By
Ibeh Leonard Ebuka
The inevitability of marriage was well understood between both of them. It was accepted, perhaps even expected, but left undiscussed with the vague hope that keeping it aside would make it seem more unreal.
They both knew that marriage would jeopardise their understanding, this mutual feeling, so heady and so sweet that they could taste it on their lips. This easy communication that had no need to be expressed in words, this loving that seemed physical, that they could see and feel, and so they kept the thought of marriage aside, sharing each laughter, each feeling of happiness together while nursing the thoughts of a possible disruption in form of marriage. Marriage was something they expected every now and then, sometimes indirectly willing it, and yet when Ken had drifted off to a familiar discussion that day in the resturant, Dike stared at him for a long time, suddenly disliking the codes, mildly terrified at the thought of what was coming, and yet hoping it wasn’t.
“Ken…” He exhaled, unable to lean the mist cloud, the vague hope of the familiarity of something shared. “What are you trying to tell me?”
Ken paused to catch his breath. “Dike…I’m getting married.”
And then the cloud fell, and the heavy sound of something crashing resounded in Dike’s suddenly stiff memory, and the silence that followed was tense, and Dike was certain that the handsome young man sitting opposite him was not Ken, could not be Ken.
Ken’s voice trailed off. “Dike..I’m sorry, its not actually…”
The seizure came, powerful, suffocating, threatning to burst Dike’s chest. He slouched backwards on the chair, at the sharp pain that ran across his back, coupled with his rasped breath.
“Dike, let me help you” Ken offered, extending a hand, but Dike ignored him, and reached out for the inhaler in his pocket himself. He administered the inhaler, slightly reclining on the sofa, watching Ken with a scrutinising gaze. He could see how everything was being laid down, on the bare floor, after all these years of a weightless desire, of a love so real and yet so strange.
It took a while for Dike to recollect familiar memories, to fix the little puzzle together, to wait for Ken to laugh and apologise, even though he knew Ken would never joke about an issue, as crucial as this. Finally, he got up and walked away, ignoring Ken’s quiet calls, ignoring the sheepish smile of the security who stood at the door of the eatery and said “Let me help you, Sir” with that eager to please smile.
The sun was warm on his skin as he stepped out of the eatery, almost colliding with a young couple.
The man was furious. “Oga, are you blind?!” he barked, clutching his baby firmly with one hand and pointing accusingly at Dike with the other.
“I’m so sorry..I wasn’t watching” Dike said.
“This glass is tinted. You could see us comming from inside.” The man went on. “You should learn to pour out your frustration at home, rather than show up at an eatery, an get everyone misbehave…”The man would have gone on, but for the squeezing of his palms by his wife.
“Take care” she mumbled inaudibly as she walked out.
Dike watched them for a while, even after they had gone in and could no longer see them. He was sweating now, wondering what the people at the eatery had thought about these two young men putting up a small drama. It did not matter that his wallet was on top of the table in the eatery and that he had come to this place in Ken’s car.
What mattered was that, there was something that should have been, something that would never be.
The white camry that pulled up in front of him was unfamiliar, and when the middle-aged man inside the car winked at him, he felt vomit rush up to his throat and wanted to reach out and slap the man hard across the face, but he got into the car and pressed his face to the window while the man drove, ignoring the man’s stupid questions and staid jokes.
The man finally eased into a small compound, and the sweet-sour scent of the too many flowers in the compound filled Dike’s nostrils and stayed there, even after he had gone in with the man.
The event that followed happened too fast, as though fast-forwarded, and Dike would later wonder how it actually felt to be a prostitute. The staid conversation that did not seem to point at something. The man’s animal-like passion while touching, and kissing, and then thrusting. It caught him unawares, the swift speed with which his clothes were yanked off, and then the man behind him, thrusting, sending needles of intense pain to his brain. He wondered what Ken would think if he were here. Ken had never done this before. By the time he felt the man roll over, he was exhausted. He looked at the wet patch on the pillow, and only then did he realise that he had been crying.
The man’s eyes followed him endlessly as he sat down in the dining room the next morning to have breakfast, until he was sure the man could count the very air that left his nostrils.
He looked up once more to meet the man’s gaze. He had expected the man to look away, but instead, the man rested his chin on his palm to get a better look.
“I usually don’t fancy strangers staring at me rudely” he said.
“Oh.” The man smiled. “Am sorry. My name is Ahmed.”
