By Oghenerukevwe Divine Ogede,
My husband ate me out of beauty and passed away quietly last night. Everybody has the right to be stupid, but some abuse it, says a Ghanaian adage. Life is a bed of roses and thorns in general… On the journey of life, I have found that dreams and nightmares can be very close, and pain and pleasure go hand in hand. You may marvel at how pretty I must have been in my youth. I was a robust specimen of beauty, dark in complexion, with long black hair that spread out on my back whenever I brushed strands from it with a porcupine comb. I freshly shampooed it, sending a sweet-smelling fragrance around me. It was radiant hair, shining black with flecks of burnished rust underneath. Was that why my friends called me pretty-bird? I questioned my imagination whenever I fiddled with it. But I got an answer recently when one of my friends described me to a visitor who was asking after me. She said, “…she draws out her words, forming syllables with sexy pretty lips and tasting the words like they definitely carry some new flavor across her sing-song tongue with her ever-harmless looks…” I was impressed with her excellent description of me.
She expressed an extreme description over me. Being senior to me in age, I believe she might have studied me so well, like one studying a textbook for a PhD course. I nodded my head proudly with a toothy smile as I peered through the half-opened window, catching a glimpse of him outside. But that was donkey years ago. I was then in my early thirties. I was born on August 6, 1972, the only girl child among four boys—my younger siblings—whom my mother single-handedly brought up after my father’s death. I entered early marriage after his passing to have money to care for myself and foot my siblings’ academic bills as well. Little did I know I was heading toward doom instead of pursuing Western education, which was the best legacy for life. The devil and angel both have a place in a person’s soul, and which one dominates depends on a person’s capacity for struggle. No one can pretend that the struggle is easy or obvious. Sometimes, the devil has a fair face, the angel a harsh one. “Have you ever experienced a situation where trouble has landed you in unusual company?” I was recovering from the pang of shock and fear following the death of my better half when this thing I wanted to tell you about happened. It was like recalling a long-ago dream.
It was six o’clock. My door creaked open that morning, and the gray light of dawn crept in like a thief to steal the black of night away from the room. I wheeled around and peered out at the misty dawn sky as I held the door open for air to come in. The morning air was fresh, new, and blossoming, full of life that stung my nose and lungs like the sweet fragrance of roses. The struggle of each of my days always began in the pre-dawn market in Warri, where I sold garri to tourist women who came from Abuja, Lagos, Port Harcourt, and other parts of Nigeria to their places of abode to sell as well. Ikodu market was always filled to the brim on market days. I always went early to meet my buyers; if one couldn’t go early, one wouldn’t catch the early worm. But this dawn broke out awfully! My husband’s funeral was slated for that day. My husband had wanted life to continue in his palm, but before the leaves turned in the trees, he had been awakened from the peaceful bed of life.
Suka, my husband, was a tall, heavily built man in his late forties. He possessed silver-colored hair on his dark-complexioned body. He was broad-shouldered, with knocked heels that distinguished him as the handsomest man in a gathering of handsome men. He seldom went out without his silver-rimmed goggles, precariously hung on his moist, smooth face. What had begun as a bright, cold, misty morning later settled into a dreary, drizzly, and frozen afternoon. Under the heavy black clouds, Suka was laid in the moist, cold earth. I wore black clothes with my two kids—Ojabunor and Eugene—who wept beside me at the graveside as well. “This cold day’s freshly turned soil will welcome him within its dark, rich bosom…” Father Anthony said as my children threw a handful of the dark soil atop the mahogany box. He further called me from the crowd to perform the dust-to-dust rite. I was jolted as I rose erect, filled with tears, to see a woman wearing the same attire as me. She held a child, heading to the graveside to perform what I had just done. Her expression suddenly turned vicious as she stared at me. I was afraid of my own shadow, really jolted out of my wits’ end. For a moment, my face mask slipped to anxiousness. My hands turned into fists; I looked swiftly older and very dangerous.
