WRECKED
/ WRECKED 35 34
"That won't be necessary, Anaya. You're already taking Eni, and I don't see the point of taking her too. There are enough maids in mother's house. She can stay here and oversee the place."
"Eni is my personal maid. She understands me. Besides, your mother's maids are too busy to do what I want."
And you can't live without her, Jubril thought.
"Look, the girls will be fine here, trust me—"
"Of course, I trust you! Good grief, Jubril, this isn't about you! It's about leaving two girls, underage, in my house during the festivities. There's no way. They can and will be part of the celebrations. Besides, Laraba is pregnant."
"She's what?" Jubril demanded
"Pregnant. You know, having a baby. P-R-E-G-N-…"
"I know how to spell it, Anaya. I'm just shocked?"
"Get over it."
"Will she have it?"
"Yes, Jubril, she will have him!"
"But…" "No buts. It's been decided. She wants to keep the baby and we are going to be supportive, okay? So, when you're done packing, call your mum and give her the drill. We are all going together to Abuja." Anaya left her husband and went to find the girls.
Kuku also prepared herself for the trip, but with difficulty. Mustapha had returned from the clinic, weak and depressed. Very depressed. The day before they were to leave for Abuja, Kuku's nerve failed her. She dreaded facing Afsat and she dreaded the chill eyes of Anaya. How could she pretend that nothing had happened? How could she hope to repeat the lie Jubril had rehearsed her in so convincingly: poor Mustapha had just recovered from a severe bout of malaria? That would account for the loss of weight and the low spirits. They wouldn't be deceived. Afsat would suspect. She would ask him. Kuku worked herself to a state of panic.
She used to lie so easily, so fluently. But the prospect terrified her this time. She didn't want to go to Abuja, and if she hadn't telephoned Jubril, she probably wouldn't have. "I can't go there," she insisted. "I don't think I can face them. Mustapha is really in a bad state."
"Stay calm, Kuku. You'll be fine. It's better you go than raise suspicions over your absence."
"But…"
"Calm down, Kuku," he snapped. "You can manage this, okay? Pull yourself together."
He hung up. He was sorry he had lost his temper for a moment. She was more demanding than she realized. She didn't seem to understand that he mustn't be rung up and interrupted at work. But she was frantic with anxiety; all because she was married to his wimp of a brother. Jubril focused his frustration on Mustapha. He tried to work for the next hour but his concentration was broken. He closed his files and drove home.
****
Smiling, Afsat pushed herself to her feet, walked across to the windows and glanced down the street, thinking how congested with traffic it was today. It was the day before Ramadan, and Abuja was busier than ever. She was determined to have a good time, to rejoice that peace had returned to her home.
This Ramadan for her family was going to be exceptionally quiet, but she didn't mind. She rather welcomed it, if the truth be known. She had cancelled all the invitations to friends; this season was just for her and her family. What she couldn't understand was why Anaya insisted to come with those three girls; there were enough servants in the house already. She shook her head and sighed.
Turning around, Afsat strolled back to the centre of the room and stood there for a few seconds, a reflective expression settling on her pretty face. Her sons and their spouses all looked happy, even Jubril. He was so benevolent that he even tried to be nice to his brother. Mustapha looked awful—shrunken and pallid. It must have been a frightful malaria to run him down like that, Afsat thought.
Kuku uttered around him. Only Anaya seemed a bit distracted. She was probably thinking of her girls.
****
Anaya glanced at her sleeping husband. She thought he looked tired and ill at ease. It must be work. She knew he had a very important commission from the Ministry of Finance. We've been having a bad time lately, Anaya thought. Everyone does, eventually. She hoped it would be over soon. She had never failed in her support but recently he had been quiet and withdrawn. For his sake, she decided to play her wifely role. She woke him to make love. Jubril didn't respond. He stirred and turned over, mumbling about being tired. He pretended to sleep. Strange. He is playing my role and reciting my line, Anaya thought, panicking. She lay still, worried. Jubril had never rejected her before. In fact, he was usually ecstatic when she gave willingly. She felt degraded, not only by the refusal but also by the pretence that went with it. Something was wrong. Not just the strain of his work. It had never stopped him wanting to make love before. She didn't go to sleep again. She stayed beside him and listened to the fake deep breathing until dawn broke.
