Nneoma Otuegbe
She took his withdrawal slip with a shaky right hand and his gaze rested on her face. He loved the pain that coursed through his body as he stared at her; the pain was purgatory, a precursor to the heaven that he knew without a doubt awaited him in her arms. He was lost when she finished processing his withdrawal and handed him a brown envelope and a white piece of paper that read
‘I’m speechless, Nna, please write your phone number here.
I’ll call after work’
He was lost when he scribbled his number on the paper and passed it to her and he was completely lost when he walked outside the bank and began the short drive to Oriental hotel, hoping that his heart would not stop. Even the valet and doorman at the hotel each gave their exaggerated greetings of “wecom, boss man” in order to guilt him into another ridiculous tip like the one he had given each man in the morning, but he was too lost to say a word to them. Everything was a blur until he collapsed on the king-sized bed that smelled of decomposing roses. He kept checking his phone, half expecting her to abandon all those customers who had been lined up behind him to run to him, the now-alive love of her life whom he was sure she had been frantically seeking as he had been her, or more. She was a woman, it had to be more, he told himself.
Hours later, his phone began to vibrate with a text message and his heartbeat went up more than a few notches until he saw that it was his friend Woye. They had planned to meet up for drinks at the hotel bar. He had forgotten about that along with every other minor detail of his life since he laid eyes on Njideka again. Like the fact that he had a beautiful fiancée handpicked by his mother and the reason he was in the country was because his wedding was in a couple of weeks.
He had finally caved after his mother accused him of being in a secret cult, hell-bent on seeing her go to her grave without the joy of a grandchild. “It’s alright mama. Find someone for me and I’ll marry her. I promise” Even though he had not expected that it would take less than a week for Mama to find ‘somebody’, that was exactly how long it took for pictures of Ada to be sent to him. She was from a good family, Mama said, and he had better not think of failing her this time.
Now, only six months later, he was about to marry a pretty smiling girl with whom he had barely exchanged more than twenty words and it all seemed like the fair thing to do, especially for his aging mother.
And now, thanks to his blighted stars, Njideka was back in his life. After seven years of relentless searching.
As soon as he replied Woye’s text message with a headache excuse he saw an incoming call and he knew it was the one. It had to be her.
“Is this how fast you pick up your phone?” The voice was unmistakably hers. It was like music to his ears. His heart literally stopped for the briefest moment.
“I’ve been waiting for your call” he gasped. “Why couldn’t I find you, Njide? I looked everywhere. What happened to you?” his head swam with questions and he wished it was possible to get all the answers in a breath”
Silence. Deep sigh. “Where are you, Nna?” her calmness made him wonder if the racy beating of her heart that he could hear over the phone was his, instead. He was not sure of anything anymore, ever since he saw her again. He blurted out that he was staying at the oriental hotel. Room 312. Where would she want him to pick her up? The line went dead. He was not sure she even heard his question and he wanted to redial but his hands shook convulsively until the phone fell off the bed and a million what ifs swam in his head like fishes and he stood up and began pacing up and down the extravagant hotel room with its oriental yellows and reds and imposing golds.
Every item in the room suddenly took on new significance. Like the life size painting of roses and chrysanthemums that hung over the bed and the speed with which the ice cold can of beer he unconsciously grabbed from the fridge travelled down his throat before he even realized that he opened it and he was reaching for a second can when a gentle tap came to the door.
When he saw her, the earth stopped moving. He was sure people were falling into abyss in Iceland at that moment. Nothing could rotate in that moment, not the moon or the sun or even the earth. Everything was flat in that moment before their arms went around each other, pressing close and close until the moment their lips locked for the first time in seven torturous years. No words were necessary.
Memories broke down walls and flooded in like a tsunami.
The first time he had kissed her on the steps of New Arts theatre at Nsukka on a cold rainy night, a stone throw from her Eyo Ita hall of residence. The first time they made love- well, tried. It was three days of trying that culminated in an unforgettable Saturday evening of making her his woman and pledging his love to her forever, watching her shake convulsively as he did something right. The smile on her face had stayed with him ever since, a badge of honour he wore every day.