My eyes grew wide with shock and questions as I was told the greatest surprise of my life: she was the second wife of Suka. I was perplexed and kept thinking, how? Why? When? And who is she? Out of sheer nervousness, I began to hunt through my brain for an answer. For a little while, I let my mouth hang open so that my agitation could ebb away. I could hardly believe them because we had been married for fifteen years, and I had not seen him engaging in any clandestine affair outside our conjugal bliss. Throughout his life, he cared for me and his two children. They hardly drove Suka’s children home from school for one reason or another. I was further told that Suka had been keeping her away from me for over ten years. It was actually true when wise men said that life is a school where we learn new things each dawn. Suka’s eccentricity was another grain of wisdom and an eye-opener that life had taught me. All my assumptions and trust in him were shattered. It was another bombshell explosion, like a shattered eggshell while trying to slip off from the formal. There and then, I was wrapped in the blankets of thought like a caterpillar weaving its fair cocoon. Then it was pretty obvious that bad fortune would smile its ugly sunshine on me and my children. “I have a rival in my marriage; he has been cheating on me all these years. So I was not the only woman who has given birth to him.
So, my children have a half-brother outside?” Several “so” questions rose in my throat but never fell to my stomach. If there was poison by my side, I would have drunk it and slipped silently into the bowels of hell, which I would have preferred to this unfaithful, corrupt, and hostile world peopled by illicit, gargantuan, and sex-maniac men of my world. There I sat, staring at her, feeling the blood burning my face. It was that day I learned her name was Juliet. She might have been in her late twenties or early thirties. She was slim with a chocolate-colored complexion, far from the corridor of beauty, and her countenance looked like a woman who would rather get one into trouble than out of it. Again, I peered at her as if she were a reptile behind glass. “Damn him, I will pull the trigger at him in hell. Leave me and let me spit on his dead body. All these while he had kept me like a dog, fed and shadowed with animalistic lusts. I had not fooled around with another man and wasn’t intending to, even now that he has left his children…” I spat the words into my mother’s face as she patted a hand on my shoulders before pulling me to her side to soften my fury. Maddened with rage, I threw away her hand with a wild gaze, and she said, “The dog never bites its own to the bone; write injuries in the sand, not heat on your tongue. It would have been pretty fair if he were here to hear you out. Men are born to cheat. That’s why, right from the get-go of life, a man gets a woman to open up her legs for him, and he never stops playing with them like toys. You will not kill yourself and leave your children to suffer.”
“Why me, Mama?” I shook my head, turning my face away from her with the sting of tears freshening at my eyelids. I yearned to fight the dead, but my bones told me no. While I was still struggling to catch my breath, I crushed my way through the sea of sympathizers and headed to my room to lie therein. “I want to see him in hell,” I spewed; my words were strong and clear, startling those in the room. “See him burn in hell in the devil’s paw because he has wronged an innocent soul of a woman and sucked life out of her…” “Enough is enough of this rubbish; there is nothing underneath the earth that has not happened to man. Stop pouring abuse on a man who has no ears to hear you and right the wrongs he caused you. I know your plight and feelings, but you have to forgive him and leave judgment for God,” James, who was next to me, warned, dragging me to his side and dabbing at my nose with his handkerchief. “He has grieved my soul.” “Many souls have been grieved. Stand up and face the challenges ahead.” He drank in a breath of air and continued, “It’s over, and life goes on, no matter the tears that pour from your eyes; you cannot see him. You have seen all. It’s like the final healing of a deep wound that’s been bleeding for all these years—his death has brought an end to it.” My mother wagged her head as he finished speaking. At dusk, thunder cried out its own rolling chorus, flashing tinged silver, wave-like scars across the sky. The cold, damp wind swept around the veranda through us. The funeral came to an end on July 26, 2000. It rained heavily that evening, with pregnant waters found here and there, frogs croaking therein. Juliet slammed her door immediately our eyes collided when she opened it for fresh air to come in.
