The Collector's diary

I have just finished writing my report on my trip to Morocco and putting it on my boss’ desk. I thought, I had a few days to myself cooling my feet around the office and putting my things there and at home, which were now in a haphazard state, given my almost two-month stay out of the country.

My younger sister, Bibish, had to further her studies and was so hot about that, reasons why she wanted me back so that she would beat the deadline for registration that was fast approaching.

I took two days off to assist her and when we were done, I received a call from my colleague that the boss wanted me first thing the following morning.
As early as 7:30 am, I was in the office. I was putting my things in order, when the boss’ Personal Assistant, PA, walked in and said my boss needed me. I did not hear his car drive in and I had not met it in his parking lot when I drove in. Jack read the questions on my face.
“He was here as early as 6:30 and seemed to have a bee in his bonnet or something like that.

He called me as early as 5:00am and asked me to be in the office by 6:00. The driver drove him here and he barked some orders and he drove off. ”
“What is the matter?” I asked. Jack shrugged. Why would a man leave a beautiful and caring wife such as the one my boss is blessed with and come to the office so early? I thought.

I took a notebook and a pen from my desk, thinking that it was another project the boss wanted me to write. But after the last one, he told me we would only have the next project in the next six months.

I knocked, pushed the door and entered. He was carrying his head, on which a fez cap perched, in his hands, his elbows resting on the desk. His posture cut the picture of a camera on a tripod. He looked haggard and knackered.
“Good morning, Sir.” I greeted and he removed one of the supports from under his right jaw, extended it slowly the way a front head loader caterpillar acts, and indicated that I sit down. I obliged.

“You are going for the University Games. Make budget for all the logistics and get ready. You will use the luxury bus.” He said.
“But, Sir, you said you were to go yourself with...” I stammered.
“The situation has changed,” he simply retorted.

I looked at him as he focused his eyes on the wall above my head and folded his arms across his chest.
“Are you ill, Sir? You don’t look good,” I said.

“Women, Women!” He said, still looking at a spot above my head.
He was later to tell me that his wife harassed him the whole night accusing him of going for the University Games for the sole reason of running after university girls. I felt sorry for him. My boss was not the type. I thought. But I remembered the last University Games in Yaounde when most Ministers and all the big Directors spent their time around camping areas fidgeting with girls. If my boss’ wife had ever seen that, she would normally think that is what he too would do.

I remembered what the boss had told Jack and me at one moment. We had observed that he and his wife were a very fine couple. He was handsome and the wife beautiful and both cared for each other. Whenever we visited them, we both came back with the resolve of getting married. We hoped to live with our wives the way our boss and his wife carried themselves along. Honey, honey, honey, was what you hear one referring to the other. How lovely?

Then my boss bought a car for a girl. He, Jack and I were very close. He shared his secrets with us. So, we mustered courage and confronted him in his office.
“Sir, you have a very beautiful wife; we like the way you and madam carry on, you love her and she loves you. Why get a girl to the extent of buying her a car?”

He laughed - a long raucous laughter, then, he said: “Go back to work. We will talk after.

After three days, he invited us out for lunch. After we had ordered and eaten, he asked for the blue label of his favourite wine. He said that mostly when we had an achievement to celebrate for.

Then his girlfriend drove into the yard of the restaurant. He excused himself, walked out and met her in the car and dropped an envelope on the front passenger seat and the girl drove away.

The way he walked back, pulled his seat, sat down and looked at us, I guessed that he was passing a message to us.

“What did you ask me four days ago?” I was right, very wise man, my boss.
“What you see at home is just when you are there. Your mother (referring to his wife), like any other woman, is very good at her public relations. You leave with the impression that she is the best woman in the world.

But alone with her, I face the music. How can a woman I sponsored through O Levels, through A Level, through the university and professional school, who has two cars, for whom I have built two houses from where she collects rents, sired four beautiful and handsome children, ask me what I have ever done for her.”
He watched us and as if seeing that the message had sunk, he said: “So, your mother pushed me to go out.”

He raised his glass to his lips and took a long quaff and put it down.
“Now, let me ask you my own question; what is the price of pleasure, a second-hand Toyota Starlet car?”

The Collector