Obinna sensed Eze’s judgment and so kept talking. “She asks me what is the use of working anyway? I have everything I need. She’s right. She prefers that I do charity work. I started an NGO last year, but when I told her I wanted to scale up, she told me it was better to keep it small. I was helping women in some of the poorest parts of the mainland get their government pregnancy checks. For elite women on the island, it’s easy. The minute you take the pregnancy test to a municipal office or just upload to the website, you get your bank deposit and you get to have an actual ceremony with a government representative present, to personally thank you for keeping the human species going. But for poor women, it’s harder.”

“Well, they still get the money eventually. What do men get?”

Obinna was surprised that Eze would say that. It sounded so elementary, so ignorant. He remembered how proud he was when Amara got her first pregnancy check, how he had laminated the certificate that came with it, the words on top in curly script: In Gratitude to Amara Ofoegbu, Whose Body Has Done the Work of Keeping the Human Species Alive.

“But, Eze, it’s not men’s bodies that do the work of keeping the species alive,” Obinna said, almost gently.

“Yes, but we still play a part. No pregnancy without us.”

“Of course, but our bodies don’t do the work.”

Eze snorted. “And yet they have refused to decriminalize male masturbation.”

Obinna sipped his beer. Eze’s views discomfited him. He would not have expected it of Eze, this kind of narrow-minded thinking.

“I don’t support that,” Obinna said carefully, “but it should not even be something anybody talks about. It should be kept quiet.”

“I have a friend who is doing five years in prison. Five years! Because a stupid ex-girlfriend reported him for masturbation and secretly filmed him.”

“That’s bad,” Obinna murmured, although it sounded to him like an apocryphal story, the kind people made up to buttress their prejudices.

He was relieved when Amara walked in, home early, all fresh-faced charm. She hugged Eze, teasing him, mock-scolding him for not keeping in touch, and for a few moments there was an easy camaraderie between all of them that brought to Obinna a rare rush of emotion from the past: contentment, peace, fully exhaled happiness. Then, Amara said she had to leave, to take the European clients to the boat club, but would be back soon.

“You’re going out again?” Obinna asked.

“Darling, I canceled a meeting just to come and welcome Eze. These clients need serious coddling,” Amara said. “And you boys need time to bond anyway.”

In the aftermath of her leaving, Eze was silent for a while.

“Why did you stop writing poetry?” Eze asked.

“I really wasn’t that good.”

“You were.”

Eze was watching him. Obinna felt as if Eze was uncovering something about him, was seeing beneath his mask, to the emptiness he felt from time to time, the fearful desire to try to write again.