Maduka's POV~
It turns out that my father owned various plots of land all over the village through inheritance from his own father.
The next day, I take Nwanyieze along to see some of the land. Standing there in all the greenery, she looks otherworldly. Last night's confrontation has left her a bit withdrawn and more quiet, but she agrees to come with me all the same.
"Be careful," I tell her, pointing at a rock in front of her.
"I have eyes," she tells me with a tight smile.
Dee Ikenna waits for us underneath the lone tree on this particular plot of land, allowing Nwanyieze and I to roam around. I'm already thinking about the soil, what kind of crop could be planted, and how to employ workers in future.
The afternoon sun is a bit harsh, and I know that Nwanyieze and I will go home with complexions a shade darker.
"Why are you so different today?" I ask Nwanyieze.
Dressed in a pair of jeans, an Ankara shirt and white sneakers, she looks every inch the city dweller.
"I'm not different today," she replies.
"You think I don't trust you."
She stops abruptly, sinking her foot into a puddle of dirty water. "It's your mouth, Maduka."
I shake my head. "I trust you. I know you and Saheed aren't doing anything. But I also feel that something isn't right. Why is he contacting you? And why does it seem like you're not happy about it?"
"Your uncle is calling you," she says flatly before turning and walking towards Dee Ikenna.
I watch her movements as she walks away. I can tell her mood because her feet seem to be stomping : she is angry.
But for what, though? All I did was ask about Saheed.
My adoptive father had always said that no one could ever fully understand women, not to talk of writing a comprehensive book about them.
I didn't receive any secret calls. I wasn't the one running off. I'm sure even Joro the love doctor cannot explain this one.
My mind drifts to my uncle, who seems to be distant these days. It seems that the welcoming mood had worn off. Sometimes he makes passing remarks about how well I resemble my father so much that he almost always calls me his name.
"It's almost like Eze came back younger and taller," he has told me a few times.
Daa Ndidi is apparently the most enthusiastic about my return. She has not stopped bombarding Nwanyieze and I with food, gifts of locally made soap, and herbs to cure illnesses.
During the drive home, Dee Ikenna tells us about the Nigerian Civil war and how it had affected our village so badly that children had to be flown to Gabon because they were dying of starvation. Nwanyieze is so interested in the story that when we get home, she follows him to his compound to listen to the rest of it.
After changing my clothes into a comfortable pair of grey sweatpants and my favourite basketball jersey, I take about an hour to send and reply emails, make phone calls, and record important matters into my journal. Somto calls again, and I reassure her that I'm fine, that I'm on a small sabbatical and will visit her soonest.
Just as I'm about to leave the room, my phone rings again. It's Tasha.
"How are you, Tasha?" I ask.
"Do you really want to know?"
"Tasha, you know I care about you. I want you to be fine."
"He went out to see another woman this morning," she says, her voice shrinking. "He doesn't care that I'm carrying his child. How am I supposed to keep it?"
She starts to sob.
I take in a deep breath and close my eyes. Tasha does not deserve to suffer like this, pregnant and unwanted.
"Tasha, have you told your parents? Your sister?"
"They will kill me. They warned me about Seun. But I didn't listen, I thought I loved him."
"Listen to me. Pack your things and move back to your parents. You need them. You shouldn't be suffering like this."
"I've booked an appointment with a nurse for next week. I'm getting the abortion, Madi. I can't go on living in this trap!"
"You'd be killing another human being."
"It's not a human being- at least not with a father such as this."
"Tasha, think this through."
"Why aren't you here, Maduka? Why aren't you in Lagos?"
"I had matters outside Lagos to attend to. Plus, you don't need me."
She scoffs. "I hate myself."
I hear the regret in that statement, but I can say nothing to console her. Nwanyieze cones to mind, a child probably conceived out of wedlock. If her mother had aborted her, would she be here with me? "Everything happens for a reason. Think this through. I have to go now."
At that moment, Nwanyieze walks into the room, holding her sneakers, now clean but wet.
"How is she?"
"She's alright."
"Okay."
Silence hangs between us, and I watch her carefully prop her sneakers against the wall, change from her jeans, shirt and sneakers to her blue chiffon buba, and spread them on the chair in the room. With nothing else to do, Nwanyieze sits on the edge of the bed- the the opposite end from me and looks straight outside the window. I watch her profile for a few moments and sigh. I don't understand what is annoying her today.
"Come here."
"Pardon?"
"Baby girl, come here."
"I like where I'm sitting."
