I knew something was up with her as soon as I returned from my trip abroad. She looked different somehow, younger and happier. And she sat in the evenings ostensibly watching television, a slight smile on her face which had nothing at all to do with what happened on the screen. She never looked at me and smiled. It was that smile, that simpering know it all I know something you don’t know smile that got me in the end. Just like living with the Cheshire Cat. I couldn’t stand it. I caught her on occasions, gazing out of the window, rooted to the spot by some fantasy, an idiotic grin plastered all over her face. It was beyond human endurance. But let me explain, then you’ll see what I mean.
I am not a monster, or even near one; I’m just a hard working husband and would-be father, labouring away running my own ten-year old business. I am Mukaila Ishmail, you may have heard of my company, M I KE industries; we do anything, importing, exporting, general contracting, electrical, plumbing and air-conditioning subcontracting, general merchants. No job too large or too small, that’s my motto, although my lines of diversification means I don’t spend too long at home, maybe that’s why…but don’t let me get ahead of myself, let me not jump the gun. I’ve done well for myself these last ten years; well, I’ve put my back into it. I imagine I’ll live comfortably till the end of my days, be that four years time or forty.
Yes, I’ve worked hard to attain this standard of living, although I had a stroke of luck when my cousin was appointed aide-de-camp for the governor of Imale state two military regimes ago. I’ve never looked back, contracts just flowed my way, and I am one of the few contractors who pays his dues and gets the job done. After a very sweet deal six years ago with some army apparel, even after all the payoffs I was left with a clear two million dollars American; but that’s another story. The person I want to tell you about is my wife. And don’t get me wrong, I have always loved Bella.
I can remember the day I met her fifteen years ago as clearly as if it were yesterday. My friend Jibola Oke was the one who took me to Queen’s Hall at the University of Ibadan. His wife was expecting their third child and had been told to take things easy, so he had formed an attachment with a female Chemistry student; we used to call her Lolita, I can’t remember her real name. That particular evening Jibola asked me along, I had gone out of curiosity. I wanted to see with my own eyes the type of girl who performed the extraordinary sexual acrobatics in his car the Jibola constantly bragged about.
He signed in for both of us at the Porters Lodge, and together he and walked down to H wing. Things certainly deteriorated since my student days, I tell you, grimier walls, paint flaking everywhere, litter blowing about. But the girls looked better, in my day the population of the hall had a high proportion of old mamas and serious looking Acada types , now these young things were all jiggling breasts, long gleaming legs and pert little buttocks, made a man feel quite happy inside.
We got to the room and knocked. We heard sounds of giggling, then the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen in my life opened the door. I stood and stared at her, dumbfounded.
She was exquisite, quintessential pulchritude! Golden skinned with small face framed simply by cloud of glossy black curls, in a style reminiscent of the seventies, of Angela Davies and the Jackson five. Flawless complexion, .with lustrous dark eyes and tip tilted nose; under that a truly scrumptious mouth, so soft looking, so appealing, like the petals of a peach coloured rose. That mouth was where the fascination lay, it made one think of honey and nectar and all sweet things, a mouth made to be kissed and kissed again, then kissed some more!
I hardly noticed the rest of her, just gathered the impression of a slender girl, medium height, deep bosomed, slender waisted, long endless legs. A phenomenon!
“Hi!” She smiled broadly. “Come in!”
We did, and I can honestly swear that for the half hour we were in that room I did not take my eyes off her. I heard rather than saw my friend greeting Lolita, she was just a shadowy presence sitting on a bed, the whole room seemed quite dark, completely eclipsed by the gleaming girl in front of me. I could see nothing else.
Somebody introduced us, Jibola I suppose, she extended a long slim hand to be shaken by my rough paw. Her skin was cool to the touch, and for the first time she looked directly at me, what ever she saw in my face did something to her eyes, oddly, her lips smiled slightly but those eyes had some thing at the back of them. Deep inside those inky pools there was something, like a flicker of delight or glee, no woman had ever looked at me like that before. How well I was to get to know that flicker as the years went on. In fact, had I but known, I wonder if perhaps…but I am anticipating. I’ll tell you more about our courtship.
It turned out Jibola knew her quite well, she was room mate and best friend of the girl we called Lolita, he’d taken them out together more than a few times. Bella her name was, Bella, Bella, Bella, the name rang through my head like a song for days. She refused to go out with us that night, but agreed to meet at the Premier Hotel pool the next day for a swim. And so the next day we met again, this time unencumbered by Jibola and Lolita, he didn’t take Lolita to public places during the day in deference to his wife’s feelings. Things developed from there.