Throughout the day, she brooded and nursed her humiliation. But she said nothing, neither did he. That night, she watched him as the family sat in the living room. She watched him with his mother. They were laughing at some joke and it grated on her nerves. She watched him with Mustapha and was surprised at his antagonism. Jubril had never thought much of his brother, but this evening he was positively hostile. It was like squaring up to a corpse, for all the animation Mustapha showed. Kuku had on a beautiful dress, very flattering and obviously very expensive. She makes me sick with that little-girl act, Anaya thought, when she's sleeping all over the city. I wonder who she's having it off with now. Anaya kept watching her without real interest. Afsat got up and walked over to Mustapha. Casually, Kuku crossed the room. Anaya watched her idly. She took a seat close to Jubril. Everyone seemed occupied. Afsat had turned away from them, perched beside Mustapha. Anaya herself sank back into the big armchair.
Kuku reached one arm across, lightly, carelessly and Anaya saw her fingers caress the back of Jubril's neck. He didn't move away; he sat there while she fondled him in secret, drawing her long painted nails across his nape, just above the collar. Who is she having it off with now? The question screamed in Anaya's head, no longer a malicious speculation.
She had the answer. The erotic touch and his acceptance of it. Jubril. Her husband and Kuku. For a few seconds, the room spun. The walls whirled round and round and the talk became a disoriented hum. Anaya had never fainted in her life, but for a moment it was very close.
"Anaya?" she heard her mother-in-law's voice. She was looking down to her. "Are you alright?"
"Yes," she forced herself to speak; it sounded strange. "Yes, I'm fune. Thank you. I'm just tired." She was steady again. No crisis, no dramatic scene. Afsat still stood close to her. Anaya wished she'd move. She couldn't see them. Imagination. A trick of the eye. Kuku was in view now, bending over Mustapha, murmuring some question. Pretending to care, Anaya thought. She wasn't near Jubril, not looking at anyone but her husband. But Jubril was looking at her. Watching her. No, Anaya's heightened intuition argued, watching over her. I must hold on, Anaya told herself. I must stay calm and make absolutely sure. I may be wrong. I may be seeing things that aren't there. I'm upset after what happened this morning. But she caressed his neck, I didn't imagine that.
Afsat walked back to her younger son. She was shocked at how frail and low he seemed. He had better see that specialist again. For a moment, she and Kuku looked at each other over his head. Kuku was furtive, ill at ease. Afsat knew what that look betokened. Another squalid liaison, no doubt. So long as Mustapha didn't know and wasn't affected. She closed her mind and said to him, "I'm going to feed you up, darling. You are too thin. It's such a good thing you agreed to come. You'll recuperate better here, under my watch."
He looked up at her and squeezed her hand.
****
Anaya watched. Three days of agony, of watching him, of watching her. Seeing the intimate looks passed between them, quickly veiled but not quickly enough. The way Kuku continued to touch him at every opportunity. Brushing against him with a smile, resting her fingertips on his arm to emphasize something that didn't warrant it. Gazing at him with her limpid eyes, oozing sexuality like a snake wrapping its prey. A snake, Anaya thought, hating her as she had never believed possible to hate anyone; so powerful that she felt choked with it, unable to breathe. A snake creeping, touching, entwining, devouring.
And Jubril. He was drugged with the creature. He couldn't take his eyes away from her; he was besotted enough to be almost careless. Anaya hated him too, but it was a cruel mixture of love and jealousy as well.
Later, Anaya sat down with a sad sigh in front of the mirror, unbecoming all that she had become. The years had hardened her beyond mercy.
I'm the kind of woman who wants to know the end of the story, she thought, staring at her face in the mirror. I want to know how it's all going to end, even before it starts.
Yes, Anaya liked the beginning of things. The beginning of life without a father, the first kiss of a lover, the first taste of wealth. And endings, she liked endings too. The drama of a fight, the last awful word which could never be unsaid or remembered.
It was the middles that gave her a pause. This, for all its forward momentum, this was a middle. The beginnings were sweet, the endings usually bitter, but the middles were only the tightrope you walked between one and the other. No more than that.
She stared at her face in the mirror above the dressing table. It was her one sure possession, the one thing she could count on never to betray her, and she found it reassuring that it remained, every morning, essentially unchanged, the same sure beauty, the same fair and flawless skin, unlined, fresh. Whatever life had done to her, it had not yet reached her face.
Still, she was restless. Her mind raced, reviewing her options, her plans, her jumbled memories of a turbulent childhood and what it was about her life that led her here, to this sumptuous room, somewhere in the middle.