"What exactly is it, Nwanyieze?"
"Premenstrual syndrome."
I chuckle at her excuse. "If you say so, but I'd like to hold you, regardless. A few cuddles could help you feel better. Do you need anything?"
"No."
I decide to try tact. "Okay."
I lean back against the wall, pick up my book, Chimamanda's Americanah, and continue from where I left off.
Nwanyieze sighs, turns to face me, and quietly crawls up to rest her head on my chest. That's the thing about her. When she's angry, I show here that I care about her feelings and sit back. She comes to me at her own time.
"I'm sorry about last night," she whispers.
I close my book and put an arm around her, pulling her closer so she drapes a leg over my thigh.
"I don't know what Saheed is going through, but I also don't like that you made such a show of answering his calls in secret. It bothers me."
"Saheed..." she trails off.
I wait patiently.
"Saheed is still...after me. I didn't want you to get upset, I thought I could handle it alone."
Saheed Bello, son of a powerful man. Obviously spoiled, raised with a sense of entitlement, especially towards women. Rich, handsome, learned, which gives him an edge when it comes to wooing them.
And he thinks he can get my woman into his bed.
" Do people have no sense?" I ask rhetorically. "I won't have him harassing you, Nwanyieze."
"Eventually he'll get the message."
"Do you need me to speak to him?"
"No."
The answer comes quickly.
"I don't want you to be uncomfortable," she adds.
The sound of someone knocking on the front door catches my attention. Reluctantly, I leave Nwanyieze on the bed and go to answer it. It is one of my little cousins, relaying a message from Daa Ndidi to call Nwanyieze. The child scampers off and Nwanyieze hurries out of the house, telling me that she had promised to keep Daa Ndidi company while she prepared tonight's meal. She kisses me before leaving, and I see something like relief in her eyes.
Sitting alone in our room, I ponder her strange behaviour anytime Saheed comes up.
She's not doing anything with Saheed. Knowing him, I'm sure he's just not bothered about the fact that she's with me.
Are people really that stubborn?
When someone can see "Beware of dog" on a person's gate and still break in, why won't people like Saheed still go after someone's woman? What if he's blackmailing-
A vibration startles me. It's Nwanyieze's phone, forgotten on the bed. I get a sense of foreboding before reaching over to look at the screen.
Saheed.
Fury erupts in my chest and I carefully place the phone back where she'd left it. Picking up mine, I call Jide.
"How far, guy? E don tay oh."
"Jide, send me Saheed's number."
Nwanyieze's POV~
It takes me fifteen minutes to remember that my phone is lying on the bed back at the bungalow, in the same room with Maduka, and that Saheed had promised to contact me again. Excusing myself from the kitchen, I leave Maduka's aunt and briskly walk into the other compound.
It looks like you're two-timing him.
My inner voice scoffs. Of course, you are. What do you call this one then?
But I can't even tell him here, even if I wanted to. He is still trying to settle down here after twenty years. This would throw sand on his efforts.
My inner voice scoffs again. Keep deceiving yourself. You're out of time.
Opening the front door, I let myself into the bungalow. I hear Maduka's voice, coming out in a slow, deliberate way. It sounds like he is trying to control his anger.
Entering the room, he is pacing with his phone to his ear. My own phone lies just where I had left it.
It must be Tasha again, I think while going to pick up my phone. One missed call from Saheed, about ten minutes ago.
"How do you think that makes me feel?" he questions the other person on the line before pausing to listen.
I hope this won't piss him off.
I'm about to walk out of the room when I hear him say, "It makes her uncomfortable. I'm not supposed to be this jealous? What do you mean?"
Is he talking to Tasha's boyfriend?
"Saheed, I'm listening."
I whirl around so fast that I almost lose my balance. Maduka now stands a few feet away, one hand casually in his pocket, his feet slightly apart. It is only his eyes that show his anger, and they are looking straight into mine, pinning me there. I'm suddenly paralysed, feeling my extremities go cold.
He's telling him.
I watch him raise a brow and nod slowly.
"You don't say?"
Earth, open up and swallow me now.
I brace myself for a confrontation. Adrenaline rushes in my veins, my eyes are about to go all teary.
"Thank you. Have a nice day."
Maduka ends the call, gives me a smile, and without another word, goes to sit down on the bed.
"Well, you have your phone now, don't you? I'm sure Daa Ndidi is waiting for you," he tells me before opening his book.
I back out from the room, knowing that I can not return.
A/N: Chill. No screaming allowed.