TWO EYES ARE A LOT
Dramatis Personae
Barrister Soroibe a lawyer
Madame Soroibe his wife
Enyinnaya his son
Motorcyclist a villager
SCENE — The stage lights up to show the SOROIBE family’s living room. It’s moderately furnished and has a few notable features. A family photo hangs on one wall, showing BARR. SOROIBE, his wife MADAME SOROIBE, and their son ENYINNAYA. On the opposite wall, there’s a large photo of BARR. SOROIBE in his professional attire. Nearby, a small shelf holds his awards and certificates. The room also has an old TV, video player, and CDs. A long mirror stands against one wall, and files are stacked on the other. The furniture is arranged in a U-shape, with BARR. SOROIBE sitting in an armchair, reading a newspaper. MADAME SOROIBE enters the room from inside the house.
BARR. SOROIBE: Have you read the news, my darling?
MADAME SOROIBE (shrugs in shock): News? Is anything the matter with our son?
BARR. SOROIBE (chuckles): What could be wrong with a boy learning a good trade? The news is about Pandela. He was beaten again in a wrestle. Naughty boy, he is! Since I took my mind off his games, I have had peace. Look... they say he lost an eye. I wish he had lost both, that idiot!
MADAME SOROIBE: You’ve taken your eyes off everything.
BARR. SOROIBE: Everything that doesn’t matter. Put it that right, my darling.
MADAME SOROIBE: When last did you speak with Enyinnaya?
BARR. SOROIBE (chuckles): Why would anyone bother a boy on a dutiful apprenticeship under the guidance of my bosom-successful friend, Ilomuanya?
MADAME SOROIBE: You haven’t spoken with your son for six weeks.
BARR. SOROIBE: Call it a month and two weeks—with that, you would see it’s not quite long like you make it look. Women, women love exaggerations!
MADAME SOROIBE: Please stop! Is that all you have to say?
BARR. SOROIBE: I don’t know what you want me to say. A child who refused to go to a law school like his father should be allowed to learn a trade. And that is what he’s doing. Why do I have to bother him with phone calls if he has begun doing the only thing he can? Whenever one wakes up is one’s morning, you know. He’s awake now, let him labor. Listen, woman, I don’t like to argue with you. I better watch Pandela with his one eye than sit to talk about a boy who has suddenly woken up. He’s only sent to learn a trade… a trade for Jove’s sake! What would you have me do if I had sent him to train at a military barracks?
[BARR. SOROIBE walks to MADAME SOROIBE and places his hand on her shoulder, caressing her.]
Instead of worrying about how the boy is surviving, why not think the boy is enjoying the process and does not need a reminder about the life he has here?
MADAME SOROIBE: Take your hands off me! Where’s your heart? The boy, the boy, the boy! You can’t even call him son.
BARR. SOROIBE: The son, the son, the son! How does that help you? Nonsense! (Sighs.)
[Enter ENYINNAYA.]
MADAME SOROIBE: Son!
ENYINNAYA: Mother.
BARR. SOROIBE: Boy!
ENYINNAYA: Father.
MADAME SOROIBE: Welcome home, son!
BARR. SOROIBE: What are you doing here, boy?
MADAME SOROIBE: This is not a time for your query. I must get him food. Oh, look at you, son. [She seems to have not had many glances at him.] Look at you.
[She exits.]
BARR. SOROIBE: What are you doing here?
ENYINNAYA: I am tired.
BARR. SOROIBE: I didn’t hear that.
ENYINNAYA: I can’t cope with his sadness any longer.
BARR. SOROIBE: Whose sadness?
ENYINNAYA: My master.
BARR. SOROIBE: My friend, Ilomuanya? What sadness?
ENYINNAYA: There’s something that pinches his body. Everyone fears him—all of us, his boys, his neighbors, his wife and children, even his customers. Everyone fears him. He roars at everyone and he’s not a lion. I have no peace. I dream of sadness in my sleep; I haven’t slept well for six weeks. You could imagine that, father.
BARR. SOROIBE: A month and two weeks! That’s only what it is, not six weeks. What have you done? Have you abandoned my friend’s goods in the rain to run back to this house?
ENYINNAYA: I couldn’t have done that. He has six other apprentices and I told them that I am done.
BARR. SOROIBE: In whose house will you live as a failure? Not mine, certainly. And if I didn’t bring shame to my father, you can’t bring me shame. Look at your cheeks… my good friend overfed you more than his other apprentices, only because you are my son. And now, how have you repaid your father’s good name?
ENYINNAYA: He thinks nothing good of you.
BARR. SOROIBE: What?
ENYINNAYA: I tell you the truth. Your friend thinks you are a clown with legal robes. I have heard him talk about you to your mutual friends. So, if you are worried about your good name where he is, forget it.
BARR. SOROIBE: You’re not wise. Do you think you can speak ill of him to make me accept you? Look at those fat cheeks of yours… the person who overfeeds you must be thinking so highly of your father.
[Enter MADAME SOROIBE carrying a food tray which she drops on a table before ENYINNYA.]
MADAME SOROIBE: Your food is here, son.
ENYINNAYA: Thank you, mother.
[ENYINNAYA sits and begins to wash his hands. BARR. SOROIBE moves to him and holds him by his hands.]
BARR. SOROIBE: And what do you think you’re doing?
ENYINNAYA: I am tired.
MADAME SOROIBE: Allow your son to eat.
BARR. SOROIBE: The boy is not starving. Can’t you see his cheeks?
ENYINNAYA: I’m starving, father.
BARR. SOROIBE: You must only eat what your master offers you.
ENYINNAYA: I can’t go back to him.
MADAME SOROIBE: Allow your son to eat. If he must return, he must eat first.
ENYINNAYA: I can’t go back to him.
