Page 94 of Death of the Author

Ding!The doors finally opened, and she twitched as her upper body reacted a little before her exos did. It set her off balance for a moment, but thankfully she’d caught herself by her second step. She entered the lobby, her phone in hand. It vibrated as her auntie texted her that she’d be there in a few minutes.

There were several people in line at reception and a few others standing around. These were members of Nigeria’s upper class, and they carried themselves like they knew it well. She definitely didn’t fit in with her American accent, tidy but grown-out blue braids, jeans, MIT T-shirt, and blue Chucks that matched her exos.

She stood near the front door, where she would be able to most easily see her auntie when she arrived. She noticed the men at the bar glancing at her and purposely didn’t make eye contact. That didn’t help. One of them pointed at her. He wore bright green sneakers. He grinned and got up. The others got up, too.

“Please, Auntie Mary, where are you?” she muttered to herself.

“Good evening,” the guy with the green sneakers said, approaching. He was tall and well-dressed, and the way he stepped right up to her put her immediately on alert. His friends gathered around, creating a ring that pinned her to the wall. She was cornered. She waved her hand over her waist and twitched her left side, commanding her exos to make her an inch and a half taller.

“Kai, you see that?” one of the guys said, laughing.

Green Sneakers looked at her intensely, lips pursed. Her stepped closer. “Are you that writer?”

“Would you mind stepping back?” she asked. She made eye contact with one of the women at reception, but the woman looked away. Zelu decided to hate that woman forever.

“I read your book, ma; you speak good English,” he said.

“Great.” She laughed nervously. “Thanks. Sure.”

“Do you have a husband?” he asked.

“Do you?” she retorted.

His friends laughed. One of them pulled up his phone and took a photo of her.

“Rich and famous, but still a crippled spinster,” Green Sneakers said, clicking his tongue with disapproval.

His words surprised and stung her; any boldness she’d felt evaporated and was replaced with a broiling anger. It was at times like this when she became deeply aware of her exos and how much effort it tookto use them. Telling these guys off while maintaining her balance would be difficult.

“She probably can’t even have children,” he said to his friends.

She just stood there, imagining taking a bat to his head.

“Zelu!” Her auntie Mary had walked through the lobby doors and spotted her. She was a tall, strong-bodied woman with a voice like a loudspeaker, and not for the first or last time, Zelu was glad for this. “Heeeeey! My sweetheart! There you are!”

“Auntie,” she said, pushing past Green Sneakers.

“Look at you!”

And then she was hugging her auntie. Relieved. Safe.

“Was he bothering you?” her auntie said in Zelu’s ear.

“Yes,” Zelu replied without hesitation. She wanted to say all of them were, but sometimes focusing on the worst problem yielded the best result.

Her auntie stepped up to Green Sneakers. “Were you bothering my niece?”

He leaned back, startled. “I... I was just asking—”

“You ask her nothing. You don’t even look her way.” Her voice grew progressively louder as she spoke, and people started looking. “Do you know who this is? She is not only that writer you’ve heard of, she is a princess of the Ikeri clan. Who are you? What are you? Stupid man. Weak man. Small man. Do not speak to my niece ever again or I will have you thrown in jail.” She shouted something in Yoruba at all of them and they physically jumped, taken aback.

Zelu grinned. Ah yes, she loved her auntie. Everyone in the lobby was looking now. Auntie Mary took Zelu’s hand and led her away.

“You shouldn’t have come down here alone,” her auntie said.

“It’s the hotel lobby.”

“And you are the Nigerian writer of one of the most famous books in the world, and it’s set in Nigeria.”

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