I shrugged and went on with my work. She had had a pretty rough time during the funeral, as I had as well. We then had our future to think about since the breadwinner was dead. She looked helpless when she shut the door. Her gray, thin face was expressionless. The only asset of Suka was two bungalows we built before he passed on. The building was shared between us, with some rooms where we eked out a living from the rent. “Seek peace and live in harmony with her; life goes on.” I turned my back away from the shut door, and a faint, soft voice that was quite my own said to me. I screwed up my eyes, trying to put the faint voice behind me. Why would I make friends or eat with the one who had been a clandestine wife to Suka over these years, only to know about her after he had passed on? Why? I reprimanded the voice. My heart kept thumping in my chest for forgiveness as I felt guilt, even when I was not at fault. How to live with Juliet peacefully became a tug-of-war in my mind. I died a little as I lay on the bed again, squeezed and paralyzed with thoughts. After lying for a while, I resolved to make peace with her. But how to go to her house became a problem. I stood at the doorway, demoralized like a dummy. “Well, it isn’t necessary; after all, she took what belonged to me. She should tender an apology to me, and I will then forgive her,” another voice chimed. I frowned at nothingness as I sauntered to the garden. I whistled under my breath as I wandered around the garden, uprooting weeds from the cassava. The garden was a stone’s throw from my house. I planted different crops in it to eke out a living and to foot my children’s education. I went to the garden every morning to steer away the memory of Suka from me and to reflect on the present.
The soil that clad the naked roots had been swept off by erosion. The leaves wagged in excitement as they felt their naked roots clad with moist, dark soil. On my way back home, I saw Juliet’s door shut, and her son was playing on a heap of sand at the front of the compound. Terry greeted me with a smile hovering around his face. I waved at him with a smile without inquiring about his mother’s whereabouts. As I headed toward the direction of my house, my eyes met hers; she was sitting and waiting. I puzzled my brain to imagine what she had to tell me. She looked up as she saw me walking toward her. “Welcome,” she greeted, but I did not reply. Her countenance emphasized someone who wanted to say something. I lifted my eyebrows at her and remained wordless. You would have loved to see my expression and fluttered eyes as I berated her at the doorway. That was hurtful for you to ponder on.
“We need to talk it over…” she said as I strode in. She drew in a long, slow breath when I turned, facing her with my face painted with surprise. “Before I go further, let’s sit down, and let me unfold it to you,” she said. My eyes slewed around her as if to say I was not that convinced of the unfolding drama. She buried her eyes on the floor and went on. “Win or lose—that is the game of marriage…” I was thrown into suspense and confusion as she emphasized these words. “You’re beating about the bush; hit the nail on the head,” I grimaced as I waited for her to continue, only my grim, dark eyes glared back at her, full of wonder, full of hatred. The long-awaited words spilled from her: “Suka is cruel.” “My husband is not cruel; you are very cruel…” I interrupted her curtly. “He wanted to kill you and get married to me after you had passed on.” “How!” The word jumped out of my mouth with eyes fluttering here and there, seeking a quick reply. I studied her and decided she wasn’t crazy or blackmailing him. “Tell me, how come he was now affected,” I urged impatiently. “On the contrary, Suka met a native doctor who concocted the plan with him.” “Are you sure about it?” “Certain as the sun rises, Mama Eugene.” She hurried out the answer.
My senses were fully on alert; I opened my mouth to speak, but before words could cross my lips, she threw up her hand for silence. “I warned him about his intention, but he refused to heed it and went on with it. The native doctor we met is my witness. He counseled him to steer away from his evil. He further went to meet another one who gave him a concoction to put in your drink. But he never lived to see the following day.” I screwed my face up, trying to remember the week Suka passed on. Her words then sounded sane to me. We were to travel to Benin City to see his friend who was to pay his wife’s bride price. “Was that his plan to take my life in Benin?” I grimaced with my eyes bright and birdlike, tears streaming down from them. I could remember vividly. That was the week he slept and never woke up.
The raindrops grew in size and weight outside. I was grateful to Juliet for her love for me. Then it was my turn to do a quid pro quo. She further agreed with me to see the native doctor to be sure that what she told me was true. She stepped out, gathering up her fluttered dress about her legs, showing her fair, smooth skin as she went to his house. Like a caged, desperate animal, I tried to fight my mind out of my thoughts. A treacherous thought came to me then about the native doctor, but it only flicked briefly into life and died down again instantly. I felt sapped of strength. Grief, affliction, agony, anguish, bitterness, distress, misery, and sadness were my close friends. The new filling moon stuck its head above tall trees on the western horizon, bathing the surroundings in silver shine. The following day, I woke up early. I kicked off the blankets and robe and stepped out of bed. I slipped into my slippers and headed to my children’s bedroom to see if they had woken up. I found Eugene washing plates and Ojabunor sweeping the kitchen. They greeted me, and I told them I would be leaving early that morning to visit a friend. “So early, Mummy?” Eugene, my youngest daughter, asked curiously. Her voice was sharp and impatient. “Stop asking me; do your washing. I want to see a friend, that’s all.