So much had to happen in the middle, and no matter how often she had rehearsed it in her mind, she didn't trust the middle. In the middle, things always happened you hadn't planned on, and it was these things, the possibility of these things, that haunted and troubled her. Jubril and Kuku's relationship was a middle affair. Anaya silently swore to make sure Kuku wasn't in the end. She had to be stuck forever in the middle, a passing rite.
****
"It's him, isn't it?" Mustapha said.
"Darling, I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't try and fool me, Kuku. I know you. I can tell by him, too. You're really shitting on your own doorstep this time. And don't try to say I'm drunk. I'm not. Not yet, anyway."
"Why do you say that? You know how Jubril's helped us…"
After lunch, Mustapha had suddenly insisted on going out in the drizzling rain for a walk. Once out of earshot, he had rounded on her. He's seen us, was Kuku's first thought. He must have. She didn't know what to do but stand her ground and lie.
"He's helped you, you mean. He doesn't care about me. He treated me like shit in his last visit to the clinic. He told me he would smash my face in if I came out and misbehaved again."
"I didn't know he did that," Kuku said. "He shouldn't have done that."
"Shut up! It's bad enough I have a brother like him, but you…Kuku, how could you? How could you do this to me?"
She hung her head. The rain was getting heavy. Her hair was soaked and sticking to her head, the drops running down her face.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. Mustapha turned and went on walking. She followed, pulling at his arm.
"You'll catch a cold," she said. "Let's move into the house, you're getting wet."
"I didn't know others," he went on, dragging her with him. "I didn't know the idiot in Asokoro, I didn't know any of the others. There must have been dozens of them but I know this one. Right under my bloody nose with my lout of a brother. They ought to make a film of you, Kuku. They should call it 'A hundred men a night.'" He stopped abruptly. He wrenched away from her. They stood facing each other in the downpour.
"I think I've had enough. I think I've come to the end of my rope."
"Mustapha," she cried out. "Mustapha don't say that, please!"
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He walked on without answering. She stood and let the rain drench her to the skin. He'd never said that before. He'd got drunk and accused her, but they'd ended in tears, clinging to each other like the lost souls they were. He hadn't said anything for so long. She'd forgotten to be careful when he was there. Jubril hadn't been careful either.
She ran after him, but he had gone inside and locked himself in their bedroom by the time she got upstairs. She banged on the door and pleaded gently, careful not to alarm the house occupants. She heard him moving, but he wouldn't answer. She walked to an empty room down the corridor, stripped off her wet clothes and lay on the large bed. He didn't mean it. He couldn't. She felt she had to warn Jubril and she had to see him that night.
****
Afsat sat down heavily on her bed, suddenly feeling very old. "How far do you think this has gone?" she asked.
"I don't know," Anaya answered.
"You're sure you're not imagining this?"
Anaya dropped down beside her. "No," she said with the unhappiest sigh Afsat had ever heard. "I'm not imagining. He has not been his normal self for some time. He is o hand with me. I have seen the way they look at each other. She is always pawing him. There's something between them – I know there is."
"Hmmm…I thought she seemed a bit shifty ever since they got here," Afsat remarked. She continued after a pause, "I didn't connect it with Jubril. Do you think they are sleeping together?" Anaya bit her lip, but it was no use. She couldn't help crying. Afsat slipped her arm around Anaya and held her close. "He doesn't want to sleep with me," she mumbled, "so I guess they are."
Afsat let Anaya cry, giving silent comfort. She had never been so angry for years. Kuku! How dare she? Only the dregs of slum breed would sink so low with her own brother-in-law. She should be locked up in a mental institution.
"Help me," Anaya begged. "Get rid of her."
"My dear child," Afsat said quietly, "I think the time has come when we must do just that. Now, don't cry anymore, and don't say anything about this to anyone. She has ruined Mustapha. She won't do same to Jubril."
Anaya looked at her. For the first time she noticed the lines on Afsat's face that hadn't been there before. Suddenly she said, "I wish to God she was dead."
"So do I." She patted Anaya's hair. "But I don't think God is going to oblige us. Between us, we'll think of a solution. Now, if you are ready, we had better put a face on it and join them downstairs.
