WRECKED 22 21

Hauwa arrived Lake Alau before sundown. Eni welcomed and ushered her to a seat, and Hauwa sat as she watched girls clump up and down the stairs. Then they were gone, and for the first time, Hauwa looked at the room in which she sat, and was startled by it. It was nice, just as she imagined, exotic, clean and spotless. It had graceful and finely made furniture and decor. Bright colours. Rich damask fabrics. From her view, it looked like the kind of room where nobody would know where to sit, the kind of place maintained in perfect order, even though it was seldom used.

She must be very rich, Hauwa thought. The clock ticked steadily. The wind howled without peace. Hauwa sat alone wondering if the husband she left behind knew where she was, could picture how she sat, her hands quietly in lap, fingers locking and unlocking. She had sworn Uncle Isa and Auntie Asabe to secrecy. They could not reveal where she was. They willing obliged.

She rose to her feet and wandered through the rooms of the ground floor. There were many of them, and they were all alike, equally immaculate, furnished with the same blend of the rustic and magnificent. She tried to imagine the worth of each object she laid her eyes on. The dining room was big and the table had been set for one. She picked up an ornate fork from the table and the brilliant polish caught the light.

"You may eat." Hauwa dropped the fork as Eni came into the room. "You look tired. Madam is out with her husband. She wanted to have dinner with you, but it seems she is running late. You may as well eat." She adjusted the fork Hauwa had dropped, so that it was in perfect alignment with the other equally massive utensils.

"I was just…"

"Looking. I saw it. Sit. Food will be just a minute. You must be starved."

"You don't have to serve me here. I will eat in the kitchen, if you don't mind."

Eni nodded and led her out of the dining room.

In the kitchen, Hauwa sat at the table. The stew was hot, the goat meat soft and delicious, the rice garnished nicely, all of it accomplished and fine in a way that would have been admired in any restaurant in any city. Hauwa had thought she was not hungry, but she ate everything, including a plate of diced fruits.

"Thank you. That was delicious."

"You're welcome." Eni said, standing by the kitchen doorway and looking at the latest houseguest.

"You're a wonderful cook."

Eni blushed, embarrassed. "Some people have one gift, some another. Me, I never had the head for books, but put me in a kitchen and I know where I am." She began to clear away the dishes.

"I'll help you. I'm used to keeping myself."

"Thank you. I hope you will be happy here. I truly do. My name is Eni, by the way."

"My name is Hauwa," Hauwa said, yawning and feeling suddenly exhausted.

"You should rest. Go to bed if you want."

"Where do I…"

"Sleep? I'll show you." Wiping her hands on a dishtowel, Eni led Hauwa out of the kitchen, picked up her small bag and started down the corridor to one of the graceful bedrooms Hauwa had admired.

"The ground floor and first floor are for the girls and some of the live-in nurses. The second floor is the living quarters for madam and her immediate family. I will show you around tomorrow. A nurse will also be assigned to you. Sleep well."
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Eni left her. Hauwa unpacked her things, hanging her ragged dresses and laying away her underclothes in the bureau. This would be home, she thought. These are my things and I am putting them away in my new home. The last thing in her suitcase was a picture of her and Abdul on their wedding day. She sat for a long time in a chair by the window looking at it, before she tore it to pieces inside her bag and slid the whole thing under the bed.

She opened the heavy curtains and immediately felt the pressing cold of the air outside. Tired as she was, it was a pleasant sensation, bracing, reminding her of her own flesh. She sat in the chair and watched the night wind, and drifted in and out of a light sleep accompanied by the clumping of feet upstairs.

Finally, the footsteps stopped. She waited until the house was completely quiet, and then she stood, stepped out of her long skirt, and undid the twelve buttons of her blouse. She entered into the bathroom and took a bath as best as she could.

She stepped into a plain white nightgown given to her by her auntie, and stood looking at her face in the oval mirror by the bed.

This was not an illusion, here in this house. This was not a game. This was real. Her heart felt all at once that it was breaking, and tears stung her eyes.

It could have been different, she thought. She might have been the woman who dandled a child on her knee, or took food to a neighbour whose house had been visited by illness or re or death. She might have made dresses for her daughters or told them stories on nights like these; worlds of fantasy and wonder on a night when you could not see your hand in front of your face. She couldn't exactly imagine the circumstances under which any of these might have come to pass, but, like an actress who sees a role she might have played go to someone with less talent, Hauwa felt somehow the loss of a role less graceful, more suited to the landscape of her heart.

Her true heart, however, was buried so far inside her, so gone beneath the vast blankets of a man's ruthlessness and cruelty. She had no way of knowing, of course, whether this heart she imagined to herself to have was, in fact, real in any way. Perhaps it was like a soldier's severed arm that keeps throbbing for years, or like a broken bone that aches at the approach of a storm.

She wanted for once in her life, to be the centre of the stage. The stakes, therefore, were higher in the scary game with Abdul than she had realized. Because what she was, standing before the mirror in a beautiful house, was, in fact, all she was.

She was a lonely woman who had escaped a terrible fate. She was desperate and hopeful. She was like all those women whose foolish dreams made her and her friends howl with hopeless derision, except that now she was looking into the face of such a woman and it did not seem funny at all.

She turned out the overhead light, drew the curtains against the wind, and slipped into the comfort of the soft bed.

As she leaned back on the pillows, there was a soft knock. She quickly stepped across the floor in the pitch-black darkness, and opened the door to nd the beautiful face of Anaya.

"Welcome to your new home," she said as she drew Hauwa into an embrace.

Chapter end