MISSING IN ACTION

It was a normal evening with people outside relaxing and enjoying the soothing night air. I really can't remember when it started to get abnormal, you know. But at some point, there were more people outside than usual. Then someone, I can't remember who since it was echoed by several others, told me that my grandfather required my presence inside the house. Now, all this was during my 3-year visit to my maternal grandparents and their numberless relatives and I was six or seven at the time.

When I received the message that I was wanted inside by my grandfather, I was nothing short of surprised since he had never before called for me at such time of the day. In fact, he rarely ever called for me, if ever he did. I knew that I was one of the least-liked people in the house and the family in extension, so it came as quite a big surprise that anyone would remember my existence. But my surprise skyrocketed when in answer to my enquiries, I was told that he wanted me to join him for a meal. Now, that was worrying to me, very worrying. Most, if not all, of the other kids would first be surprised and then elated. But I wasn't any of the other kids. I was the black sheep that was usually left alone. I knew that about a year ago he was proud of me because I could write sensible letters, a feat his much older students seemed incapable of achieving... but sharing a meal? Well, well, that was something.

Something that didn't fit with the manner in which we were regarded. We being my mother and I. Speaking of my mother, I think I remember meeting her to confirm if her father really needed me. I think she shrugged or gave some unsure answer. But at last, I walked warily into the parlour. There, I found my grandfather seated alone (which was an absolute rarity at this time of the day) and smiling at me in a way I'd never seen him smile before. It seemed overdone to me. Right in front of him, on the little table, was a plate full of fish that had been fried till it was a sort of red-brown: it was a local delicacy. I looked from the plate to my grandfather's face which had that unnatural and unusually patient smile pasted on it. I lingered at the doorway and asked myself several questions. I had spent quite some time thinking after I had learned about the summons before finally coming to respond to it and yet, the food was untouched. Why was that? Why was he so unusually patient and welcoming? Why did he choose me of all people to dine with? Why did he want me to dine ALONE with him? Who would go through the trouble of frying that amount of fish just for two people after supper had already been eaten? Why was no one grumbling about being put through so much work? Why on earth would my firecracker of a grandmother agree to quietly leave the parlour at this time of the evening? A lot of abnormal things were going on and yet, everyone was acting normal, more normal than usual. I couldn't imagine my grandfather requesting for such a meal to be prepared for the both of us and for us to consume it in privacy without a lot of murmuring, grumbling and quarreling ensuing. Something was fishy, not only with the people but perhaps also with the fish. All these questions that ran through my head left me in no doubt that I was about to be poisoned. It wasn't such a crazy idea to me because everyone except my mother had always looked and acted like they wouldn't mind not having to see me ever again. There were more than enough hints of that.

My grandfather was still smiling at me and now beckoning for me to join him on the table, taking me to whole new heights of wary. I thought about damning it all and leaving the room but maybe it was my curiosity or the need to keep the peace, I eventually took my seat opposite him and looked alternately between him and the inviting dish, wondering what on earth it really contained, apart from the fish of course. Fear wasn't something I was very much used to at the time and I felt none of it. All I felt was suspicion and curiosity. I can't remember if he prayed or not but he soon started eating. I must have made a silent prayer, I think. But I sure as hell did wait for him to take the first bite, certainly not out of respect or courtesy, but out of curiosity. I watched him closely as he ate, trying to read his facial expressions. I couldn't find anything alarming. He urged me to eat at least twice before I finally began to eat. He had eaten from it and he was still alive, so that made it safe, right? But what if it wasn't poison, but some sort of initiation into an occultic society or perhaps a coven of some sort? And then, I had heard of poisons whose antidotes could be taken and then consuming the poison would cause no harm. Or if it was a cult or coven initiation process, he wouldn't need to worry since he would already be a member. I made a mental note to question other relatives if they'd had such a dinner with him in the past, since they all seemed to be somehow involved in whatever was going on tonight, except of course my mother, who was never brought into anything.

So I ate, with all those thoughts running through my head. I liked the food quite well and I felt more and more relaxed as I ate but I still had not forgotten about the abnormalities of the night. They were neatly tucked into a secure part of my brain and would be triggered out of their hiding place by any extra abnormality. My grandfather tried to make small talk by asking how I liked the food and stuff like that. But the best he got out of me were nods and monosyllables.

At that age, I had already began 'changing teeth' and for days before that night, one of my teeth had been shaky. Since I had been told that it would come off on its own, I made it a point of duty to always check its state. Every few minutes, I would push it with my tongue, testing the strength of its hold on my gum and pray that it would never get mistakenly swallowed during one of my meals. I had been told scary stories, about what would happen if I swallowed my teeth, by my youngest aunt and a newly-married family friend who had an annoying habit of hugging me and calling me 'her husband'. It wasn't an unusual thing, the hugging and name calling, and I wouldn't have minded if she wasn't married and a new mother too. So I went to every length to avoid her just as much as she went to every length to catch me. It was a game everyone enjoyed, except me.