****
It seemed to Anaya like a stage set in a play. Jubril in a polo shirt; Kuku ethereal in a blue caftan; Afsat in a black caftan trimmed with gold embroidery, and other distant family members gathered to celebrate the last day of the Ramadan holiday before returning home. Wealth, health and beauty. They sat there talking politics and making jokes. Anaya pretended to eat, watching her husband and his lover under lowered lids. The guilty ones trying not to glance too often, not able to resist a little smile across the table. Mustapha drinking glasses of water and trying not to follow a bottle of red wine with his eyes as it passed him by. He was different that night. Edgy, irritable. The sad dejection had passed, and whatever the reason, Anaya was glad for that at least. He had always, even in the worst times of his addiction, gazed with dependence on his wife, as if she were some kind of talisman. But no longer. Anaya thought she saw a gleam of hatred when he looked across the table at Kuku. But maybe not. Maybe I'm seeing what I want to see.
Afsat poked her food and glanced at her son. If only he didn't care about her. If only he could break the cycle of drink and guilt and infidelity that had destroyed him. Afsat's glance shifted to Kuku. She hated her and blamed her for it, but it was old hatred and old blame that was only enhanced by being justified. Afsat had to learn to hate Jubril, and she found she couldn't. She could only despise him. She would pursue Kuku with remorseful vindictiveness because she had betrayed Mustapha. She heard Kuku laugh. Such a pretty laugh, full of gaiety. How many intermarriages and cross breeding had produced this genetic time bomb, destined to destroy itself and everyone connected with her? I don't know, Afsat admitted. I don't know and I don't care. I have no pity left. We can't afford her any longer.
****
Eni came in.
"The other room is ready, sir," she said to Mustapha.
"Other room?" Jubril said.
"Yes, brother," Mustapha answered. "I have a bit of studying to do and I suggested that Kuku stay in the empty room down the corridor. Besides, I was in the rain today and I'm coming down with a cold. She shouldn't catch it from me. Right, Kuku?"
"Yes," she said, joining in the charade. "I hate catching a cold." She turned to Eni, "Thank you, Eni. I hope I haven't been a nuisance."
"No nuisance at all," Eni said, turning on her heels and walking away.
"I have to go to bed now," Kuku said. "Good night, everyone. Good night, Mustapha." He didn't answer. She left the room and on her way out she chanced a pleading look at Jubril—Come to me.
He didn't move, but one hand lifted an inch or so from the arm of his chair. They had chosen their meeting place and fixed the time.
She went out, closing the door quietly behind her.
Anaya and Jubril said goodnight and went off together. If a rendezvous was planned, he had to get away without Anaya suspecting. Afsat wondered bitterly how he was going to do it. She knew Anaya took sleeping pills because of her insomnia. He'd sneak out when she was asleep.
Afsat reached out and touched Mustapha.
"I know!" she whispered as he looked at her warily.
"How?" he whispered back.
"It doesn't matter. You are alright, aren't you?"
"I am."
He went on, speaking very quickly, in a low tone.
"I was crazy about her, you know? But I couldn't keep up. I just couldn't go on and on. I thought drink would help; stop me worrying and failing. Then I found out she was going off with someone else. I felt like killing her, but I didn't. Anyway, it doesn't matter anymore."
"We'll fight it together. But she's got to go!"
He squeezed his mother's hand. "No, mum. Not this time. You've fought battles for me all my life. I've got to win this one on my own. Don't worry about Kuku. That's my responsibility."
****
Anaya lay in bed waiting for Jubril to come out of the bathroom. Her husband was a liar and a cheat, like her daddy. She might forgive him if that little wicked bitch wasn't around anymore. Her mind ran wild with obscene images, torturing her in a frenzy of jealousy. She hadn't minded with Kilali; it was just a suitable arrangement. But not Kuku. This was the real thing. She threw her blanket back on impulse, ran across the room and tried the bathroom door handle. "How long are you going to be?" she called out.
"I'm coming," Jubril answered. Behind the locked door, he had delayed and delayed, nerving himself to face her, to suggest, insist even, that she drug herself to sleep so he could get away and join Kuku. He'd felt the atmosphere keenly, and he was alarmed. They couldn't know. Nobody could know. They were just ganging up on Kuku, treating her with coldness and contempt. Kuku needed him and he wouldn't refuse her. He wanted her too. His wife was outside, rattling the door handle as if he were a school boy being bidden to bed. He had no urge to touch Anaya; he had no overspill after Kuku. He thought, perhaps I should get out of this marriage. I have held on for too long, and if I can feel like this about someone else, it's over anyway.
Anaya stepped back as Jubril came out. They got into bed together. He said casually, "You look tired, Anaya. You said you didn't sleep well last night."
How could I she mused, when I was thinking about you and her?
"Take your valium, Anaya."
