The Will

Looking back through, the years, Nifemi knew it was high time she left that house. She had suffered enough from this man she called her husband.
She glanced at the picture on her table. She slammed it on the table. The memory is sickening. It felt as if she had worm in her mouth. Her face deformed as she took her hand to her swollen eyes.
Her hands trembled. The clock on the wall tick, as if men were drilling hole in her body. The pain from last night’s beating was enough to kill any fat woman. Only God knew how she, a slender woman, got the strength to withstand such beating from her husband. Maybe, it was an accumulation of the strength she got from Kunmi, her husband's, incessant beating. The pain of her swollen face felt fresh. And it throbbed her.
At home, he wasn't thinking straight. Now, that she had left the house, she had thought it through and through. Nothing in this world was tangible enough to hold her in Kunmi's house. A man’s life was more essential than the vows made on the altar.
It was high time she got a divorce. But before she did that, she would first leave his house.
The season for becoming blind to love had arrived. And she would so much conform to it. Her heart was made up. And God help anybody that came to plead on his behalf, she would so much curse such person that the person will always remember the day he or she visited her.
‘Shadiat’, she shouted after she took her car key and headed for the door.
The door helped her imagine the way she would leave his house. Leaving his house would be just like the way snakes ply mountains- nobody would feel her leaving the house.
‘Shadiat...' She shouted again.
A short plump girl came running towards her. She sized her. She looked just like two Ghana-must-go bags placed on themselves. Her faced was with tribal marks like the line on Nifemi’s travelling bag. Nifemi hissed.
‘I’m going home, take care of my shop', she said.
‘Yes ma'.
‘And make sure you are here when I return, no matter the time I return'.
Shadiat nodded warily like the person who had just being told to either carry a pot of fire or forfeit her life.
Her mind dashed from one thought to another. She dragged her thoughts away from the love they shared. And dumped such thought into the vehicle-of-forgotten.
She just didn't know the cause of Kunmi's behaviour. At least, after three years of a childless marriage, he ought to have learnt how to take care of a lady. He ought to know that her belly would be yearning desperately for a baby. That her heart would be crying for comfort.
She was deaf to the gateman's greeting. Her eyes couldn't just help it. Every now and then, it moved to the mirror to see the black spot on her eyes.
When she entered, the first thing that attracted her was the empty space on the table. The empty space used to house a beautiful vase that was a gift from John. He gave her the vase when he returned from Dubai. She swallowed hard as she remembered on whose head the vase broke- hers.
The pain got back at her.
‘Ah!' She said, moaning. She knelt in the parlour. And, at last, after holding herself since yesternight, she cried. The chair, her consoler screeched as she held it to strengthen herself.
The pain that surged through her body as he slapped her came again. The memory of the agony from his iron-fist that blacked her eyes flooded her thought. And the noise that erupted from her mouth as he pulled her hair drowned her optimism of ever living with him again.
All she did was to be late in bringing a handkerchief. He didn't always use handkerchief beforehand. So, when he asked for it she was so taken aback that she wasted some seconds wondering what he wanted to do with a handkerchief.
After crying for ten minutes, she rose from her blood-like rug, and climbed the stairs that looked like the evil path she took into this marriage. If that stupid John had proposed to her earlier, she would have a son to call her own. She would be in the hand of the man that loved her; one she loved with everything in her.
‘John’, she cried as the pain got to her again.
She pushed herself up the stairs and packed her load. Kunmi wouldn't return till late in the night, when she must have be gone. Far away from the jealous eyes of John's wife. Far from the tender smiles of her son. She would be far away from the cold hand of death, which was also Kunmi’s hand.
On her last trip to her car, she stared at the wall, at the frame, at the picture of her and Kunmi. She hated the day she said 'Yes'.
She rushed to the wall pulled down the frame. She would cut off every tie she had with him.
‘Never again' She cried and jumped severally on the frame. ‘Never again.'
She cried. The glass pierced her skin. She wasn't concerned. She looked at the other frame and began to break them.
Just then, the door opened. Kunmi came in. Cold air rushed to her as she expected him to hit her again. He went down on his knee.
‘I’m sorry baby', he said. His face was contoured. His eyes were squinted as he crawled nearer.' I don't know what got over me'.
She shifted back. He moved nearer. Tears were now pouring down her face. Who would ever believe her if she told them, he always beat her. John would, but others wouldn’t because he was caring.
She stared at him. He was right. She just can't lose him. She limped forward, hugged his head, and cried over him. And for the 18th time in that marriage, she accepted him again, for better for worse.



* The End*

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