Ugonma stared unseeingly into the space in front of her. The
space in front of her started from her tear-blinded eyes, in the dock where she
stood, flew over dozens of heads, to the presiding judge’s horn-rimmed
spectacles which she placed aristocratically a good distance between her eyes
and the slope of her well-carved but sagged nose. It seemed the state had
specifically chosen a woman like herself, who from the facts presented, would
not waste time to pronounce the ultimate penalty for a crime of this magnitude.
Being a legal person herself, she had come to observe this fact herself, from
her over ten years of involvement in jurisprudence. Male judges would like to
go over the facts over and over, seeking any semblance of an opening to inject
leniency, but not their female counterparts.
She opened the large notebook, and made some notes.
Allen stared longingly and lovingly into Jenny’s eyes, hands
interlocked with hers as they sat too close for comfort on the three-seater
settee in his living room. They were in that posture for the better part of
three minutes. Three minutes which saw lots of thoughts criss-crossing both
minds. Three minutes which contained meditations and unspoken sentences that
wondered what life would have been if they had not met by such stroke of
happenstance. For Allen, he wondered how on earth he had made the mistake of
considering Ugonma for a wife material, not to talk of the malady of marrying
her. Here was a more beautiful, more mannered, more homely; a more humble
replacement who was everything Ugonma was not, staring him full in the face. As
a matter of fact, it was good riddance Ugonma had gotten the hell out of his
life. What better gift could God and life give to him in female covering other
than the Mona Lisa whose soft hands he wished he wouldn’t have to let go of?
On Jenny’s part, it
was a scheme well played out; it was a joker in this game of cards, a sucker
punch in this boxing ring. Ever since she had set eyes on Allen at Surprises,
the image of his slim handsome features had secured accommodation in her head,
and paid rent in hard currency, from days to weeks to months before today. She
had even stalked him to his house on one occasion, and got disappointed at what
she found out, right that first day. But here she was anyways, in not only his
house, but his arms, and that was all that mattered.
Presently her thought flow and pattern was rudely sliced in
two by Allen’s probing lips and tongue, which performed better than
Schlumberger’s drills in her mouth. They were engaged in the session of
unhealthy mouthing for what seemed like a while, and it seemed to have the
potential of graduating into something on a more intimate level, judging by the
roving motion of both their hands on sacred parts of their anatomies. It did
not end well, though.
The curtains
directly facing them parted slowly to reveal an average heighted silhouette
obstructing the rays of the sun which seemed to approve of their romance,
feeding them warm rays to add pep and steam to the mutual expression of love.
The image which appeared in the house, the means of which awed the both of
them, had a bland look on her face, was dressed in a white flowing gown which left
the contours and ridges of her physique open to imaginations and wild guesses.
She said nothing throughout the two full minutes she regarded them, and the
stroke of the second minute saw the first long and thick tear course from her
eyelids, through the length of her oval face, graze the tip of the fabric just
above her breast and drop right on the top of the Persian rug. She had gathered
enough steam and offence to fuel her assault. Her best friend’s large lap was
already curled round her husband’s. There was nothing more to imagine. She
lunged forward.
With the speed that would make one ask where her diving
medal was, she was airborne already, and landed dastardly on the both of them. She
remained there long enough, still not a sound escaping her lips, and when she
got up, she knew she was ready for whatever the outcome would be. The knife on
her left hand had dug too deep for survival into Allen’s mouth and throat, and
stuck out on the nape pf his neck behind him and pinning him to the sofa. With
his eyes rolled unnaturally open, and motionless, he stared horribly at an
impending afterlife, and it did not look good at all. When she removed the
knife, bloodied as it was, she did not feel a tinge of regret. With the same
bloodied hands, she snapped his eyes shut, and moved on to the next one.
She, too, did not
deserve pity.
In a most cruel manner, she plucked the knife from Jenny’s
breast and with it cames unbowelling spurts of blood and light tissue. She was
very, very dead, and she did not consider it worthwhile to mete the same
treatment to her that she did to her husband. She left the house, her clothes
and body a sorry, bloody mess. Without a care in the world.