Now, back to the meal. We had been eating for about half an hour or so and between the food, my suspicions and my curiosity, I had forgotten to check on my shaky tooth. I ran my tongue over to where I knew it was and... oh! It wasn't there! Wrong place perhaps? I ran my tongue again and found nothing, but a blank space! I could feel the gum and the neighboring teeth but alas! no shaky tooth! My heartrate increased and I stopped eating. My grandfather asked if everything was alright but I ignored him. I ran my tongue again, one last time and still, no tooth! That was when I raised alarm. My tooth was missing! My grandfather wanted to know if I was sure and this time, I searched with my fingers. Yes, the tooth was truly missing. I emptied the contents of my mouth into the plate and searched it for my tooth. No luck. That was the end of the meal. My grandfather joined me and we searched the plate again, the table, the couches, underneath the table, underneath the couches, but still, no tooth. We called for backup and more hands joined the search party. Everyone in the house was involved, young and old, male and female. The entire house was searched and I was asked to search my mouth again. I did, several times, but still, no tooth. The plate was whisked off and thoroughly examined under the forensic supervision of my grandmother. My aunt was about to bring forward the theory that 'I must have swall...' but she was quickly hushed and sent off to conduct the search in another sector. But I had already gotten the message and for once, I was practically scared to death, but my grandmother assured me that the tooth must be somewhere in the vicinity and would certainly be found.

Later that night, the search was suspended so we could all catch some sleep. The only means by which I was persuaded to go to bed was my grandparents' promise that it would be resumed by daybreak.

True to their word, they all woke up the next morning to continue the search for the missing Mr. Tooth. A very thorough search it was. I had searched and researched my mouth all through the night and

the new day promised to be fruitful. The kitchen, the store, the parlour were all searched but yet, no Tooth. There were beginning to be some grumblings but not within earshot of my grandmother. That General would not take kindly to any hints of desertion or abandonment of duty. My grandfather on the other hand, demanded hourly progress reports on how the search was going, assuring me that they would spare no efforts in the search for and recovery of my missing tooth. I was too deeply immersed in worry to feel any surprise at the unusual level of attention my situation was receiving.

*****

After two days of fruitless search, my grandmother gave the order for the search to be called off. It was her belief that Mr. Tooth must have been stuck in some hard-to-reach place and asked me to take heart, assuring me that he would soon be replaced in no time. I was not satisfied with that and I continued the search alone, in my private capacity as the closest person to Mr. Tooth and the one who felt his loss the most. You must understand that the tooth was not really that valuable to me. I was sure that another would grow in its place but what really scared me was what would happen if I had swallowed it hence I wanted to find it, to assure myself that it wasn't really in my stomach. The cause of my fear was those two girls: my aunt and her friend, with the assistance of other members of the house with whom I had had a run-in in the past. They never relented in painting scary pictures of what would happen if I swallowed my tooth. According to them, legend had it that anyone who swallowed their tooth would have it grow in their stomach like a plant. The plant would grow steadily into a tree and would finally burst out through the head of the person and continue growing till it reached heaven. I could take any threat with calm nonchalance, but a tree bursting out the top of my head? That sounded like the greatest height of horror! And it didn't help when they told me that the victim never died and that he walked around like a human vase, carrying the growing tree deeply rooted in his belly. They even gave me names of people whom they had seen suffering from such a condition. I was beside myself with fear and I further intensified my search.

Of course, every belief had a foundation. The foundation in this case was planted when I lost my first tooth. I had taken it to my aunt, being the only other person at home at the time. Without going into details, she had asked me to thank my stars that I hadn't swallowed it. Not then knowing and not caring to know the consequences of such an occurrence, I simply asked her what I should do with it. She told me to hold it in my hand and run around the house seven times before throwing it on the roof. Noticing my reluctance, she assured me that if I did not follow her instructions, the tooth would never grow back and I would have a blank space for the rest of my life. Not desiring such a fate, I ran the race. Seven times, I ran around the building and came back panting hard to inform her of the completion. She told me that I had yet to run the full seven times and that she had only seen me run just a few times. I was mad, telling her in strong terms that I really did run seven times. As a result, she gave me a detailed brief of the legend, informing me that firstly, it was she, being the one I had notified of my tooth loss, who had to do the counting and that whatever number she decided was what would be accepted. And secondly, my misbehavior and lack of respect for her would prevent the growth of my tooth, no matter how many times I ran. So I tried to make it up by being more polite but she told me that I had to run the race all over again! I went back to the race tracks and Marks... Set... Go! I ran under the hot sun round the long building. I ran, ran and ran until she finally had pity on me and begrudgingly admitted that I had run six or seven times. She gave me the option of doing it right and running a few more times just to be on the safe side or simply throwing the tooth on the roof. Being tired of the whole madness, I took the latter option and she told me that given my choice, there was a possibility that I would have a very late or perhaps no growth of my tooth. At the time, I didn't care.

It took quite some time for my tooth to grow back and she was always at hand to remind me of the reason, thereby increasing my fear ten-fold. When the tooth finally appeared, she told me that I was very lucky that it did. And I believed her. I had no reason not to. That was how the foundation of my belief in those fictitious legends was laid and it was constantly re-enforced by my aunt and her confederates. The fact that I had probably swallowed this missing tooth was yet another opportunity to further preach to me their gospel of fear. I remained under the influence for quite some time before my mother took notice and saved me, assuring me that it was all bosh. But throughout the rest of my time in the house, I cannot say that my aunt and her allies did not sometimes succeed in making me believe a few other chapters and verses from their gospel of horror.