at the top to expose the white singlet across his chest. In the dim light neither showed much sign of the layer of orange dirt that had surely settled there. He would need to wash and press his uniform before morning assembly.

But this was not a problem. In his chop box he had his wash bucket, a packet of laundry powder, and his most prized possession: the ironing box. It was a family heirloom, the old ironing box, handed down from James to Gertrude to Celestine to John before arriving at him. What’s more, he had pocket money to buy charcoal for the ironing box from some man who would be sitting by the school’s front gate, selling