As I’ve said already, Bella was a lovely girl, but apart from that gift of beauty, she had an extremely interesting manner. Facially serene, in contrast there was some type of excitement, violence, a feral streak, just below the surface of her coolness, one couldn’t quite place it but it was there; when she walked she seemed to slink, but as if, given the right moment, she would pounce. I never fully saw the violence in her; I only caught glimpses if she were off her guard. Perhaps she deliberately hid her true nature, perhaps the concealment was unconscious, but she was quiet like a sleeping jaguar rather than a mouse.
Even the way she smiled was slow and lazy. She didn’t ever smile until really amused, and after that lazy smile her features would again relax into their solemn look, except for those eyes. During those first few weeks, her eyes twinkled with amusement permanently.
Ten days after I met Bella, I made up my mind. Jibola and I sat sipping beer in the Staff Club of the University that afternoon; it seemed as good a time as any to break the news.
“Jibola, I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to marry Bella!”
He opened his eyes very wide, and burst into loud guffaws of surprised laughter.
“What are you laughing at?”
“Mike! Are you mad? You met her a week ago!”
“Ten days!”
“But this is ridiculous. You can’t marry a girl like that!”
“Jibola, I’m serious. I will and I can. If she’ll have me…”
“If she’ll have you? You must be crazy! And anyway, how will you control her?”
“Control her? What are you talking about?”
He leaned forward, sliding his beer glass to the centre of the table.
“Look, my friend; fall in love with Bella if you like, have an affair with her if you like, go to bed with her one million times, but marry her? You don’t marry a girl like that!”
“Like what?” Whatever he meant was beginning to get under my skin, I felt a prickle of rage on my neck.
He lifted his palms heavenwards.
“Like Bella! You must be crazy. You want to marry someone who you’ll have no idea what she does every minute of the day? That kid is wild, she’s capable of anything. You don’t really know her. I’m not saying don’t get married, I’m just advising you, not to this one. Look for a wife by all means, but marry a plain woman, someone ordinary, a woman who will spend every minute of her day being devoted to you, not this common…Oh God, look, she’s not even a virgin!”
“So what? Neither am I!” Brave words, but my heart gave a pang; Bella hadn’t allowed me to sleep with her yet, and I ‘d hoped it was because…anyhow that didn’t change things. She kissed like a marvel, as if that minute were her last minute on earth, I was weak at the knees, she made my heart burst with joy and I adored her.
Some days later, I chose the moment to speak to her about this. We were driving back to her Campus in the rain, and got stuck in traffic; the thrumming of the downpour on the roof and the rhythmic swishing of the wipers filled the silence between us.
“Bella?”
“Hmmm?” As usual, her attention was taken by activities outside the car, people taking refuge from the rain in doorways and bus shelters or scurrying home through the puddles, getting wet. She didn’t even turn her head to look at me.
“D’you know I’d like to marry you?”
She still didn’t turn her head from the view of the street through the car window.
“Bella, I’m talking to you!”
The car behind me blew its horn loudly; the car in front of me had inched forward a little so there was a gap in the go-slow. As I slipped into first gear, she smiled that lazy smile of hers and leaned back, eyes closed.
“I’d guessed as much…”
Her coolness astounded me, her aloofness made my blood run hot and cold all at once. Here I was, offering her my life, and all she could say was, ‘I’d guessed as much’! Something hurt inside my chest.
“Bella!”
The car jerked forward and stopped.
“What?” Startled by the car stalling, she turned and looked at me. “What’s wrong with the car?”
“Are you a virgin?” I watched her, she looked back at me, unchanged, unembarrassed, unmoved.
“Of course not!”
I didn’t know how to reply to this, even though I hadn’t expected her to fling herself at my feet abjectly begging forgiveness, but this composed unblinking stare was another matter. I tried another question.
“Why won’t you sleep with me then?”
“Hadn’t you better get the car started again?” Around us were a cacophony of hoots and blares, I’d blocked the lane with my car and the traffic was free up ahead.
“I asked you why you won’t sleep with me1”
Her gaze never left my face for an instant.
“I don’t think we’re ready for that yet.”
“But I want to marry you!”
“Really?”
“Yes, really!” I banged my fist on the steering wheel, the car windows steamed up, and the driver behind me had come out of his car and stood banging on my car boot in the rain, shouting abuse.
I started up the engine again and we moved on in silence. Just before we got to campus, I couldn’t help myself.
“Look, Bella, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and you won’t even let me touch you there. I want to be faithful to you, I choose you above all other women to be my life companion, and yet you deny me the knowledge even to the shape of your vagina, be it deep, shallow, narrow or wide. Why?”
“If as you say, we’re going to be doing it until we’re both dead, what do we need to start now for?”
With that, she tilted up that nose of hers, and turned again to look out of the car window at the scurrying pedestrians in the rain, a slight sneer on her lips, but oh God she was so beautiful. We had started our first quarrel.. Eventually I parked the car outside her Hall of Residence.
