Revolt

4. Stale Mate

“It is impossible to win a contest with an helpless opponent, since if you win, you have won nothing.” – Jay Haley.

•••

As Lekan approached the gates of his parents’ mansion and its intimidating exterior, he felt like a framed convict—latched in cuffs, and being shoved towards the gates of a prison. He had contemplated dishonoring the man’s request, but his subconscious had echoed the fact that the wrath, he didn’t want to incur would only increase at an exponential rate and find him anyway. Might as well get the war over with, and nurse the injuries for the rest of his life than hide in a fortress, that was bound to be penetrated and compromised soon.

After ringing the bell, wedged into the orange brick walls that emasculated the walls, he stood still and waited for the black metal railed gates, with hard serrated edges to be opened.

As expected, security personnel stepped forth through the smaller, demarcated portion of the gate for passage and not the one for cars. The security staff was a stranger to Lekan, as he couldn’t recognize him. The guard seemed to be a thirty something year old man, as depicted by his rather hefty, sturdy physique and not by his face, which was partially concealed by his head gear. His uniform was a brown and black utility gear, trademark of the King David security agency—which had its logo, imprinted on the uniform’s breast pocket region. The guard was studying and assessing his appearance now, with an expression that eluded Lekan because of the head gear that casted a shadow on the guard’s face. After a while, the guard spoke up.

“Who are you?” The man put his muscles on display, flexing his biceps and forearms with his arms folded, and his chest protruding in confidence.

Lekan sighed. The least he expected was to be further delayed by a security guard. “Lekan Keye. I’m the son of Kunle and Darasimi Keye that live here.” The man didn’t seem convinced, and so he continued. “I have a twin sister that wedded two days ago. Her name is Tiolu.”

The layers of the frown on his face, depleted. “Tiolu, I know. She comes here very well. You I don’t, why?”

Lekan wasn’t sure, he grasped the full essence of the question. Was the guard querying him on why he didn’t visit his parents?

“Look, just call dad and mom and tell them Lekan is outside. You’re wasting my time.” He said, passively.

“I’m wasting your time?” Was all the guard said, before heading back in and slamming the gate behind him. Lekan’s mouth remained ajar, as he heard the locks of the gate being bolted. What insolence? He thought. Lekan dialed the number of his mom instantly, and relayed the scene that had just transpired at the gate. A maid was sent to clear his entrance, and he made sure to flash a goading smile in the way of the security personnel.

Everything was still pretty much, the way it was.

The gem stone glazed walls that balanced on the twin towers—exuded the effect of a modern castle. The building was a fusion of various complimentary colors—brown, grey and white—and formed a coherent theme, like huge chunks of LEGO clipped together. It was a massive one storey building, with a chimney that protruded on top—pumping out tongues of mild, pungent smoke in the air. On the opposite edge of the roof were two turrets, arched into each other to elongate upwards into a gazebo, flanked by metal railings and from afar—it took the shape of a gigantic, open outstretched palm. In the center of the premises, a sculpture of a ball juggler was erected, and it sprayed water from said balls—ten feet into the air.