There’s no need for further interrogation. I’ll be back soon,” I reprimanded. “Will you return before we leave for school?” she asked again. “Of course, please don’t hack me off with your questions,” I said as I bid them farewell. “How many times have I told you? What she told you was nothing but the truth. No further questions again, woman!” The native doctor’s voice stifled with irritated anger as we got there. “Why did he want me dead?” I lamented impatiently amidst tears. I felt a chill crawling up my spine as I looked from Juliet to the old man helplessly. “He loved this woman more than you and wanted you dead so he could park her in after you had passed on. Oh, have you forgotten he has not paid your bride price? He was to pay Juliet’s and love her till death do them part. But death hindered him as well…” “He was very fond of me at home.” “He was only showing off; beneath his mind was wickedness. The old Earth Mother covers everything men do in it. If she unfolded them daily, the world would have come to an end. One mind in two bodies—that would have been the true definition of marriage.
Today’s is ironic. I was against his evil toward you, but he went further on it…” I stood crouched and frozen, paralyzed by what my ears were catching. His eyes flickered past me, fell on Juliet, and he smiled as if there was no end to his teeth. Good drove out evil from beautiful people. Of all the women I had known, Juliet was without equal to me. I had not felt for my parents the love I felt for Juliet, who made me know everything. Hot juices of hatred squirted through my veins again as we returned home after thanking the native doctor profusely for his love toward humanity. “The cat had been smoked out of the bag; what else can I do now?” That became a handful of thoughts for me to chew. It was not something to make a quick decision on, but I had to give it thought in detail before telling my family. Different thoughts multiplied in me as I went on with the activities of the day.
The time was then 1:30 p.m., but my children had not returned from school. I sat, bolted to the chair, and dozed off. I heard a sound of someone moving about outside. When I stirred awake to see where the movement was coming from, I found nothing. I began to doze off again. The knock on the door tugged and shook me out of the black pit of my sleep. I sat up with the chair pillow in my hand as my shirt, which I used to fan myself, slipped from my shoulders. I got to my feet to welcome the visitor in. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Suka,” Father Anthony said, moving toward one of the chairs. “Welcome, Pastor,” I said. “Where are your children?” “They are not back from school,” I replied. “I was passing by and just wanted to say hi to you.” “I would have come to see you this evening; thank God you are here.” “I hope no problem?” “It’s a problem to me; I don’t know about you. It concerns my late husband and me.” His eyes peeled around the parlor slowly, stopping here and there as I explained Suka’s heinous crime to him. “Gush, are you sure about it?” “Yes, certain as the moon, Father.” His eyes widened as I whispered while he began to drum on the arm of his chair. “Kill you?” He clapped a hand to his mouth, astonished. “He doesn’t love you; he was deceiving you all these while. How can a man plan to kill his wife to marry another?” he chimed. Eugene and Ojabunor walked in amidst our conversation. Father Anthony’s smile grew wider for a moment as the children walked in. Eugene and he were the best of friends. She was always fond of Father Anthony. She always told me to take her to Father Anthony’s house whenever they were on holiday. Her eyes were filled with wonder; she was happy to see him around. She quickly yanked off her uniform and hopped into his stretched-out, warm arms.
There was an impish glint in her eyes as she careened in his arms, drinking in the fragrance of his skin and perfume as well. Anthony never failed to grin impishly back at her, his eyes reaching out to caress her. “You’re growing fast, Eugene.” “She has nothing bothering her for now. All she knows is to eat, go to school, and play around now and then. Why wouldn’t she grow like plantain leaves?” I cut in as Father Anthony complimented. “It’s none of your business, Mummy. I was given to you by God to be fed and schooled,” Eugene curtly snapped back at me, her dark eyes quickly filling with flares. “Oh, save your effrontery for your moronic playing mates before I shut your mouth for you,” I snarled at her. “But she was right about her philosophy toward life’s existence.” “That’s her funeral,” I cut in as Father Anthony said. “Thanks, Father,” she finally stammered the words loosely as she lifted her slimy shoulders. “All right, go in and have your lunch.” He tipped her as he coaxed musically. She hopped down like a little gay bird and dove into the kitchen excitedly. I eyed her with admiration as she gulped a cup of water and scampered away through the back door.
