WRECKED
/ WRECKED 5 4
Aleruchi came in some minutes later. Unlike Anaya, she had not slept well. She was so happy for her darling girl but a little sad for herself. It would be so lonely without Anaya. Already, she had arranged to move in with her sister back in Aba. She could not stay in Abuja for long. She had completed her mission. Her daughter had found the man she would spend the rest of her life with. Jubril was such a fine man, responsible and sensible, and so much in love. It was beautiful to see them together.
He would take care of Anaya; she need not worry about her daughter in his hands. And Anaya, bless her, would continue to brighten his life. She was extraordinary, Aleruchi thought, seeing the bright face without a trace of nervous tension.
"You are awake so early," Aleruchi said.
"And hungry, mama."
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"Hungry? I couldn't eat a thing."
"Don't be so edgy, mama–you'll only feel faint if you don't eat. There is nothing to be nervous about. I want you to enjoy everything as much as I shall." Anaya reached over and squeezed her hand. "I couldn't have done it without you. I know you sold some of your clothing and jewellery to raise more money for our trip here – I know all about it. I'm going to replace them for you." She giggled suddenly. "Poor Jubril is going to be broke by the time I've finished with him."
"Anaya! You mustn't say things like that."
"I hope all he ever thinks about is money and me, or me and money."
"You really do love him, don't you?" Aleruchi asked skeptically. "It's not just because he is rich and you're carried away…" She had asked the same question when they were engaged. Anaya had loved her for it then. How many mothers, faced with such a rich son-in-law and permanent security, would have risked such a question?
"I do love him," she said. "And I'm not the kind that gets carried away. He is everything I want. He wants a family; I want to be the best wife in the world to him. We are going to be happy together. I know it."
She threw back the blanket and poked her feet into her slippers. She had beautiful feet and elegant legs. "Now, mother dearest, I'm going to have a shower. I will see you later. And mind you, eat something!"
****
The alarm clock woke Jubril up at seven.
His bachelor party had gone well past midnight and ended in a nightclub, where Jubril refused to celebrate his last night of freedom by taking one of the pretty girls upstairs. He had not wanted to sleep with the girl. One of his friends had taken her on instead. He had laughed o the jokes at his expense. He could not explain that his hunger was for one woman, and no other one could rouse him. If the wretched girl had stripped o in front of him, he would not have reacted. All he could think of was holding Anaya, pulling her thick hair down and spreading it through his fingers. He wanted her so much it was like a sickness. From the moment he laid his eyes on her she roused a passion he had never experienced before. Many women had come and gone through his life. He indulged a powerful sexual appetite without any scruple. He knew that his money was an attraction to women; his bachelor status even more so. He had pursued and been pursued, but never caught. Anaya had not attempted to catch him. He was entrapped by her independence and her gaiety, and by the sexual aura of which she seemed unaware.
His mother did not like her. Jubril knew that. His brother, Mustapha, was admiring but he was still too much of his mother's boy to keep a favourable view of Anaya. Jubril did not care. He did not care what anyone thought because this was the girl he was going to marry and that was the end of it. Anaya was strong. He had watched the contest between his mother and ancée and seen Anaya win without much difficulty. He loved his mother, but she only tolerated stupid women. Anaya was very clever. She was strong-willed, impulsive and highly intelligent; a challenge that would rise up and face him all through their married life. He was marrying her that day. The ritual and snobbery did not concern him. He just wanted to be her husband, wanted to have her to himself. He knew she was a virgin, not because she told him, but because he had known too many impostors to be deceived. Anaya was innocent in her own way.
He did not even think of taking her to bed. He was keeping that, whetting his own appetite, and hers, by deliberate self-control. He did not want a hole-and-corner seduction to spoil the climax of their wedding. He wanted to conquer that provocative sexuality and prove that he could master it. And her.
It was indeed the wedding of the year. The society columnists went into ecstasies over the bride's dress and the handsome bridegroom. They gushed over the distinguished guests, fifteen hundred of them, and the splendid reception at The Transcorp. It was lavish, glittering and romantic. And then the final accolade: The President of Nigeria attended the reception.
Anaya and Jubril were standing together. Anaya had shaken so many hands that her own felt numb. The president arrived late. Jubril's mother had begun to panic that he might not be coming. But there he was, advancing toward them. Chizi, who'd been so kind when they first came to Abuja, wasn't his mistress anymore. Her good friend, Tonye Briggs, had replaced her. The president murmured a few words; he had a flat, rather metallic voice. Anaya watched him move into the crowd. People made way for him. She looked on as he joined a small, very slim woman in an exquisitely cut pink lace dress.
"Anaya! Do not stare, my dear. Let's move around and talk to people." She looked up at him and he saw the expression in her eyes. For a moment he trembled. She was gazing at him with real love. That look promised everything.
"You're thinking of tonight, aren't you?" she whispered.
"I am. Won't it be wonderful to be on our own – just the two of us?"
"Yes. Still, like you said, we better mingle. It'll soon be time to cut the cake."
Jubril watched her as she entered the crowd. He was so proud of her. She had not faltered throughout the long wedding ceremony. She had carried herself with dignity and grace, and he would never forget that look, more valuable to him than any vows.
He could see her talking to a group of young men. Men were fascinated by her. He would have to be careful of that. Only a fool would be complacent.
"Jubril!" He turned. His younger brother was beside him. Mustapha stood in as his best man. They had never been rivals. Even as young boys, Jubril's dominance was accepted.
"Well, you did it," Mustapha said. "Congratulations. I must say, she is a stunning girl. It is time to cut the cake. Mother and I have been talking to the Briggs woman. She makes the president dance attendance on her like a bloody waiter. Come cut the cake."
"I'll get Anaya," Jubril said. He wanted her with him every moment.
It was a wonderful wedding, but it ended, as all wonderful weddings should. Mrs Afsat Rufai said goodbye to her in-law, Aleruchi. She was just a little tired, she explained, and her doctor had insisted she have an early night. Aleruchi accepted the lie with her usual simplicity. It had been an emotional day, she agreed. Wasn't it just wonderful? Weren't they the handsomest couple, and so much in love? A tear brimmed in her eyes.
Mrs Rufai said "Yes, indeed," and "so please excuse me, but my driver is bringing round the car and I have a long drive ahead of me." Afsat disliked sentimentality, and the silly Igbo woman's wet eyes had irritated her. She was practical and sound. She felt that Jubril had made a thoroughly bad choice. In any case, he was the head of the family and she would have to make the best of it. She wished he had settled on a nice Hausa or Fulani girl. These Igbo women were so self-assertive. She looked quickly at her younger son. Mustapha was a good boy. A lightweight, his father called him, but then he had been such a harsh judge of his sons. Mustapha was a dear, and he would not marry anyone she did not approve of, she felt quite confident of that.
She slipped her hand through his arm. "The yarinya has taken my son," she said. "But thank goodness I've got you. I do not like her Mustapha. I don't know what it is about her, but there's something…I do hope my Jubi will be happy with her."
"Mother," her son said, "please don't worry about Jubril. He can take care of himself. Give Anaya a chance. She is Igbo, I know. Still, she will mellow when she gets accustomed to our culture, but she will not let him walk all over her, either, and that is no bad thing. Now cheer up."
Chapter end
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