One
WHERE ARE YOU COMING FROM
"You're are my love machine. You pump love into me when I'm down. Then you are my love bank. You're a reservoir of my love."
Some women picked the wrong men out of many. I have heard women complain of a whoring husband. I always counted myself an exception. My husband, Ken is every woman's dream. He is handsome looking, well built, intelligent and smart. He is also a man of his words. He attached so much love and interest to his family, bent on ensuring that he distinguishes himself from his father who was a polygamist, wife beater and with many legitimate and illegitimate concubines. Fortunately, none of his siblings took after the father. When he asked for my hands in marriage, my mother was afraid judging from his background. He has proved everyone wrong.
He hardly keep late night except of recent. I was surprised at his sudden change of attitude. This was not the same man I married and loved so much.
"Welcome back dear."
I greeted with a warm smile when he entered the house with his own key. I had waited for him but decided to control my anger. After all, I don't know what had kept him this long. He was surprised at my calmness and smiles. He expected that I should be angry and jealously asked him where he had been but he saw calmness that depicts lack of concern and love. What he failed to understand was that I had been crying while praying for his safe return. Every woman who loves her husband should be crying when he keeps late night. I truly had a full doze of it. Ken only saw my smiling face that covered a broken heart. I walked towards him for a hug and if possible, a peck but I was disappointed. He threw my love back at me the hard way.
"Slap"
My head spun around in confusion for some seconds. The tears that have been suppressed flowed freely as though a tap was turned on. It had never happened before. I looked at my lovely husband of twenty years, I could not believe it was him acting in this manner. All the same, I managed to ask.
"You slapped me?"
I asked amidst tears droplets and surprise.
"Yes and I will do it again and again. People say they mistakenly married witches instead of wives. I thought they were fairy tales, now I can see the wisdom in their claims."
He said while trying to unknot his tie.
I was looking at my husband of nineteen years while holding back my tears and restraining myself from crying aloud for many reasons.
I was afraid that he may be under a spell and may do something that both of would regret. I have never seen him behave like this before. His eyes were as red as a coal of fire. He was panting and sweating profusely like one that just completed one thousand five hundred meters race.
Another reason was that I would not want the children to know that the love, peace and unity they enjoy in the family were about to give way.
It was past 11pm, on a Friday, he came back home from wherever he was yet to explain. I dried my tears, sensing the food on the dining table may need to be warmed I decided to do just that. I carried the food and headed towards the kitchen.
'What is the matter with Ken?'
I asked myself.
I do not know why he thought I must be responsible for his plight. He felt I do not care anymore about him that was why I did not call to find out where he was. I did not do all that because I do not want him to feel I was suspecting him. I did not call or complain like other women when they were about losing their husbands because I would not want to make life more miserable for him or complicate things the more for him. He had been through a lot in the office that week and do not wish to add to his problems. What a life of women.
A woman has no possession of her own life; you complain, you are beaten, you do not complain, you are beaten as well. What an unfair life for women.
He felt that by slapping me, he would remind me that he was still the husband. He thought I was fed up with him and wishes him dead. I saw the picture of an intimidated man who was about losing his ego. I was able to read his thoughts. He decided to walk to his room to avoid another violent move that may lead to a fight thereby waking the children from sleep and disturbing the entire neighborhood. After placing the food into the microwave, I walked back to the living room to see what his next line of action would be.
"Where are you coming from Ken?"
I asked him as he was climbing the staircase to our bedroom.
The question came like a two edged sword. It pierced through his heart and crippled his steps. His legs were transfixed to the ground he was standing on. I guess the voice reminded him of the first time we met. Or better still, he was not expecting the questions.
'How can I ever slap my wife?'
He muttered in a voice not so audible.
"Do not let it cross your mind that the fact that I am calm connotes cowardice. I just stand by my principle which says two wrongs do not make one right."
I said and went back to the kitchen to check the food which was being reheat by the microwave. I never looked at him nor waited for a response.
Ken stood there confused. He watched me walk back to the kitchen.
"Why would she bother to reheat the food under this circumstance? The food got cold as a result of my returning late. Yet she took the pain to do that"
The food was his favorite. Potatoes from Jos, Plateau State North Central of Nigeria which most Nigerians ignorantly call Irish Potatoes. As for Mr. Ken Israel it was Jos Potatoes or better still Berom Potatoes. His first encounter with potatoes was when his uncle who lived in Jos brought it to the village for them. The uncle was fondly called 'Uncle Jos' and as such the potatoes was named after him.
If only he knew the pain I took to get that as it was not the season and not even sold in the neighborhood.
He needs to eat. He is hungry and cannot joke with his precious 'Jos potatoes'. As a man, he managed to move to the bedroom.
The bed was neatly dressed. This shocked him more than slapping me. Now he knew I had been awake.
'What have I done to myself? She had been awake. Just waiting for me.'
He thought.
He knew it was not a crime if he claims that he had the best family in the world judging from his polygamous background. He knew that the children and love him and can sacrifice anything just to make him happy. All the love was about to become a history if he did not keep his temper under control.
It is nobody's fault that he had problem in the office.
"Why am I..."
"Your food is ready. Do you want me to bring it to the room or should I leave it at the dining table?"
I interrupted his thought as I walked into the bedroom.
"I will prefer the dining table."
He answered while rushing to the bathroom for shower and to enable him conceal the tears that were already gathering in his eyes.
He had a quick shower, came out of the bathroom and saw me sitting on the chair by the reading table. He hates the sight; seeing me sitting like a house help in my matrimonial home. The television was not on. I was just sitting there. He knew I hardly sleep alone. When the kids were younger, I shared the bed with them whenever he was out of town.
He remembered that I do not like eating alone too.
'It is possible she has not had her dinner too. Anyway, the children are around so she must have eaten with them."
He concluded.
He quickly dressed up and left for the dinning while I sat wondering what to do next to restore the peace in our home and bring him out of his shell. My greatest challenge was how to reassure him that I still love him.
He ate his food quietly. By the time I came downstairs to keep him company, he was almost done with the food. That means, he was really hungry.
He muttered his appreciation after he ate the last piece of food. He refused to spend a second on the dining table as he left for the bedroom immediately the words 'THANK YOU' left his lips. I cleared the table and joined him.
Our room was the biggest room in the four bedroom duplex meant for every Senior Staff of Cherry Fields Oil and Gas Group. The room was very spacious and can accommodate our family sized bed. The width and length of the bed were of equal sizes and enable you lie on all sides. He had already covered himself with the blanket and turned off the air conditioner an indication that he was cold. I laid by the other end of the bed quietly. The evening prayer that we usually had was never remembered. I said my silent prayer. Not knowing what tomorrow holds.