Father Anthony’s grin fell away just as it had emerged on his face. “That was God’s justice on him. But you will forgive him and say bye-gone to all he caused you when he was alive. God has fought on your behalf; life goes on,” he muttered with a sick, punishing smile. He looked at his watch, and his eyes emphasized that he was already late to where he was going. I thanked him once more for stopping by as he stepped to the doorway, ready to go to where his car was parked. We bid each other farewell as he dashed into his car and drove away. Surprise is said to be the echo of life. There is an excellent idiom: he jumped out of his skin. An exaggeration, of course; no one can jump out of his skin, but he can do so mentally.
He can be so shocked that blood leaves his face, he turns cold, and for a long moment, he becomes breathless. That was what happened to me when I saw Umukoro Suka standing at the wardrobe as I stepped in. His countenance was gloom and moody. A deadly lassitude had taken hold of me. For a few seconds, I was too paralyzed to move. I looked at him, frozen in my stand, trying to collect my thoughts to determine if I was in a trance or a dream world. He allowed his slit gaze to emphasize his demand while asking me to sit down. His eyes raked over the parlor now and then. They fell on the photograph of his children; hot, stinging tears began to well at the edge of his eyes, spilling over the lids and down his cheeks. “The dead take all blame, but I’m damned sorry for my foolishness… Even a condemned man who is to be hanged gets some last words, doesn’t he? I put my foot wrongly without keeping my sexual desires in check…” He spoke in verse, like the high-status characters in Shakespearean plays. He wept unashamed as he walked toward me. He closed his eyes. He looked like an aged effigy at rest. Shuddering, I stepped backward and screamed aloud like a clap of thunder. He disappeared through the wardrobe as he had appeared. A great weariness, sadness, and fear filled my soul as I ran out, dashed into Juliet’s house, stumbling, and slipped on the soppy floor, going down. The fire of adrenaline was still hot in my battered body when my eyes flung open. The clock on the wall told me it was nine minutes past eight o’clock in the evening.
I braced myself, trying to recall all that had happened to me. It was neither a dream nor a hallucination. It was obvious my husband had appeared to me. When I told Juliet and my parents, who were waiting for me to wake up, they said I was daydreaming and that something of that sort never happened to me. “Once a fear, always a fear; your husband’s sudden death still haunts you, young girl, I can see!” my mother chimed. I tried to bring them around, but it was to no avail. “Well, call it a zany story, but I am certain of what I’m saying,” I stammered; cold and hot crawled over me together. I dropped my head on my mother’s legs. Eugene and Ojabunor sat on the arms of the chair where I was, their hands on my shoulders as if they were soothing me. Their eyes were slumberous. Juliet gave a helpless little shrug, then got to her feet and said anxiously, “But why was he crying?” “He wanted to speak to me… but as he approached me, I screamed, and he disappeared,” I muttered. She stared at me, looking stolid like the countenance of a dead man. Her wide eyes mulled back at me, full of fear and disbelief. I seemed to sense something ominous in the offing in her squinted eyes. When my mother had gone home, she said, “Don’t think about it, and let us go to bed. God knows why he appeared to you today.”
The next day was Saturday. As I mooned around the garden, inspecting the crops and removing weeds from their roots, I heard Juliet calling me through her doorway, telling me she was leaving to see a friend of hers. I waved her goodbye and went on with my work. I had barely stepped in after finishing my work in the garden when a childhood friend of mine came around, knocking. Mercy was told by my mother that I was ill; perhaps that was why she came then. “There is a hint of rain in the air out there,” she said, walking into the kitchen, looking for water to wash her mud-water legs. “It will drift to this direction soon. I can feel the air heavy here,” I said and stared out at the blue, heavy sky. “It will rain all day today,” she said. “September rains do not rain all day long; it will subside soon. So don’t be startled by the murky cloud,” I soothed. Barely ten minutes later, the rain began to drop on the zinc. Beneath the weeping skies pranced beautiful birds and butterflies.
