He talked to the doctors, his eyes bloodshot, his face numb, as his mum wailed her denial. She cried, soul-rattling repeated protestations of ‘no’, willing it not to be so, rejecting reality, calling truth to battle, because there is no way her larger-than-life husband had succumbed to death; no, they were supposed to go to Lagos next weekend; no, what did they mean?; no, what will her sons do without their father?; no, no, they should take her to see her husband immediately because somebody somewhere was lying, maybe even him . . . even though she’d been right next to him when it had
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