Chapter 9: Chapter 9

The noise from the television woke Frank from sleep. He had come to the living room to watch the television, but he had drifted into a short sleep. For the past few weeks, he had found it extremely hard to sleep. At nighttimes, he always found himself staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. And for the rest of the night, he would toss from one side of his bed to the other, and find Miriam staring at him. They have both been suffering from insomnia.

Frank rose from the sofa, stretched his hands and yawned. The problem of how to convince Martha to succumb to his demand was really a difficult one. It stalked him; bothered him; and rattled him. His mind was perpetually cluttered and scatterbrained. He hissed and reclined on the sofa and stared at the half-full glass of the mango juice on the table; droplets of water had clustered on the table and were soaking the newspaper. He pushed the glass aside and sighed. He rose from the chair and looked at the wall clock and it was time for the evening news. He took the remote control from the table and began to flip through the channels. He was there at the nick of time. The newscasters were just beginning to read the headlines.

The news that evening unexcited him. It was bland and unrefreshing. The perfunctory and unenthusiastic way the newscasters read the news filled him with disenchantment. He switched off the television and slugged the juice in the glass and rose from the chair and began to clump up the stairs. He reached Martha’s room and stopped. Her room was silent as a crypt. He peered through the keyhole, but the room was dim. He sighed and began to trudge to his bedroom. Miriam was lying on the bed and reading a magazine when he entered. He yawned and went over to the bed and sat close to her.

‘Mimi,’ he called her, after a brief silence. ‘Don’t you think it’s high time we told her the cold truth?’ he asked her.

‘I don’t know,’ Miriam answered him listlessly. ‘I’ve said this before, I am saying it again. We do not need to cut off the nose, just to spit the face. You’re her father and she is your daughter, any decision you make is up to you. I still cannot see the reason why a girl-child cannot run her father’s business and do what a male-child can do. Is it because she will be married to some other man? Is it Martha’s fault that she’s a girl? I’ve made my points clear, and I’ll not repeat myself.’ There was clear contempt in Miriam’s voice, and Frank could feel it.

‘You must put your feminist feelings aside, and come to terms with reality,’ Frank said grittily. ‘You speak like you’re not from this part of the world. Do you think you’re in the white man’s land where dogs inherit properties? Do women inherit yam barns in Abagana? You may not want to agree, but a man’s son is his strength and posterity. It is why we call a male child: Ikemefuna, because he carries on the name of his father. We’ve to do this. There is no other way. The old man’s buttocks may have boils on it but it does not mean he’ll not sit down. I agree it is hard, but we must do it. We do not have alternatives,’ Frank said.

‘I’ve heard you!’ Miriam said, with a raised voice, throwing her hands in the air. ‘It is clear you’re now a thought police. Is it not obvious you’re the one that have refused to see the truth? Is it not you that is filled with sentiments and the usual male chauvinism? Yes, I subscribe entirely to what you think. Of course, no woman, no cry! Martha is your daughter, go to her! Take her and do whatever you please! I will not interfere anymore!’ she barked, as she rose from the bed and cast a murderous stare at Frank. For all she knew, Frank was being selfish and self-centered. Martha was not supposed to be the one to bear the brunt of their misfortune. But Frank was headstrong, and she could see his mind was made up, and talking him out of it was entirely futile. Martha was his daughter and he had the carte blanche to her. She only hated the fact that she was so powerless and depressingly confused with all that was happening in her life at that particular moment. She stood by the bed fleetingly, and then traipsed towards the door. Frank reached the door before her, held the knob and stared at her.

‘You must know that when mother-cow is chewing grass, the young ones watch its mouth. You must not show Martha how weak you’re. If you do, it will break her. Be brave and keep calm,’ he said to her. Miriam remained silent and pokerfaced. Frank opened the door and they trudged towards Martha’s room, with his heart thudding against his chest. They reached Martha’s door and Frank held his chest. Miriam stood stiffly beside him, fiddling with her fingers as Frank inhaled deeply, and then knocked on the door.