They were thrown into hysterics in the drops of the rain as they chased one another therein. Amidst our deep conversation, a radiant silver light burst forth, spraying the rooms with white rags of harsh light across our faces, followed by a rumble and accompanied by a clap of thunder. Mercy quaked and hissed as the sound faded away. “It scared me to death,” I said. We were thrown into hysterical, tear-weeping, belly-aching laughter. There was a longish delay for the rain to ebb away for Mercy to go home. The compound was pretty full with water. She was scared when I told her what had happened the previous day. She listened with downcast eyes. “The dead have nothing to do with the living,” she said and further encouraged me to be in good cheer. “Time is out of joint; I have to be going,” she said. I bid her farewell, and she dashed into the streaming rain. I lay on the bed that evening, and my eyes fluttered open a moment like a dark fly taking flight while I tried to slip myself into sleep and move my mind away from the happenings around me. My tired lashes finally closed by twelve-thirty.
In my dream, I found myself in the native doctor’s house. Two dogs emerged from the house, yipping a howling chorus to announce that there was an intruder around. Yellow lights suddenly poured from one of the adjoining rooms. A bald, fat man of middling height came out. The dogs ran to greet him while I stood watching. A smile painted across my face awhile as I got fascinated with the yipping dogs. My grins slipped away, and I became sullen suddenly when Suka appeared. As my hair stood on end, he said, “You have worn out your welcome here; go home and look after my children before she will harm them like what she has done to their father. There is no point upsetting you; I will fight back.” “Who will you fight back?” “She sent me to my early grave in a bid to love her… I am sorry for keeping her away from you. I did not intend to hurt you. The concoction of love she put under my pillow, unknown to me, led to my death. She plans with the native doctor to defame me. Their cups are filled up. The moon will still shine in spite of all the barking dogs.” “Damn you! Don’t give him listening ears…” the bald-headed man exclaimed, staring hard at him. Suka suddenly grabbed him and shook him twice as he gritted his words between clenched teeth. I stared at them, helpless and dumbfounded. The bald-headed man tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. In a lopsided manner, he slumped. “You have killed him!” I stared down at the bald-headed man, my hands to my mouth, as I stirred awake, enveloped with fear. My eyes caught the plague of darkness that filled the bedroom to the brim. When I looked at my wristwatch through a scratch of a match, it was six o’clock.
The darkness of dawn was as thick as honey. Morning ripped and peeped around it as though pleading to God for justice. Suka could not specify the “she” before the fight broke out between him and the bald-headed man. But I pinned it on Juliet at the end. “She is evil,” I said aloud, so I could hear my own voice ahead. Putting two and two together, I recalled with a sudden sinking feeling of surprise his last words during his first visit to me. “…I put my foot wrongly…” Cold ran down my back, and I dropped on the bed. It was one lonely drop after another. I actually felt like a girl losing her virginity for the first time. I hated Juliet more than I thought it possible to hate anyone. If one wanted to eat with the devil, one must hold a long spoon. It is only those who understand the language of the spirits that dance to the music of the gods. I decided to give her a wide berth after my transfiguration. I did not have much sleep that night. It seemed I had barely dozed off when I heard Juliet’s voice calling for help outside. I threw off the bedsheet and knotted my wrapper around my waist.
When I opened the door for her, I saw her tear-stung eyes roam over me as she said anxiously, “My son is slipping from my hands. His health deteriorated this morning. He told me he was ill yesterday when I returned; please help me.” “A parrot put in a cage will soon forget how to sing…” I wagged my head as I whispered to myself. I went into the room and threw on my clothes. She untied half of her wrapper and wiped her nostrils as we went to her apartment. “I can’t lose my husband and at the same time lose my child. God forbid it,” I heard her catching her breath as she said. I felt awfully sorry for her but didn’t talk. “What will I do now?” I asked as she stared at me. “What else? Let’s take him to the hospital.” She drew in a long, slow breath as her pleading eyes glared at me as she said. She was tense while I stood aloof and lackadaisical at her plight. It is said that the buttock learns to be careful when it has been stung by a “wasp.” That wasn’t my funeral; a guilty conscience needs no accuser. I said to myself as she swung the child up in her arms and knotted him on her back. She headed toward the way leading to the hospital. I had just finished taking my dinner when my face jerked open to see her walking toward me. The sad expression on her face told me something sinister had happened. “He’s dead…” she suddenly said amidst tears. I paused, suddenly uneasy. My mouth went dry; I couldn’t speak. I managed to wag my head in a grunt over the death of the innocent child.