BARR. SOROIBE: You’ll go back to my friend.
ENYINNAYA: He doesn’t think any good of you.
BARR. SOROIBE: But he overfeeds you.
ENYINNAYA: He has no happiness in his soul.
BARR. SOROIBE: Happiness pays no bills.
ENYINNAYA: My colleagues are afraid of him.
BARR. SOROIBE: Yet, they stay put, don’t they?
[BARR. SOROIBE drags ENYINNAYA by the hand and begins to walk him out. MADAME SOROIBE protests as they go.]
MADAME SOROIBE: If he must return, he must eat first.
BARR. SOROIBE: No, my darling. And if you’re not careful right now, the priest will hear how you spoil this boy.
MADAME SOROIBE: I only asked that he should be allowed to eat. Even the priest eats here when he comes to see us, doesn’t he?
BARR. SOROIBE: Are you calling Father Onyeanusi a glutton?
MADAME SOROIBE: Allow my son to eat.
BARR. SOROIBE: From eating, you will ask that we allow him to take a nap, and then, spend the night. And then, he will sleep and sleep until he misses his future like people miss their trains. He won’t even be allowed to sit, not to talk of eating.
[The darkness envelops them. The only sound is the distant hum of a motorcycle growing louder. BARR. SOROIBE’s voice cuts through the night air, urgent and commanding.]
BARR. SOROIBE: Cyclist!
[The motorcycle draws closer, its headlight casting an eerie glow on the surrounding darkness. The engine roars to life.]
BARR. SOROIBE: Cyclist, take him to the market! He will show you his master’s shop!
[ENYINNAYA climbs onto the motorcycle in hesitance.]
MADAME SOROIBE: Goodbye, son!
BARR. SOROIBE: Goodbye, boy!
[The motorcycle roars to life, and the darkness swallows them whole, leaving behind only the faint sound of fading engine noise. BARR. SOROIBE and MADAME SOROIBE begin to walk back home from the same path they had come.]
BARR. SOROIBE: If this is how you plan to raise this child, I am so worried about what will become of him if I choose to hold my peace. We first sent him to law school and he returned, saying the school was not for him. We sent him to learn a trade, and now he says his master knows no joy. And when we asked him what he wanted in the past, what did he say? To be a comedian! Can you fathom it? A son of a learned father, seeking to make a living by mere jests! And if my friend Ilomuanya thinks I am a clown, it is because after taunting him in the past that there is no future in trades, I have now sent my son to be his boy. But here you are, fretting about food for a boy whose cheeks are plump from excess, a boy so satiated that his mind is incapable of grasping a legal jargon; a boy so consumed by gluttony that he seeks happiness in the marketplace.
[They arrive on the porch of their home, and they see ENYINNAYA eating. He is seated in the fading light of day. His face is bent in rapt attention as he devours his meal with a hunger that seems almost feral. The sound of his eating is the only noise in the stillness of the evening air.]
BARR. SOROIBE: Who do I see?
MADAME SOROIBE: Enyinnaya, is this you? Did we not just flag down a motorcycle to take you to the market?
BARR. SOROIBE: I am sure my eyes are bad now. I must have lost an eye like the wrestler Pandela or both.
MADAME SOROIBE: What are you doing here, Enyinnaya?
BARR. SOROIBE: Over to you, my darling. I will allow you to handle this.
[MADAME SOROIBE exits, while BARR. SOROIBE sits.]
BARR. SOROIBE: Your mother has stormed inside, bent on fetching a stick to lash your buttocks. If I were you, I’d take flight—now! There are certain races where the feet move so swiftly, that the heels seem to strike the back of the head. That’s the kind of sprint you should embark on, boy! Flee for your life! Your father loves you, but your mother will whip your buttocks. She’s a woman of action, not words. And my words seem to have little effect on you because I’ve spoken volumes, yet they’ve fallen like water—mere water, ordinary and powerless. Look at you, devouring the stockfish with such recklessness, as if the fear of God has abandoned you! The very meat in your soup was meant for my dinner, and now, the same hands that served it to you are about to unleash a torrent of blows on your backside. Run, boy, run for your life! I can hear her footsteps thundering closer, and I tremble for your safety—your head, your buttocks, everything!
[MADAME SOROIBE enters, her hands cradling a glass of water. She approaches ENYINNAYA and sets the glass down before him.]
MADAME SOROIBE: Here is water for your throat.
ENYINNYA: Thank you, mother!
MADAME SOROIBE: Eat, son.
[ENYINNAYA attacks his food with gusto, his teeth sinking into the tender soup meat as if in a fierce wrestle. Meanwhile, BARR. SOROIBE shuts his eyes, and covers them with his hands.]
BARR. SOROIBE: Oh, Pandela, you’re better off. No one needs eyes, anyway. Our eyes show us unbelievable things.
ENYINNAYA: Oh, father, did you watch that wrestle? Did you see how Pandela made a fool of himself and lost an eye?
BARR. SOROIBE: Pandela is better off; I have no eyes, boy.
[As ENYINNAYA savors each bite, MADAME SOROIBE observes him with a warm, gentle smile. The air is thick with silence, punctuated only by the soft sounds of his eating and the distant hum of passing motorcycles. BARR. SOROIBE still has his eyes closed. The lights gradually fade to black. End of play.]
*
CHETA IGBOKWE is an MFA playwriting candidate and teaching assistant at the University of Iowa. His play, Homecoming, won The Association of Nigerian Authors’ (ANA) Prize for Drama 2021 and was on the longlist for the 2023 Nigerian Prize for Literature. His works have appeared in The Hopkins Review, English Academy Review, Oyster River Pages, Selfies and Signatures Anthology, The Muse, Lolwe, and elsewhere.
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