“Are you going to marry me, Bella?” I couldn’t look at her; I was dangerously close to tears. I heard the click as she opened the car door.
“Bye Mike; see you around!” She leapt out of the car into the rain and ran towards the Porters Lodge, I watched her duck in, she didn’t even turn to wave goodbye.
She stopped answering my phone calls, was always ‘out’ whenever I went to see her. I was miserable, feeling my destiny had escaped me.
I told Jibola a bit of what had happened.
“Think yourself lucky you’ve escaped from the clutches of that bitch” His tone was acerbic, but hearing him use that word to describe Bella made me desperate to strike him.
“But I love her! I want to marry her!”
“Don’t be silly, Mike. She’s just any other girl1”
“Not to me1”
He wisely let the matter rest; one more word from him about Bella, I would have attacked him.
I mooched about from day to week to month, thinking only of Bella; she still refused to take any of my calls, she probably was out when I called on her, she had finals coming up and spent a lot of time in the Library or in her department studying. Then on halcyon day in August, I literally bumped into her in one of the department stores downtown. I had my shopping bags in my arms when I hurried through the doors and literally collided with her coming up the steps.
“Bella!” I exclaimed, unable to keep the pleasure out of my voice, my arms automatically surrounded her in a huge hug.
“Oh! Hi. Mike!” her eyes seemed to dance around me with that odd flicker behind them.
“Bella! Oh, Bella! I love you! Please marry me!” I had thought of nothing else for weeks, I was maddened by her, obsessed completely. Other shoppers turned to look, I put my bags on the floor, and clutched at one of her hands. I thought I would die if she refused me.
“Okay,” she said, as if the invite was for dinner or a swim. “Okay.” She said more slowly. “Let’s go and see my dad then.”
And that was how we got married. On her spur of the moment acceptance.
The next few months wee a whirlwind of her being busy busy busy and tired.
She had to organise everything for the flower girls, the page boys, the ring bearer, the little bride, the brides maids, the maids of honour, the chief bridesmaid. Only the best man was left to my personal choice, the rest of the entourage were decided by Bella and our parents. I never realised weddings took up so much time, of cost as much, and I was the one with the unlimited purse so most of the expense was laid squarely on my shoulders. Not that I minded, there was nothing too good for my Bella.
Except for one small detail. She wanted Jibola to be my best man. I refused on the grounds that Jibola was already married, and the best man had to be single. I couldn’t bear the thought of Jibola standing next to me in Church sneering at the broken promises to come as she avowed herself to me. I had another friend who didn’t know her, Yankari; he would suit the role better.
To introduce them to each other we all went for dinner at the Cocoa Dome. Later, he confided in me.
“That’s some dish you’ve got. Really something . A collector’s piece. How did you manage to catch her?”
“I love her. It doesn’t matter how we met…”
He looked thoughtful. “Bella her name is? Is that the Bella who…” then he caught the look on my face, and put a hand on my arm. He said seriously, “I wish you all the luck in the world, Mike.”
Came the eve of the wedding, bachelors party at my flat, with thanks to Jibola ,, flocks of really wonderful looking girls. Not one as beautiful as my Bella, my thoughts as I surveyed the pack
Jibola was there of course, accompanied by Lolita, as wives weren’t invited. Drinks flowed like water, and Jibola got offensive
At one point in the evening he came and put his arm around my shoulders, “Shall I send you some Viagra?” he breathed beerily into my face. Then again , at the table where he was surrounded by a bevy of beauties, when I went to serve them Remy Martin, “Take a look, girls,” he shouted, pointing at me. “This man is going to be dryer than stockfish in another two months; he’s bedding the hottest number in town!”
Then again, after midnight, he stood in the centre of the room stripped to the waist, and waved his shirt above his head.
“Stop the music!” he bellowed, swaying tipsily although I’m sure by then we had all drunk more than enough. “Stop the music!” The DJ lowered the volume.
“Here’s to the end of one life!” He raised his glass, then gently splashed a little onto my carpet as a libation. “Let’s hope it’s the beginning of another!” smiling sardonically, raised his glass to me in a mock toast.
The DJ put the music back on, but I never forgave Jibola for that public display of mockery on my wedding eve, never. I knew Bella and I would be happy, I loved her so much, I loved her enough for both of us, enough for ten people in fact. She’d been so animated these past few months, so lively, she obviously liked the idea of getting married, and I was sure that someday she would grow to love me as much as I loved her.
I admit I could never see love in her eyes, just that funny flicker deep inside them teasing me, like a silver pinprick in a distant sky you just can’t identify, is it a star, and aircraft, or imagination? In the meantime however, she’d been a gorgeous girlfriend, enviable and a credit to me. Everywhere we went, heads turned. By then I was aware of her wild stubborn streak, but I was positive that I would and could handle that. When the time came. No point in frightening her now just when things were going so well.