Two minutes before eight on the dot, a crowd of sympathizers milled around our compound. Some were there to console the mother of Jerry; some frantically made efforts to bury the dead. The thought of Jerry made me sick all through the night. The faint light of dawn was showing in the sky, but sleep had not come to me. It was like living in a hell. For a long moment, I sat on my bed, staring sightlessly at my wristwatch. As I waited for dawn to ebb away, I heard a tiny, frail, perplexing scream coming from Juliet’s apartment. With fear squeezing my heart, I quickened my steps there to see what was wrong. I came to an abrupt standstill when I heard her say: “Please don’t k-kill me, Suka,” she sobbed and put her palms together. I could not see Suka, but she pantomimed not to be killed. As I stared curiously at her, her gaze emphasized to me to come and rescue her as she lay sprawled on the floor. I felt a fighting urge in me to run out and call neighbors as her words sounded absurd and irritating. “Who is tormenting you?” “Suka!” Shuddering, I stepped back as she said. I dove out, calling neighbors. I glanced sarcastically at her as she unfolded her past deed. I was scarcely breathing then. “I don’t wish to kill him.
The native doctor who prepared the charm told me to put it under his pillow whenever he wanted to sleep. If I had known that the charm would kill him, I wouldn’t have obliged to carry out his instruction.” She paused, staring at me awhile before continuing, “The native doctor and I concocted the story to blackmail Suka. He is innocent.” I knew I was as white as native chalk. My mind was seething with anger and sympathy for Suka because I knew I had wronged him. “Since he passed on, I have not been sleeping. His soul haunts me like a hungry lion. I seethe with panic whenever the sun goes to its bed each night. Please, forgive me…” My eyes bounced up and down over her frame as she mentioned “mercy” and “forgiveness.” My body shook and trembled as if I were lying beneath an icy waterfall. She stumbled over the table and banged her head against a wall as she fell when our neighbors descended on her. They were enraged over her confession.
The strangeness of her saga put heaviness in me. I was taken aback. I felt as if I hadn’t a bone in my body. Before ten o’clock in the morning, our compound was packed with newspaper men and women, all clamoring for the story. Our compound became pregnant with a large circle of spectators with mounting attention. I lost my human voice amid human voices; it did not come back for months. The morning air was shivering cold. I was looking frail as the air lurked around me. Alas! Suka has failed in life; he remained an unsolved riddle for me to respect. By and large, I could not unfold the mysteries of human nature! Suka had laid me waste to his will like a porter, forcing me quickly into a role I neither understood nor mastered! Suka’s death, getting to know his clandestine affairs with Juliet after he had passed on, and his son’s death were an enigma and a gruesome experience that would haunt me till my grave. Nobody is human here anymore. My husband has swished me away; tears are still standing on my pillow. The news was telecast on television yesterday; get the newspaper for it.
Background of the author
The author Oghenerukevwe Divine Ogede, lectures in Western Delta University, Oghara Delta State. He is a member of Association of Nigerian Authors (ANA) Delta State Chapter. Many of his works have been published works. Among them – a short story: “A Drop of Mercy“, Nesting OnThe Rocks: An Anthology Volume 1, New Series published in 2023 by the Association of Nigerian Authors (ANA) Plateau State chapter. His novels are: Unwanted Shadow by Boox and Bransador Limited (2021); Festering Wounds by Kraft (2022); Orgy In The Garden by Boox and Bransador (2024). His poems are: “Too Many Radios Are On” (2024) and “Deltans Cried For Joy” (2011).
Phone number: 08062551183, Whatsapp number: 09153565375 Email address: ogededivine88@yahoo.com