Sometimes she was in the mood to kill him. It would be so easy to take the bag of faeces, snip off the end and force him to choke on his own excrement. It would be payback for the slime he’d emptied into her mouth, and the idea appealed to her. But the Devil whispered caution and patience. Muna’s circumstances would change for the worse if Ebuka died and Mr Broadstone stopped coming to the house. The lawyer’s visits and promises of money were the only curb on Yetunde’s temper.
Ebuka spoke eventually because he hadn’t the patience to stay quiet for ever. Perhaps he found Muna’s attention to his welfare puzzling for he asked if she was glad he’d lived. She told him she was, and he gave a hollow laugh, reminding her of what she’d said in the cellar. What had changed? Did she hate him less now that he was a cripple? She assured him her feelings remained the same. Her gladness was to see him as much a prisoner as she was, and this pleasure would have been denied her if he’d died.
Ready tears filled his eyes. So your dislike of me remains the same yet you show more kindness than my wife does. Why?
Princess will make us both suffer if I don’t, Master. She needs you to live because she wants the money Mr Broadstone says he can win for her.
Is everything you do done out of fear of a beating?
You know it is, Master.
The tears spilled down his cheeks. I’ve had a long time to think about the day of the accident, Muna. I behaved badly. Will you accept how deeply I’ve come to regret my treatment of you? Can you forgive me for the things I’ve done in the past?
If you wish it, Master.
Muna marvelled at how much easier he seemed in his mind after this exchange, as if words alone could make him better. He wept less frequently, put more effort into his rehabilitation and thanked her constantly for her efforts. Once or twice he begged her for a smile and, out of curiosity to see his reaction, she made the attempt. Even the smallest twitch of her lips brought a beam in response; and how odd that was, she thought. Did he think her curved mouth any more sincere than her forgiveness?
Muna knew full well that his regrets were for himself. If nothing had happened to change the course of his family’s life, he would still be coming to her in the darkness of the cellar. But it suited her to reward him with little smiles for it gave her a renewed sense of power to see his face light up when she entered the room.
She became skilful at pushing down on his bladder to empty it, managing his catheters and bags and keeping his skin free of pressure sores. She helped him perform his daily upper-body exercises to increase the strength in his arms, hands and neck, and lifted and moved his legs to maintain the circulation of blood through his veins. Once a week, a district nurse came to monitor his progress, always ushered in by Yetunde, and each time the nurse told Ebuka he was doing well before congratulating him on his devoted wife.
Muna loved to see the discord these statements created between the Songolis after the nurse left. They argued heatedly, Ebuka accusing Yetunde of taking compliments she hadn’t earned and Yetunde accusing Ebuka of ruining their chances of compensation. It was his duty to play up his disability, she stormed. He was of no use to her and Olubayo if he couldn’t win money for them.
In turn this led to arguments about Yetunde’s profligate spending habits. Ebuka was furious at how depleted their reserves had become while he was in hospital. He didn’t care how wretched Yetunde had been after Abiola’s disappearance. He called her greedy and stupid, saying only a fool would indulge her appetites on a solicitor’s promise to win a lawsuit. Had she no sense? No restraint? Must her happiness always come first?
Such confrontations never ended well for him. He was left to hurl insults at a closed door after Yetunde walked from the room, taunting him for being a cripple. He grew fonder of Muna each
Ebuka spoke eventually because he hadn’t the patience to stay quiet for ever. Perhaps he found Muna’s attention to his welfare puzzling for he asked if she was glad he’d lived. She told him she was, and he gave a hollow laugh, reminding her of what she’d said in the cellar. What had changed? Did she hate him less now that he was a cripple? She assured him her feelings remained the same. Her gladness was to see him as much a prisoner as she was, and this pleasure would have been denied her if he’d died.
Ready tears filled his eyes. So your dislike of me remains the same yet you show more kindness than my wife does. Why?
Princess will make us both suffer if I don’t, Master. She needs you to live because she wants the money Mr Broadstone says he can win for her.
Is everything you do done out of fear of a beating?
You know it is, Master.
The tears spilled down his cheeks. I’ve had a long time to think about the day of the accident, Muna. I behaved badly. Will you accept how deeply I’ve come to regret my treatment of you? Can you forgive me for the things I’ve done in the past?
If you wish it, Master.
Muna marvelled at how much easier he seemed in his mind after this exchange, as if words alone could make him better. He wept less frequently, put more effort into his rehabilitation and thanked her constantly for her efforts. Once or twice he begged her for a smile and, out of curiosity to see his reaction, she made the attempt. Even the smallest twitch of her lips brought a beam in response; and how odd that was, she thought. Did he think her curved mouth any more sincere than her forgiveness?
Muna knew full well that his regrets were for himself. If nothing had happened to change the course of his family’s life, he would still be coming to her in the darkness of the cellar. But it suited her to reward him with little smiles for it gave her a renewed sense of power to see his face light up when she entered the room.
She became skilful at pushing down on his bladder to empty it, managing his catheters and bags and keeping his skin free of pressure sores. She helped him perform his daily upper-body exercises to increase the strength in his arms, hands and neck, and lifted and moved his legs to maintain the circulation of blood through his veins. Once a week, a district nurse came to monitor his progress, always ushered in by Yetunde, and each time the nurse told Ebuka he was doing well before congratulating him on his devoted wife.
Muna loved to see the discord these statements created between the Songolis after the nurse left. They argued heatedly, Ebuka accusing Yetunde of taking compliments she hadn’t earned and Yetunde accusing Ebuka of ruining their chances of compensation. It was his duty to play up his disability, she stormed. He was of no use to her and Olubayo if he couldn’t win money for them.
In turn this led to arguments about Yetunde’s profligate spending habits. Ebuka was furious at how depleted their reserves had become while he was in hospital. He didn’t care how wretched Yetunde had been after Abiola’s disappearance. He called her greedy and stupid, saying only a fool would indulge her appetites on a solicitor’s promise to win a lawsuit. Had she no sense? No restraint? Must her happiness always come first?
Such confrontations never ended well for him. He was left to hurl insults at a closed door after Yetunde walked from the room, taunting him for being a cripple. He grew fonder of Muna each
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