The church wedding itself was just a jumble of sights and sounds, milling crowds of people, every second one of them stopping to congratulate me and shake my hand. Due to the late night party, I wasn’t at my most observant, in fact I felt terrible with a heavy head and dry mouth, itching eyes too with only four hours of sleep, but Yankari and I made it, only a little bit late. We flashed passed her at the door of the church where she waited with her father, she waved us on as if chasing flies, her radiance a contradiction to her impatient hand; with pretended nonchalance we marched up the aisle to await her loveliness, as she rustled up towards us on her father’s arm. The whole day is remembered as if viewed through gauze, except that I can see her quite clearly in a singular moment, in filmy white dress, with confident voice avowing herself to me, illuminant beneath the diaphanous veil, lips fluttering like salmon coloured butterfly wings. “I do!”
I felt her nervous trembling beside me, she had butterflies in her stomach; she could shiver all she liked, she was now mine. It was a wonderful feeling, owning something so exquisite, I felt triumph, I felt pride, I almost felt like a collector, as if a rare and wonderful butterfly had landed in my net and its pristine beauty was now possessed forever. She was mine. Forever.
So now I’ll cheat a little bit, by telling you about our first night together, out first sexual experience, our mutual initiation to each others bodies..
Of course now I know her better, it was probably a day she was feeling low. And it wasn’t our wedding night; it was maybe two weeks before. She’s such a master planner, it wouldn’t have been until all the formal arrangements were set in stone, close the stable door while the horse is still in there, two weeks before the wedding was a time when it would have been difficult, well nigh impossible, to untie all the knots that had been tied, without my losing a great deal of money and face, without a huge upheaval in both our extended families. We’d had already had the traditional ceremonies; in both our families eyes we were as good as married, the church wedding, especially for my family, was a mere formality.
Then, and only then, would she acquiesce.
There was a difference in her look, something about her face was changed, she seemed to possess openness, vulnerability, childishness, and a youth that wasn’t her normal mien. And her eyes were deadly serious.
The plan that evening had been dinner with a friend of hers, but when I drove to pick her up at her dads house, she jumped in the car with that odd face on, and said briskly, “Simi is sick; let’s just go to your flat”
So we did. And went to bed. She simply strode off into the bedroom and when I got there with a bottle of wine and the glasses I’d detoured into the kitchen for, she lay completely naked on the bed covers, an absolute vision of nubile wonderment.
Then later she’d gasped and tore at my back with her nails. I thought of all those other men who had had her (I’d entered her so easily, she’d been slick and ready) , all those other men, faceless things who’d lain between these same thighs, and pumped away as I pumped dutifully. How she’d whispered these same obscenities into their ears. How she’d fondled them all the same way, with the same dextrous ease, how she’d gasped and gasped again, scratching, sweating, pleasuring each and everyone of them the same way she pleasured me.
Then at once, “Stop it!” I roared.
Everything stopped.
I looked at her.
She opened her eyes slowly, looking at me, beads of perspiration all over her face. Glazed eyes.
“What’s the matter?” Barely a whisper, but it seemed to echo through my skull as if she asked that also of a thousand men. I lost my sense of humour, my cool, my erection, my temper.
“Stop bleating like that! Stop scratching my bloody back! Stop moving like that! For God’s sake, you’re like a prostitute. Just lie still, like a normal woman, and let me make love to you!”
“Oh, GOD!” She closed her eyes, and squeezed out two tears that ran down the sides of her face.
I don’t know if the tears were real or pretence, but the sight of them trickling and mingling with her sweat and hair made me rock hard once more, and I fucked away at her, but she just kept biting her fist and not saying anything, just lying there and taking it; I must confess that it was most exciting, and I enjoyed it very much.
She wouldn’t talk to me afterwards, which was terrific, I got some well deserved sleep; she was a great one for rehashing what had just occurred, a tedious habit at the best of times, but one I can definitely do without in bed. She let me do what I liked with her a couple of hours afterwards when libido returned refreshed , that second time again she wouldn’t move and made no sound except for the odd whimper, but she’d been snivelling to start with, her pillow was all wet, where she’d been crying from guilt I hope.
At the time I felt I repossessed her, discovered a new aspect of her sexuality, had her in a way no other man ever tried before, no more flailing limbs and rehearsed verbal sluttiness, none of her practised arts.
Now I had this butterfly, I’d pinned her wings to the board, my exquisite insect. Perhaps that’s why I married her two weeks later, I felt I had the secret to controlling her. I knew I would succeed. I’d make a virgin out of her yet. Or the nearest substitute.
A wife.