Inside, the dancers are back on the floor, in each other’s arms, clutching the inevitable beer in one hand. There should be wailing instead of laughter, tears instead of beer, Lomba thinks desperately; this is a crazy, reversed wake where no one is allowed to cry, and which has imperceptibly degenerated into a bacchanalia. The woman turns suddenly and presses her lips hard upon his; her mouth is bitter, acrid. He pushes her away and staggers inside, searching for James. Someone grabs his arm. ‘Come, let me introduce you to Odia Ofeimum.’ He wrenches free and walks through an open doorway. James is there, still huddled in discussion with Emeka Davies. He looks up at Lomba.

‘Lomba,’ he says, ‘I am not going.’

He looks old suddenly. Lomba has never seen him so grey, so wrinkled, so bowed, so tired.

‘What do you mean? But we’ve decided,’ he says. His head is clear now. He looks at Emeka Davies, who shrugs helplessly. ‘Your editor is being silly.’

‘You really must go.’

‘That is what I had always planned, always believed I’d do when the time came… but now suddenly my courage fails me. I can’t live in exile, in another country. I’d die.’

‘You may die,’ Emeka Davies says to him, ‘but not in chains. Here, even if you don’t die, you’ll be in chains. James, stop being sentimental, we can get you out today, now. We’ll cross the Seme border into Benin. Passport and money are no problem…’

James raises his hand resolutely, silencing Emeka. By the look on his face they know they cannot change his mind.

‘What dignity would I have, over fifty in some cold, unfriendly capital in Europe, or America, washing dishes in a restaurant to make ends meet?’

Lomba feels obliged to try one more time. ‘Why not sleep on it? You could discuss it tomorrow with your wife…’

At the mention of his wife he sees James’s face tighten, but he shakes his head. ‘What of you?’ he says, facing Lomba. ‘You know that after what happened at my house today, you are now on their list. You could take Emeka’s offer in my place. Go to London, or America. You’d fare better than me, you are still young.’

‘No. I don’t think I am that important to them. I don’t think they’ll be looking for me,’ Lomba says, a little confused.

Emeka laughs and claps him on the shoulder. ‘They know you. They know everyone. They are paranoid. They know where you work, your hobbies, they know the name of your girlfriend…’