‘I do not like the way my husband shouts at me’, Ugonma dropped as she collapsed into the sofa
in Jenny’s apartment. She held out a glass and it was promptly filled up for
her. Don Simon’s blackcurrant. Ten percent alcohol. She downed it in one swig,
and held out her glass again.
‘For the flimsiest of reasons, he just raves and rants.
Nothing I do ever pleases him. The other day, just because there was a little
too much salt in the soup, he nearly flung it at me. Of course that was the end
of the meal for him, and he hasn’t spoken to me for days on end. Is this how
marriage should be? What have I entered into?’
Jenny regarded her for a while, saying nothing, drink in
hand. She took another gulp of the dark red liquid. It was now she considered
replying her friend.
‘You are stupid, do you know that? Very stupid. This was the
exact same thing I went through in the hands of my former husband. That
figure-head and a cheap excuse for a man. Look at me now. Am I better off or
not? If I need a man I just buy one off the shelves. I can’t take or tolerate
an abusive man, under any guise. Just because he paid a pittance of a bride
price? In this day and age of equal rights? Continue with him, till he kills
you, and attends your burial with your high school friend, if he ever attends
at all.’ She ended the chide with a loud,
menacing and concluding hiss.
The obstinate hum of the engine of the Mercedes as it taxied
to a stop in front of her window made Ugonma stir from her sleep. Parting the
curtains a little, she was not surprised it was her husband, who was right home
on time. She jumped on the bed, wondering how she was going to cope the next
five hours he would be home, how to cope with his persistent nags over things
she considered trivial..
The door clicked, and turned. He let himself in.
Allen wished there was more work to do at the office. He was
infuriated his boss had insisted he would personally take home the statistical
analysis the United Nations had contracted their firm to do. That woman’s
whining and sulking over little corrections he tried to administer for her own
betterment almost made him wonder who he had married, and if this was actually
his house. What he saw when he entered the bedroom he shared with his wife made
him more annoyed with his boss.
The tufts of hair
littering the tiled floor was reminiscent of a local hairstylist’s space on a
busy business day. On the wooden wardrobe hung a wet large skirt, dripping with
latherish water. There was a brassiere, a blouse, and two tops on each of the
four corners of their bed like a beacon landscaping the area around the bed
from desperate land poachers. To make matters worse, there she was, lying
spread-eagled in mock-sleep, he was sure, pretending not to have heard the door
click.
‘Ugonma, what is this?’
The next day, Allen
came back to find his house devoid of each of his wife’s belongings.
………………………………………………………………………………………………
With a satisfied smile on her face, Jenny took a long look
at the mirror, and started oiling and pan-caking her face. Last night had been
anything and everything but unsatisfactory. Allen was surely a heart-saver. He
reminded her fiercely of her first love, Dennis, who defined romantic love in
its deepest and truest import to her. She knew where she would be by now, had
that cruel accident not rudely snatched him from her.
They were meeting
again tonight. She expected nothing less. He even wrote her a touching, deep-worded poem which he slipped into her
bag when she was busy with the menu. She was going to marry him straightway if
he asked.....
‘So Jenny, you have
the heart to do this to me? You have the heart to snatch my husband? My best
friend whom i confide in? Whatever have i done to you to deserve this?’ Ugonma
had stormed into the room, seething with a rage that had potentials.
‘Relax, Ugo.....what are you talking about? Which husband?
The one you said you didn’t love anymore? The one you said shouts the life out
of you? The one you accuse of raving and ranting? The one out of whose house
you moved? I do not consider Allen your husband. No one treats her husband in
the manner you have done. Besides, i love men that shout. It has a way of
adding the spice of challenge to our romance.’
The next ten minutes was spent reviving Ugonma. She ended up
in the hospital, looking up into the kind eyes of the handsome doctor.
‘From the evidences before me and the honourable men of the
jury of this court, i hereby find you guilty as charged, Ugonma Nnakwe. Nothing
should have warranted you to take two lives, under whatever level of
provocation. The society ought to be rid of sociopaths like you. You are hereby
sentenced to death by the hangman’s noose. I rise.’
Her soul had long risen, up and away, to an inevitable
hereafter.
