She shuddered as she coasted between the present and what happened the previous night, despite the heat that was dredging out the oxygen in her kitchen. She was translated again back to the moment as she felt him walk toward her, felt him toss his belt and without raising her head she heard his belt hit the tiles. She wasn’t sure if she was crumpled besides the wardrobe or by the table but from the position she was sitting she hoped it was the table or at least closer to the table than to the wardrobe. She prayed it was the table so she wouldn’t be sitting in his way. She dared not raise her head otherwise that might provoke him the more. She prayed and waited, but could prayer save her from all of this? She wondered beneath her now pounding heart, she was certain God had abandoned her, her own father had, so why wouldn’t God do the same? After all she had disappointed and disobeyed both of them.
She tried to think of what her mother would have advised, of course, with regards to God the answer came quickly she heard her mother’s voice in her own head as she admonished her to pray unceasingly. How about with regards to my husband? She asked silently, instead of a response guilt tugged at her conscience. Is he your husband? Came the subtle yet loud response in form of a question. But we got married in a church, she argued. Under whose authority did you follow him to the altar? Came the next question, she stifled a groan. The discussion between the Jesus and the Samaritan woman came flooding her mind.
Ezinne opened the pot with her mind still on the events of yesterday night and the heat from the lid caused her to drop it abruptly wincing in pain as the heat scalded the fingers on her right hand. The yam looked like it was soft to her so she picked up the cooking spoon and gave it a firm stir being careful to ensure that the remaining water mixed soberly with the broken pieces of the yam as well as the plantain until it formed the porridge, she sprinkled the ugu leaves which was already sliced and on the chopping board into the mix and further stirred it before returning the lid over the pot and allowing it to simmer. While she waited her thoughts returned to yesterday night.
She sat there communing in her spirit when she felt her husband bend over her, muttering and cursing, he reeked of alcohol and she knew he was drunk, he pulled her up while cursing her and flung her on the bed, she shielded her headed from hitting the bedpost before scuttling to a sitting position, all her senses were spiked with curiosity, fear and a little pinch of hatred. She saw him fiddling his zipper and knew what he wanted; she eased herself into a lying position and started taking off her clothes. He was going to have his way anyway so no point fighting or resisting him and getting punched first. Within a few minutes he was on top of her getting his pleasure no preambles. When he was done he rolled off her to his side of the bed and in a few seconds he was snoring away. She sighed in relief and got up quickly to wash herself of his filth. She already had one child and couldn’t risk bringing another one into this kind of relationship… to be continued