Black Friday: 25th November.
One could very well begin this story with the arctic silence of impending chaos. One might even begin with the hysterical screams of extreme anguish or the frantic attack of a bloodthirsty knife. Yet those are trivial details to begin with. Barely a week before Teju’s wedding anniversary everything began to fall apart, much like dead leaves falling from a dying tree. It was on a fateful Black Friday night when he returned home and Simi accused him of cheating on her in broad daylight.
It was like a dream. At fifteen minutes past eleven, he drove his Toyota Sienna LE toward home. Just forty-five minutes before the local vigilante would take charge of the vicinity and set the barriers around the area, blowing his whistle like a train about to run off and striking his gong in rhythmic bangs; a prescient signal poignantly indicating that it was midnight and nobody should be seen. One could see the horizontal light of the vigilante’s flashlight bouncing off windowpanes and into every conceivable dark corner, looking for unsuspecting souls to devour.
Despite the warm feeling inside, the muscles around Teju’s shoulders seemed to be slipping off and his belly flattened up, making rancorous noises from within. He let out a loud yawn and knocked on the front door. While he half expected a response from a weary, worried, and sleepy voice there was nothing but stark silence. On a typical night, Simi would open the door with a lustrous smile diffused on her drowsy face. She would give him a quick peck, take his suitcase, and help him take off his suit, stretching her body like an elastic band—as she would put it.
“You must be very tired. Why don’t you take a shower while I dish up your dinner?” she might say.
Or, yawning like a tired dog, she would say, “You really had a long day. Don’t worry; I’ve prepared something nice for you.”
But now, he could only feel the disconcerting stillness and the airlessness of an eerie night. Fatigue, coupled with alcohol-induced dizziness, had inexorably deflated his consciousness. He unthinkingly banged hard at the door again; such was the impact that the echoing thud could have woken the sleeping neighbourhood. The silence ensued, with the exception of the slow metallic creaking of the door as it opened ajar. Now, that was an ominous pointer. Simi never left the front door open. Never.
Could some armed robbers or assassins have raided his home and abducted his lovely wife? Or could she be so forgetful to have left the front door open and gone into a careless slumber? All these questions rioted through his now-awakened and beleaguered mind. He dashed into the house and through the dark hallway. The sitting room was also dark, and he decided to stop at the threshold. He watched out for sudden movements, for clues to feed his piquing curiosity. One could see the furrow this labyrinth sketched on his forehead. He observed that the adjoining stairs and the kitchen were in absolute darkness. It must be an intentional darkness, he said to himself.
By now, the fact he was tired had become a mirage. He was sweating profusely and felt like getting naked. He tugged at his tie. The fact he had been compelled to wear a suit even though it was Friday was the only thing which had enraged him that day. He made his way toward the switch at the left corner of the sitting room and was halfway there when the light abruptly came on. He squinted and shielded his face with his hands before he saw Simi standing menacingly at the switch, as though she was going to switch off the light again and fade into the engulfing darkness.
“For God’s sake, you scared the living daylight out of me. What is this all about?” Teju asked, half indignant and half relieved. The relief he felt relaxed his tensed muscles. It seemed the fatigue which was earlier flinched from him had been restored, and he slumped heavily onto a nearby sofa. He felt a toothsome coldness grazing over the little perspiration on his forehead and used the hem of his tie to wipe it off. He took a look at Simi, who was still standing and looking at him both with threat and disdain.
“What is wrong with you? Why are you staring at me like that?”
“The breeze has blown, and I have seen the anus of your hen,” she growled in Yoruba.
Teju was startled. Simi speaking Yoruba to him was strange, and the tone that laced her Yoruba was one which spelt trouble. However, he allowed the words to submerge into him, wondering what the idiom could imply in such a time when there was not enough breeze to keep him from sweating.
“So? What is so exciting about seeing the anus of a hen?” he asked offhandedly, still pretending to think Simi was up to no good with her actions.
“You freaking jerk!”
“Excuse me?” Teju said, springing up from the sofa. One would think Simi was in mortal trouble of domestic violence already.
“Oh you think I don't know; you think I haven’t seen you with my own two eyes?” Simi said, bursting into tears.
“What is it, baby?”
He made to come near her.
“Stand back! Don’t you come near me!”She wailed.
Teju stopped short in his tracks, tired and staring at her, utterly confounded.
“I saw you... I saw you with that cheap, dirty girl you call a personal secretary from the stinking pit of hell on a blasted and blighted date... eating and laughing away your own marriage... your own love and family.”
Simi said this while weeping, making her pretty voice jumbled like a corrupted audio file. Tears ran down her slimly cheeks like two long tribal marks. She was now leaning against the wall, her face buried in her hands. The mystery of the dramatic darkness and the unlocked door became crystal clear. Simi loved to shore up the expression of her feelings with actions and metaphors, perhaps to show their gravity.
Teju did have an outing with his personal secretary earlier that day for a casual goodwill meeting with a promising client. That was the reason he had to wear his suit on a Friday. They had fixed an appointment with the client at Cold Stone Creamery, as Teju held the belief that better business agreements were reached over a delicious delicacy and having an adorable damsel around.
Six months ago, however, Simi had remonstrated against Teju’s acceptance of Ebun as his personal secretary; he had ignored her with a wave of his hand. Simi had said that her inner spirit was not in comfort with Ebun’s, and that Ebun had standing breasts, shooting buttocks, and slow eyelids good for nothing but seduction. But he had insisted on retaining Ebun as his secretary as she was an asset to his work. Apart from the fact that she was smart and hardworking, her beautiful face and body contours were also helpful whenever he was striking deals with clients. Now, the same girl, who Sam had recommended, was the one ripping their marriage apart just a week before their much-awaited and anticipated wedding anniversary.
“Look, it’s never like you think. I wasn't on a date, I was on a business meeting with her, and I suppose the moment you saw us was when we were waiting for our clients,” Teju explained in a low, soft voice.
“You are a devilish liar... you stinking liar!” Simi groaned silently, shaking her head frantically in downright disbelief.
“Look, baby, you have to believe me. When you saw me, was I kissing her the way I do when we are on a date? Or was my ring off my finger, as married men do when on a date with another woman?” Teju spoke firmly, still using his low voice. Even to himself, he sounded stupid, but he hoped his words would conjure images in her mind. He wanted her to see the contrast between whatever she had seen and whatever she thought she had seen, but everything took a turn for the worse.
“But you came home unreasonably late, just as cheats, hellish womanizers, and bane adulterers do!” Simi blurted, her voice high. On her face was a menacing grimace. She used her dictionary words whenever she was cross, combining heavy words like a bartender making cocktails. Teju was sure Simi had already shown enough evidence that she was not playing a prank, but he refused to be convinced. He had left home a faithful husband; how could he return an unfaithful one, just like that?
“Where are you coming from?” Simi gnarled silently. Teju looked up at her, both in surprise and in fear, feeling something nasty was about to happen.
“Where the hell are you coming from, and why do you reek of alcohol?” She wailed again, desperate for an answer from her astounded and tongue-tied husband. Teju often heard that beautiful women usually have bad tempers, one which could go as far as burning a whole house down to ashes, with humans inside if possible.
He was trembling from the foremost strands of his hair to the soles of his feet, but he was not aware of it all. His white shirt and black suit were so soaked with sweat that they seemed to have merged with his skin. His nerves were failing, and his knees seemed to be dislocating. His voice cracked; his tongue was dry, and his lips glued stubbornly to each other. He wanted to tell her he had only spent some time with his friend in a saloon, arguing about football, women, and who was to blame for Nigeria’s economic recession.
