The only assurance of her continued existence was the leaky tap dripping in the bathroom even though each drop felt like it was seeping from her, what little strength she had left. A clock chimed somewhere in the house and soon, a flurry of activities could be heard here and there- a door opened and closed somewhere, a tap was turned on, soon a kettle was whistling, a stiff knock on the door downstairs- Though, it seemed to all that it was too late, she hoped with all her heart for an intervention. She would give anything just to have him bound into the room, alive, spirited and as usual, a cheesy smile etched onto his face. Her eyes drifted to the side of the bed where he was supposed to be sprawled on, had it been a normal Thursday morning. She would be calling his name and pulling the covers off his body to wake him up as she hurried around the room getting prepared to go off to her job. Peeling herself off the bed, she dragged her feet towards the bathroom, the bed covers trailing after her as they unwound from her body like they too felt the abject wretchedness that evaded every corner of the house, as if to choke its occupants. Fumbling around in near darkness for the light switch, after two flicks and the light bulb refused to lit the bathroom, she gave in. Passing by the mirror, she saw her form and could hardly believe how in one week, she had begun to look like everything had fallen apart. It has actually fallen apart, she reminded herself.
The first night without him was her dawning; the fear that she was lost and alone in another man’s country gripped her heart first. Then came the constant gnawing in her chest because their hearts had started to beat in sync, in a steady rhythm and now that his heart had stopped, she feared hers would stop too. That she would soon be living with a heart that had stopped beating and to her there was no greater misfortune than this. Chuks would have wanted her to find the light in the midst of this rubble but what she knew he did not know was that for a very long time, he had been the only light she saw. He was the reason she fought the urge to plant herself on a train track waiting for that moment her soul would roam free. With that light gone and a heart that would stop soon, she started to think of ways to set herself free. As she pushed the glistening bottle of unused mouthwash she had got him to the back of the cabinet, a single tear threatened to drop as she realized he was never going to come bursting through the bathroom door asking for his toothbrush or bath soap, forgetting that he took them to his night job and were still sitting in his bag. They were never going to joke about how young he was yet forgetting the simplest things.
His uncles back home wanted his body flown back to perform the proper rites but she knew they did not have that money, that she did not have that money. So they called her the witch that killed him to take over his properties and how his disobedience led to his death. As if a beat-down 1995 Volvo was enough property to kill a man for, she thought. Because they never assented to their union, his family used his death as an avenue to perpetrate their campaign of hate. Deep down, each one of them knew it was really the envelopes containing crisp wads of cash Chuks sent monthly they would miss more, rather than their son who would be making a cold grave his new home soon.
When she saw movement in the mirror again, she gasped out of fear because she had not stirred in the slightest bit. But surely, as she turned to her side, Chuks was there, rinsing out toothpaste from his mouth into the sink. She froze, her heart pounding in her ears. His skin was vibrant, blood flowing through his veins and there was no gash in his head like when she went to identify his body. He was-perfect again. Delicately, she reached for him, heart in mouth, her fingers made solid contact with his arm. The joy splayed on her face was almost enough to erase the hurt that had creeped onto her features these past few days.
“Chuks!” she cracked doubtedly.
He too looked surprise to see her. “Obi diya, they told you I wasn’t coming back abi? You need to stop believing everything you hear. I’m not going anywhere Linda” his voice was curbed in a way she knew there was more he was hiding. He motioned her to come closer. She did and fell into his comforting embrace as his woody scent of cinnamon and menthol enveloped her. Her body yearned to melt into his, to be merged with him because she could sense this was only fleeting. His skin was burning hot through his clothes but she was more at peace to finally see him again, talking, reassuring her of his boundless companionship than to ask why he was burning up.
“I thought you were gone. I thought I would never see you again.” she cried into his neck and suddenly withdrawing, she saw herself in his glasses all crazy hair and wild eyes. She ignored it and continued. “Take me with you. I can’t stay here alone. Let’s leave now. We could even go back home” she suggested frantically searching his eyes for a clue to what he would say in response. He burst into laughter, a hearty one that bounced off the bathroom tiles. She feared that someone would hear him and make him leave her again so she shushed him.
“I can pack a few things right now. Wait- we don’t even need anything. I’ll just get our passports and-“she made to hurry back into the room but he stopped her.
“We are not going anywhere, why do you want to run away?” his eyes too, seemed to be searching hers for unspoken answers. The amused smile on his face was beginning to irritate her but compounded with the emptiness her soul had been saddled with the last couple of days, she could not show it.
“But you left me! You said-“ not caring if anyone heard anymore, her voice went up an octave this time.
“Are you okay?” a voice that seemed to be dripping with false sweetness said as its owner flicked the light switch on and the bathroom was instantly flooded with brightness. There was no Chuks, only Fatou, her Senegalese coworker who seemed to get whiter everyday as she advanced in her skin lightening process. Linda turned the knob on the leaky tap and washed the tears off her face. She tried to feign a look that said she was fine but the expression she was met with on Fatou’s face showed she was failing at that.
“Why are you here in the dark? Did you see him again?” Fatou’s eyes searched around the room like she expected to see Chuks come out of hiding from behind the shower curtain or out of a cabinet. Finally, she rested her eyes on Linda and lowered her voice to that doleful tone people employed when they were being empathetic.
“You are going to be alright, okay. It’ll be fine. Your head is only trying to mess with you and I need you to not allow that, okay? You have to be strong.” She said.
“It’s time to leave for the church.” She added, as the wild expression on Linda’s face did not look like it could be allayed anytime soon.
Linda had never given much thought to how she would die. Somehow, she was certain she would die at a very old age, peacefully, but after seeing Chuks that way, rubbery-skinned and tightly fitted into that casket with his face set into a cold expression she had never seen him bear while he lived, she was no longer sure. When the grave diggers had finished covering him up, the numbness she felt seized as reality struck. The word dead floated around in her head, she felt it bounce around in an oddly empty space pressing itself against her temples as it ushered her into the harsh truth of being a widow. There was little left for her to hold on to. No child, no well-paying job, no relatives or real friends to fall back on, nothing. She took a swig from the bottle on her nightstand. Her lips trembled and her eyes burned as she tried to keep her tears at bay.
Her feet took her to the bathroom just like in the morning. The window was opened and gusts of rain came in through it dripping down the pale yellow wall. The building was old and the paint was already chipped through the frequently soaked wall (a pipe had broken somewhere in the walls and they had given up on fixing it after the fourth trial). The sight drove bile up her throat and in seconds all the alcohol she drank was on the floor, her vision, a blurry mess from the blinding tears that welled in her eyes. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she cried to herself weakly, “Ihe a abughi nkwa I kwere m.” This is not what you promised me. Like jolted by something unnatural, she got up abruptly and went to the bathroom window. Gripping the sill, she crawled out of it onto the landing. Looking down, she saw only two men in the street who seemed to be having a heated conversation under a shared umbrella. She knew there was nothing they could do to help when she dropped because surviving the twelve-storey fall would be a miracle. But miracles did not happen to real people so she stepped into thin air. Memories of the police officer walking into that cramped space reserved for kitchen staff to change in at the hotel she worked, asking for a Linda Chukwuka- he pronounced the last name with so much difficulty- hovered around her. He said her husband had been knocked off the street by a white, drunk driver. Of course, that was not exactly how he said it but that was the essence the message carried. As she fell, the agony that had camped in her soul since his death was gone because she was starting to anticipate the peace she craved. The rain biting into her skin as she clawed at the dirt on the muddy ground with her bare fingernails was the last thing she felt. She whimpered in pain until the taste of blood was all she knew and then, nothing.
