Chapter 4: The Day Old Wound Open

All the food don ready, but Ifedike never come out.

The soup dey smell, but na only me dey look am. For this house, silence fit cut bread.

Mama Ifedike look me, signal make I go try settle am.

She use her eyes talk, small nod. For old women, na so dem dey send message. I know say she want peace for house, no quarrel.

"Come in."

Ifedike voice low, but I hear am. I hold my wrapper tight, push door. Lamp dey throw soft shadow for study wall.

Lamp dey on for study. He bend dey paint with brush. I push door gentle.

Na so paint dey scatter for paper, Ifedike hand steady. I pause, dey wait make he notice me. My heart dey pound.

From far, I see na drawing of girl wey dey ride horse; Ifedike no even hide am from me.

Her scarf dey fly for breeze, horse dey gallop. My chest just shake. I know say na Miss Halima e dey draw, no need tell me.

As I reach near, he just squeeze the paper, vex catch am.

Him knuckle white, paper fold. E no want make me see am, but e no quick hide am.

I talk low, "Food don ready."

I dey try sound normal, but my voice still dey break. The air for room thick, like smoke.

He still dey vex for wetyn happen for afternoon, him face just dey cold.

He no even look my side, just dey clean brush with slow hand.

"I no go chop."

His voice short, sharp, like stone drop inside water. My spirit drop too.

I know wetyn Ifedike mean—when he dey vex, na person go pet am.

Since when e small, dem say e stubborn like goat, but e soft if person beg am small. But today, I no get strength.

But wetyn happen today just dey my throat like bone, no gree me talk.

E dey pain me, I wan talk, but my voice no reach mouth.

Na like say my mind carry me go back six years ago, that day wey I happy pass for my life.

Wedding memory just rush me—dancing, family, joy everywhere. But pain no let me enjoy the memory.

But to sleep alone on wedding night, na real pain...

Tears wan fall, but I bite my lip. No woman suppose pass through that kind thing. My chest dey burn.

After I quiet tire, I just say,

'I make your favourite catfish soup.'

I whisper am, voice low. I wan show say I still care, even if my heart dey break.

After that, I waka comot quietly.

I no look back, close door small, make e no make noise.

At the end, Ifedike no still come chop. Catfish soup cold finish.

I sit for kitchen, dey look the soup, dey beg make e enter house, but nothing. The food just dey waste.

I taste am; e don lose taste, na so I throway am with regret.

Na so I pour am for backyard, even goats no touch am. My chest just dey pain as I dey wash pot.

After I put Temi to sleep, kitchen maid bring me bowl of Indomie. As I dey chop, I just burst cry.

Noodles dey tasteless, tears dey fall inside bowl. I no fit control am, just dey sob.

Maid think say na the noodles no sweet, rush go cook another two, three bowls.

She dey panic, dey ask, 'Madam, abeg no vex.' Her own eye dey red too, she wan show care.

I stop her, shake head. "E sweet well."

I force smile, but she no believe. She just dey look me with pity eye.

Na just memory dey my mind. When I small, anytime na my mama birthday, my papa—soldier man—go cook noodles for her by himself.

I remember how my mama go dey laugh, dey tease papa, 'You be chef today!' That love dey sweet me for body, I dey pray say I go see am for my own marriage.

Na pity. I hear say Ifedike before dey make puff-puff for Miss Halima with his own hand.

People yarn tori that time, say, 'Ifedike fit enter market, carry flour, fry for that girl.' My chest dey pain, because that one na love.

But that luck no reach me.

Na so life be. For some people, e dey easy; for others, e dey hard. My own na just dey manage.

I wash body quick, lie down for empty bed, just dey look ceiling.

Bed cold, even the sheet no get scent. I dey count the line for ceiling, dey beg sleep to carry me go.