And when their bodies touched it was the first time all over again. A symphony of two needy voices and two shaky bodies joining in the dance of life, learning again to give and receive in a planet turned flat by their thirsty love which was lost but now found. They had both changed in different subtle ways. His stomach had a slight roundness to it that was not there the last time and her stomach and thighs had stretch marks scattered here and there like fairy dust but the passion was unchanged. Their bodies remembered every heartbeat every step of their ancient dance and over and over released them to long-forgotten plains of utter satiety until they gave in to sleep grudgingly, holding on tightly to their hearts, beating in sync.
When he awoke he was like a spider stuck in a web of tangled sheets. Her scent was all over the room, a soft tangerine that had him dreaming of gardens. The taste of her kisses lingered on his tongue and he began to ache all over again for all the magic they had shared without a spoken word. It was as though the last seven years were not real, only a figment of his imagination, because the moment their bodies touched time became irrelevant like a mass of sheer nothingness in which all their questions were answered and their tears mingled with laughter.
He slowly reached for her without opening his eyes. All he needed was to follow her scent like a trained dog. But his hands touched nothing, only an unwelcome coldness that made his eyes snap open and he sprang up and dashed to the bathroom to look for her. There was nowhere else to look.
She was not in the bathroom. A quick glance at his wristwatch revealed that it was 2 o clock in the morning. Her shoes were gone where he flung them impatiently when he had lowered her to the bed. Her clothes were gone too, as well as the big designer handbag she carried. Every trace of her was gone from the room except her scent and he was no longer sure that even that was not part of the long and sweet dream he just awoke from. He remembered his phone and fetched it from where it had fallen after he spoke with her in the evening to reassure himself that his dream did not include that part. There were countless missed calls and frantic text messages from Ada and his mother. He threw the phone aside and tried to make some sense out of what was happening to him.
And that was when he saw them
His vindication, the witnesses to the clarity of his thoughts, his sanity and wellness were right before his eyes. First, her rumpled silk scarf and then the neatly folded piece of paper under the pillow where she should have been lying next to him. He picked up the scarf with shaky hands and sniffed it with raging desire before unfolding the white paper. Her handwriting was still flawless and straight and it brought back more memories. In all their years together, she must have left him more than a thousand notes with loving words and reminders or to tease him about his snoring or to tell him in her deep and eclectic poetry how the sun and moon rose in his eyes. He read her words eagerly but nothing he recalled from the past prepared him for the coldness and death in her words.
I’m sorry, Nna. Seeing you again was crazy and I could not hold back. I have missed you every day and I’m sorry that there was no way to find me. Your last letter came at a difficult time but I replied and I kept writing without a word from you. What happened? Anyway, it’s all in the past now. I am married and I have two boys. Please don’t try to contact me again. I’m really sorry.
Forever, yours,
Njide.
That was it. The words danced around his heavy eyes and he wondered why she would sign his death sentence with their forever yours. She was no longer his, not even a few hours ago while he took and took another man’s wife.
Forever yours.
It was an irony now. What had been their solemn promise to never leave each other no matter what, now lay bland, an insult on a putrefying sore. He remembered the night before he left school, the tears she cried put the river Niger to shame but he was hers forever, he told her that. He told her the same thing before he left for America for his MBA. It was their connection, the reason he never even gave another woman a second look until he came back a year after her letters stopped coming and realized that she had disappeared into thin air with his heart. There were no phone numbers to call. Her address had been in school and she was done. He remembered days spent walking the streets of Kaduna where her parents lived, going to all the places she ever mentioned in her stories hoping that something or someone would lead him to her but they were all dead ends.
She was found only to be lost again. He fell to his knees when the tears came and he remained there while his body convulsed in silent sobs and his lips quivered like Hannah at Shiloh, his damp hands clutching her letter and her scarf and the sweet scent of tangerine.
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