‘Jessie, is that you?’ Martha asked from inside.

‘No, Martha; it is Mom and Dad. We want to talk with you if you don’t mind,’ Frank replied.

‘Dad? Of course, come in,’ Martha said, opening the door.

‘Mom, Dad, you are welcome. Please sit on the bed. I am sorry; my room looks a bit messy. I didn’t know you would come,’ Martha said, with a gleam in her eyes. Frank dismissed her apology with a languid wave of the hand, as his eyes zipped across Martha’s room. Her room was warm and comfortable. He watched Martha silently as she moved across the room, gathering the dresses in the corner and dumping them inside the wardrobe, filled with expensive clothes. Martha was beautiful, just like Miriam in her flower. She had the same poise and shapely frame, with an eye-catching height. As she stood by the bed in a clingy blue gown, revealing her rounded buttocks; she looked absolutely ravishing and peerless. She was different from Jessie, who was cut from a different cloth.

As Frank’s stare lingered on Martha, he was overwhelmed with a depressing thought, and he shook his head slowly.

‘Dad, what have you come to talk about?’ Martha asked finally, breaking his thought. Frank sighed and stared at Miriam who was sitting silently on the bed.

‘Sit down, my daughter,’ Frank said. ‘We cannot talk while you are standing. The matter on our hands is a delicate one. It’s like the stubborn fly that has perched on the scrotum and has refused to leave. It is important that we treat it with the caution it deserves. You do not know, but your mother and I have suffered a great deal in life. We’ve sacrificed a lot for this family. Now that you’ve come of age, we’re thinking you should help us.’ Martha could discern the undertone in her father’s voice, and she knew all was not well.

‘Dad, what must I do?’ she asked Frank in a calm voice. Frank looked at Martha and then looked at Miriam who was still silent. Miriam’s face was now heavy and sad.

‘My daughter,’ he said, ‘when men learned how to shoot without missing, the birds also learned how to fly without perching. It means that we must swim with the tide. We must adapt, in order to deal with the obstacles that life throws at us. I am sure it does not please you that you do not have a brother; the one that should be there in your time of need. You need one or even more. Our people say that strength is in numbers. We cannot have the numbers if you do not help us.’ Martha’s eyes widened, as she stared at her father. What he was saying was still vague to her. How would she help? How does she come into the picture?

‘I still do not understand what you’re saying,’ she said restively. Frank leaned forward and cleared his throat, while Miriam stared at him with anguish in her eyes.

‘You can help us if you accept to be a nun. The cold truth is that you must become a nun and live at the convent. If you do this, your mother shall bear another child.’

‘I don’t understand. Must I become a nun for that to happen?’ Martha asked, rising from the bed. ‘I have to give up my life for Mom to have another child? Where is this coming from? You should ask for something else. What about me? What about who I want to be? What about what I want? This is nonsense!’ she screamed, as tears streamed on her face.

Miriam, who was silent, could no longer hold her tears. Sadness overwhelmed her. The tears in her eyes, which she had fought extremely hard to hold, poured on her face. She joined Martha and wept. Frank stared at Miriam with scant attention; determined to drum home his point to Martha.

‘My daughter, you’re not leaving us. You’re only going to live in the convent and serve the Lord. It’s a noble thing. Think about this family, and the happiness you’d bring to everyone,’ Frank implored her.

‘What about me? What about my own happiness? What I want and who I want to be? It’s hard for me,’ Martha groaned, as she sat on the floor. Then springing to her feet, she screamed with clenched fists. ‘I want to be left alone! Please, leave me alone,’ she said, grating her teeth as she chocked with tears.

Miriam rose from the bed. She traipsed towards Frank and collapsed in his arms. In that moment, she was feeling like a wet bird, singing not because it had answers, but because it had been forced to sing. She buried her face in her hands and continued to sob. Frank held her and they trudged out of Martha’s room.

That unforgettable night was the saddest in Martha’s life, even as the moon, the shape of a silver bow in the sky, gave out only a faint glimmer.