Munachi

|Chapter 8|

“He said what!”

“Calm down, Nate. According to him it was only a suggestion.”

“What kind of a man suggests to sleep with another man's wife. He's only trying to take advantage of you. Tell me, did he happen to touch you anywhere?” he asks, scanning my body.

“No, he didn't make any move.”

“Are you sure?”

“Nate, really, he didn't touch me.”

He heaves a sigh of relief. “I don't want you going back to that clinic.”

“After what he said to me today. Never will I set foot in that clinic again,” I say.

It's been two weeks since my last visit to Dr. Mark's clinic. Nate travels to Abuja to look at the pieces of land for sale. He's been planning on building another petroleum station in Abuja. I'm pleased with Nate's success, but I detest the days and nights I have to spend alone.

♣♣♣

Ding-dong.

“Coming.” I hurry towards the door, opening it, I see Ma standing in front of me. “Hello, Ma.”

“Move,” she says, pushing me aside and stepping in.  She walks over to the sofa and drop down her handbag.  “Where's Nathaniel?” she asks brusquely, sitting down.

I shut the door and come into the living room. “He's gone to Abuja,” I answer.

“How long has he been away?”

“Three days.”

“When is he coming back?”

“He should be back tomorrow or next.”

I keep standing in front of Ma not knowing what else to say without incurring her anger. The cold war between us is a bitter one and I'm at a loss what to do to make the cloud of distrust between my mother-in-law and I roll away and make us visible to each other. A grandchild will, I reason, but that is apparently beyond hoping for.

“Have you no manners?” Ma snaps at me. “Why are you standing there looking at me like that? You can't even offer your mother-in-law a drink.”

“I'm so sorry. Doris!” I yell for my housegirl.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Please get Ma a glass of wine—”

“Don't bother,” she says, crossing her leg and wearing a stern look.

I turn to Doris. “Don't bother, dear. You can leave.”

“You know,” she looks up at me, “I wonder what my son actually sees in you. Beauty you don't have. Manners you don't have. Not to mention you being a barren. I don't think . . . no . . . I know you don't deserve my son. The only reason why you're barren now, is because of the wayward life you've lived. The abortions you've had in your past.”

Hands trembling, my eyes narrow, and for a moment, the old me crawls her way out. “I never had any abortions. Please don't say things you do not know.”

Ma raises an eyebrow, as if impressed, rising from the sofa to stand in front of me. “What gives you the audacity to talk back at me? You will show me some respect.”

“I never disrespected you, Ma. I only told you not to accuse me of something I never did. And please do not refer me as a barren. You of all people know how that feels.”

It took Ma five years before she was able to conceive, giving birth to her only son.

Ma stares at me dangerously. “I hope my son gets another woman soon.” Having nothing more to say, she bends down and pick up her handbag. Glaring one last time, she walks out of the house slamming the door hard.

Tired of crying, I lay in bed staring at the dark ceiling. I wish my mother is alive to talk sense into my mother-in-law. For hours I lay awake not able to sleep. And so as I shut my eyes, I hear a slight knock on the door.

“Mistress.” Doris.

“What is it, Doris?” I ask.

“It's Mrs. Caroline. She wants to talk to you on the landline.”

I get out of bed and slowly walk towards the door. I open it and outstretch my hand in front of her. “Let me have it.”

“Yes, Mistress.” She hands it over.

“Hello, Caroline?”

♣♣♣

I rush up the stairs into Caroline's bedroom. I see her shivering under the blankets. “Oh my God, Caroline!” I dash towards her bed. “What's wrong with you?”

“I feel so cold all of a sudden,” Caroline manage to say between chattering teeth.

“Where's Daniel?” I ask.

“He's . . . He's still miles away. Stuck in a traffic. I-I have some medicine in the drawer downstairs in the living room.”

“Hold on, I'll go get it and some water.”

Later on I return with a glass of water in a saucer and three packets of medicine. Pregnancy drugs perhaps I don't know. I cajole Caroline into taking some tablets as written on the medicine.
Some minutes on, Caroline begins to sweat. She throws off the blankets and open her eyes. I bend down and ask her how she feels.

“I feel better,” she answers faintly.

Next, I walk to the kitchen and prepare her an appetizing meal.

♣♣♣

“I should head back home now,” I say, standing at the foot of the bed, watching as Daniel feeds his wife the meal I'd prepared.

He turns to look at me. “Thank you so much, Munachi. I'm really grateful.”

“It's all right. I'll be back tomorrow morning to see how she's doing,” I inform.

“All right. Please, hold on, allow me to see you off.”

“No, no. It's fine. Please just see to it that she's okay.”

“I will. Thank you once again.”

I drive away from the Maxwells'. Just few miles away from home, my car breaks down in the middle of the road. I spend almost an hour trying to get help, but to no avail. Ten forty-five p.m says the time on my watch. It's late. And there are no vehicles passing by now that I can just take a taxi instead. I hear a low rumble of thunder from the distance sky. A thunderstorm is rolling in.

“Just great,” I mumble to myself.

“Hello. Do you need help?”

I turn around to see a man walking towards me. He's wearing a black jeans and black shirt. It's impossible for me to see his face due to the low glow from the street lamps.

“I, uh. My car broke down actually,” I say, as he keeps coming closer. For some reason I get the cringe. Once he's standing a feet from me, I can clearly see what he looks like now. He has a beard. And must be in his early forties.

“Too bad,” he says. “It isn't safe out here especially for a lady like yourself. Do you know what is wrong with the car?”

I shake my head, and trying to keep my distance away from him as far as I can.

“You're in luck. Because I know a thing or two about cars,” he says with a smile. “Why don't you hop into the car and pop up the hood so I can check the engine.”

“Okay, sure.” As I turn around to open my car door, suddenly, I feel strong hands on my mouth.

I struggle against his tight grip, yet he shuffles me away from my car, dragging me to some place dark.

“Please, please. I beg you, don't do this,” I plead. We both are in a deserted building away from the street and from anyone's hearing.

“Strip,” he orders.

“No. Please, don't.”

“Do it while I ask nicely,” he says.

“I beg you. Please don't do this.”

I watch him move his hand behind his back and withdraws a gun. I flinch as he points the pistol at me. “Strip, now!”