A POISONED CHALICE (EPISODE 2)

_{photo by Annaharmsthiessien on pixabay}

---

“I don’t know where your wife is. Why will…” the blow that came rocked my brain in my skull, I could swear. The pain bourgeoned on my jaw and I felt a tooth loosen in my mouth. I let my head rest on the ground and closed my eyes to let the throb lessen. I could feel his eyes on me but I was in too much pain to care.

“I would think my words carefully before I reply, if I were you. Where is my wife, I ask again?” Ahmed asked.

I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. It had darkened with dust and old cobwebs. My eyes turned to the corner and I saw that the walls were also dusty and stained with years of disuse. As I turned to look at my tormentor, my eyes caught a flicker of colour. I let the knowledge pass across my face like the wind across a calm stream then I looked at him.

The years looked good on him. He looked immaculate, from his pressed kaftan to the gold wristwatch on his wrist, to the leather slippers on his feet. He looked every bit the successful business man. I on the other hand wasn’t looking too good at that moment.

“Can I ask you for something?” I asked.

He raised his brow and puckered his fat lips in a frown then shrugged and stretched his legs. At that moment two shadows at the far end of the room revolved into two men. They walked towards me, their face impassive. I tried to move back but my muscles were all made of water, a toddler could have peed on me and gotten away with it at that moment. They drew close to me then both of them each dug an arm under my armpit and lifted me to a sitting position. I sighed in relief.

“I am listening.” Ahmed said as the men walked back into the shadows.

“I have planned a rendezvous with Fatima by 5pm today. If she does not see me by that time, she is supposed to take the first flight available out of Kaduna and leave the country.” I said.

“Where is this place that you are supposed to meet?” he asked bending close to me, his eyes glittering in the half light.

“You didn’t ask me what I wanted to ask you.” I replied.

He shrugged and kept on staring at me.

“It is a den, a crack den hidden under a motel in Sabon Gari.” I replied.

Ahmed leaned back on his chair and studied me from the distance. I could see the many questions that I had raised with that statement, swirling through his head. Why would Fatima be at a crack den? A married woman at such a place of delinquents and lost souls?

“Well, let us go there then.” He said after some time.

I shrugged and closed my eyes,

“I have to go alone and I need make up.” I replied with my eyes closed.

“Excuse me?” he asked, his voice raised a notch.

I opened my eyes and studied him, hating everything I saw.

“We, Fatima and I, agreed that if I came to the place with you by my side, she should disappear. If I should appear at the gate looking like something a truck ran over, what do you think would happen? I need the make up to hide your not so delicate attentions and I need to go alone if you hope to see your wife again.” I replied.

“Do you know I can accuse you of kidnapping and force you to reveal the location of the place then have the police storm there?” he asked me.

I blinked my eyes in answer as nodding my head was tantamount to dislodging my brain from whatever anchor still held it in my skull.

“But you will not do so because you know what that would involve, don’t you?” I asked.

Ahmed looked at me and turned away, then slowly he stood up as if suddenly weary. I was on my back, bloodied and messed up but I pitied him. It is difficult to be the man who has to fight for his wife’s love. I hope I never be that man.

---

Many Years Ago...

---

Throughout my secondary school life, I never came back home for holidays after that incident. I either went to my cousins’ right there in Lagos to spend the few months break or I went to Enugu to spend time with papa’s elder brother, who was a catechist and a chronic bachelor. He would take me hunting, palm wine tasting and worshipping in church every Sunday. Yet, Fatima never left my head.

The few times, I went home to collect money for fees or books, mama would tell me that Fatima came and asked if I came for the holidays. She said that she looked thin and sickly and that every time she had to tell her that I didn’t come to Kaduna, something seemed to leave the girl. Mama begged me every time to try to see her before I leave for school but I never did. One day though, we did meet.

I had gone to the tailor to collect my uniform. I was in senior secondary class three and as seniors we were expected to wear long sleeved shirts and trousers. Since all my uniforms had been short sleeved before then, I had to go and sew another.

My tailor, Oke, lived a few meters from the entrance to my street and to get to the junction I had to pass Fatima’s compound. Normally, I looked for a circuitous route in order to avoid meeting her but on that day I was in a rush and I had other things on my mind.

I was almost at the junction when I heard my name, Obinna! I turned and there she was. She was as beautiful as I remembered and taller. Her skin glowed in the late afternoon sun and her gown licked around her like a flame around firewood. I stood and watched her walk towards me.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” she asked, anger lighting her eyes.

“I have not been avoiding you.” I replied, looking at every other place but her face.

“Each time I come home I go to your place and it’s either you are in Lagos or Enugu. What did I do to you that you don’t come anymore. You didn’t even reply my letters.” She replied hotly.

I stared at my feet, feeling depressed then all of a sudden, anger boiled inside me and raising my head, I let it spill.

“Why should I come to see you? What do you want me to tell you? Congratulations on your intended marriage to Ahmed! You want me to come and help you pick the clothes that you will wear?” I asked, my face suffused with heat.

She had shrunk back with every question I asked as if they were physical blows. I saw the tears gather in her eyes and I became ashamed of myself. She nodded her head and turned away.

“It is good to see you, Obinna. Take care of yourself.” She said then she turned to go.

I wanted to stop her, I should have stopped her. I should have apologized for my behavior. Who knows how it would have turned out? Maybe things would have turned out differently. Well with the surety of youth, I let her go and that was it. I never saw her again until it was too late.

---

Stay Tuned For Episode 3

Episode 1

---

©warpedpoetic, 2018.