"But you're always saying I shouldn't," she countered.
"Well, I think you can do with a good night's rest. Don't make it a habit, that's all." He sounded so natural. Any other time, she would have been touched that he was thinking of her.
"Let me get them for you," he said, and got up.
She took the tablet from him, and the glass of water. She palmed the pill and took a long drink. "Thank you, love," she said.
"Now, turn over and sleep. Good night."
Anaya did as he suggested. The sleeping tablet clenched in her hand. She began to breathe deeply and regularly. Nothing happened. She waited patiently. The room was in darkness now. She dozed o without realizing it. When she woke with a start later on, his side of the bed was empty.
****
Eni pushed back from the table and took her dishes to the sink, rinsing them and placing them in the dish drainer. She stood staring into space and listening to the night sounds coming through the open window. It was almost 10 p.m and the house was silent. The other servants had turned in for the night, but she wasn't tired. Her mind was troubled and soon she found herself sighing as she thought about the banalities of life. Finally, she turned off all the lights in the kitchen and made her way upstairs.
She stopped in front of the room Hauwa and Laraba shared, opened the door and saw Hauwa sitting in bed, reading The Slave Girl with great intensity. The low light of the room was warm. Eni travelled the room with her eyes, waiting for Hauwa to see her. She looked up at last.
"What are you still doing up, Hauwa?"
"Reading, as you can see. I can't seem to be able to put the book down."
"So the evening classes are paying off?"
"Of course, they are. I had good marks in an essay I wrote."
"That's good. I'm proud of you, Hauwa." Eni moved further into the room.
"Thank you. Come lay down for a while. I don't know why you choose to stay down the corridor. This bed is big enough to hold five people, I swear."
Eni laughed. "I'm not an easy bed mate, Hauwa. And I have to be close to madam Anaya, in case she needs anything."
Hauwa made room for Eni in the centre of the bed. She patted the empty space between her and Laraba, encouraging Eni to join her.
Eni picked up a piece of decorated cardboard as she took her place on the bed. "Nice."
"Yes. She has talent, our Laraba. Made it for auntie Anaya before she slept off."
Eni looked down at the sleeping girl. "She's been through a lot."
"Madam Anaya or Laraba?"
Eni looked up, thoughtfully. "Both of them, actually."
"Eni, something is bothering auntie Anaya. I can feel it. There's tension in the air."
Eni nodded as she murmured, "I overhead something," then looked up and smiled reassuringly at Hauwa, "But don't worry. She will be fine in no time."
"I hope so. She is so strong, and adventurous, I think. Just like I was as a child."
"Hmmmm. Do I hear a childhood story coming on?"
Hauwa giggled. "Oh, I don't want to bore you."
"Please! Tell me what it was like in the dark ages, when you were a child," Eni said with all the drama she could muster.
"Ok. I hope we don't wake Laraba." Hauwa nodded in the direction of the sleeping girl. "She looks so peaceful when she sleeps, but her soul is troubled."
"Whose soul isn't?"
"She loves her best, doesn't she?"
"Who are we talking about?"
"Auntie Anaya. Eni, sometimes, I feel she loves Laraba best. I don't care really, as long as she loves me, no matter how little, it's okay."
"I don't know about loving one more than the other, Hauwa. But I think she has this amazing ability to make all of us feel like she loved us each the best. She is remarkable that way."
"She's our mother."
A spark lighted in Eni's eyes.
"Yes, Hauwa. That's the gospel truth. Now, tell me that story."
****
He hadn't slept. He'd listened to Anaya's rm breathing and known the pill had knocked her out. He had a feeling of excitement as he made his way to the rendezvous. He tried the door far down the corridor. It was locked. For a moment, he hesitated. Then he swore and moved on. He found one, nearer to his room than he liked, but it opened and he stepped inside. She approached as he closed the door behind them. He turned the key and took her in his arms. The nightgown was stripped off, drifting aside like seeds in the wind. He carried her and placed her on the bed. Minutes later, she gave a whimpering cry of ecstasy.
The watcher stood in the shadow. Had listened to the sound of the man and woman locked in the bedroom making love. And then moved away.
They had lost track of time. Wild words were spoken in the heat of that passionate encounter, more passionate, more consuming for him than anything he had imagined. At last, reluctantly, he left her.
He was the man. He was her salvation. She felt exhausted and exhilarated; she felt no guilt. No guilt at all. She opened the door of her room. A quick glance assured her that the world was asleep. She needed to get a drink.
Chapter end
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