📷 Adrian McDonald Photography
Today, on a Sunday morning, as they lazed in bed under their grey covers, he had been the one that had asked, “What is the worst thing that you have ever done?”
“What?”
“The worst thing you have ever done,” he repeated, turning on his side to face her.
It was six months since they had married in a lavish wedding paid for by both their parents. It had a been a gentle battle, as both families’ representatives insisted that their family be the one to bear the cost of the wedding. You handled the introduction, let us handle the wedding, said the man’s family. These are both our children, let us handle the wedding too, replied the girls’ family.
The wedding thus was a consummation of both families’ egos, by which a big case of ostentation was conceived and birthed. Among the guests were cynics of course, but for these, the generous food served at the reception, the exquisite décor and the excellent hospitality effectively neutralized their undercurrents of envy. For you can only envy that which you also think yourself capable. Of a function of this magnitude, they clearly were not.
Time had since passed and now, lulled by its soft comfort and each other’s bossom, they delved deeper into conversation, intimating to one another details of themselves that they had never shared even before their marriage. Waiting for a confession became a thrilling danger sport that they loved to engage in every now and then. For each confession, they saw each other in a new light, mostly a deep knowledge of one another in which they morphed seamlessly into each other’s minds, hearts and spirits. It equalled to an explosion in their lovemaking.
Now that she had asked what, and he had repeated himself, she pretended to recall to mind, a distant memory. In reality, it was not too far away. It lived with her every day in her forebrain, and she carried it everywhere that she went, thinking about it often and occasionally when he was not looking, taking fluoxetine for it.
How could she forget the bloodthirsty shouts of the mob, and the dull thud. thud. thud-thud sound of heavy stones meeting his flesh. Only a few minutes earlier, they had scurried under the sugarcane plantation, moving far away from the rest of the family and neighbors, touching each other unholily and consuming their passions in amateurish fumbling.
She was fifteen and he was twenty one and deaf on account of a childhood ear infection. How could she forget how she opened her eyes to the sight of her father right behind them, and how the terror she felt caused her to say that he had raped her. He was oblivious to what had been said, but there and then, he was dragged to the street with a trail of neighbors in tow. The plan was to take him to the police station, but the crowd grew very fast and in no time, it was not clear anymore who was in control. Someone, perhaps one who had never sinned, threw the first stone. He was pelted to death. How could she forget? She returned from her memory and looked at him, smiling.
“Do you really want to know?” She asked.
“I do,” he replied returning her smile gently.
She cunningly let her silk robe slide off her shoulders.
When she saw that he was ready, she began to speak. “Well, this one time when I was younger…” He interrupted her.
“Hey, if you don’t mind, can we discuss this another time. I am overwhelmed by your beauty…”
She moved closer to him and while they lost each other in that moment, she smiled the smile of victory, knowing that they would never talk about it again. She would make sure of that.