Dike shrugged. Ahmed was a handsome man. He would have made a perfect husband, and a nice father. Dike wondered if he was married, if he was ever considering marriage, if he had a boyfriend who was getting married.
“Who’s Ken?” Ahmed asked.
Dike looked up, slowly. Stunned.
“He sent a text, many texts actually. Men, he called like mad. Is he a bf or something?”.
Dike stood up “Take me home” he said quietly.
“What?”
“I need to go home.”
“Home? I was planning on taking you out today, on a date.”
Dike stopped to stare at him, for a while. And then he was moving towards him with the intention of slamming the ceramic jug against his bald-head, then he stopped. Ahmed was definitely not worth his anger.
“Take me home” he said again, and he could feel Ahmed tense at the coldness of his voice.
Ahmed kept looking at Dike while he drove, his gaze so fixed until Dike was sure Ahmed would run into a ditch. There was something in Ahmed’s eyes. Something pleading, a desire that seemed bland to Dike.
Ahmed would never know. He felt sorry for Ahmed. Perhaps, Ahmed too had stories to tell. This sexuality was ladened with so much stories; stories that were better left untold.
Ahmed eased the car to the corner and stopped the engine.
Dike looked at him.
“Did you break up with Ken?” His voice, though calm, startled Dike.
“I don’t want to talk about it” he said.
“I understand.” Ahmed took a long pause. “Please, let me be your man, let me make you happy.”
“I have a boyfriend” he said quickly, before he could stop himself.
It seemed stupid, sitting in this air-conditioned car with this handsome stranger, after a long, painful night session, telling this stranger that he had a boyfriend, a man who would soon become a past tense. An Ex. It assailed Dike, an ex. But it felt so true. He had a boyfriend.
“I thought you guys broke up” Ahmed said.
“Ahmed…please, drive.”
“Where do you live?” Ahmed went on.
Dike was silent.
“Let me have your number.”
“No.”
“Dike, please.”
“No.”
Ahmed paused, then brought out an envelope from his pocket. “It’s one fifty thousand. I know its small, but I did not have the opportunity to go to a bank.”
Dike withdrew. Inside of him, he felt something folding, like walls crumbling, and with every passing moment he felt smaller, and smaller until he felt almost invisible, his last shred of dignity yanked roughly away. So Ahmed though he had given in because of money? Ahmed had used him as a prostitute.
Dike turned to his side and opened the door, ignoring Ahmed’s open mouthed suprise. He wished he had a gun, or knife with him. He watched Ahmed drive away, and then began to trek home, his head almost bursting from the too many unanswered questions. Had he done this to get back at Ken? He wasn’t sure. He couldn’t tell, but one thing was clear. He wished Ken had been there to see them.
Usman, his gateman shrank at the sight of him. Perhaps he too could tell that something was about to be cracked forever. Dike mumbled his inaudible reply to Usman’s timid greetings, then he walked upstairs to sit at the veranda and look outside his gate. Only the quiet echo of noise in the silent street could help clear the wool in his brain.
He felt the throbbing between his legs before he sat. Then, he heard the laughter.
He stood by the pavement for a while, watching the young boy and girl that strolled past, hands firmly clasped, the girl laughing deliriously at something the boy was saying, her voice echoing in the quiet street. The ease with which they walked, and talked, and laughed and whispered to each other every now and then, with that easy need, that translucent gesture to show the world how much they loved. It filled him with a faint sorrow, a nostalgia for something he could not name. Theirs was a seemless desire, a facile kind of loving. A relationship the world approved of, society gave their full assent. It didn’t matter if the boy was after what every other boy was after. It did not matter if the thing going on between them was infatuation, or worse still, a mild obsession. What mattered, as far as society was concerned was that whatever ‘thing’ going on was between a man and a woman. The law of nature. Thinking about ‘the law of nature’ irritated him, and yet it jolted him awake to reality. It reminded him of Kamsiyonna, a close friend of Vivian, Ken’s sister. Dike had not failed to notice the suggestive gestures in her eyes whenever they met. The way she held his hands for too long whenever they shook hands, her fingers slowly caressing the back of his palm, the way she pressed her breast firmly to his chest whenever they hugged while thumping his back seductively, the way she let her eyes linger on him every now and then, even in the middle of a discussion.
In bed, she was restless, anxious, moaning and screaming loudly until Dike was sure her gateman outside had heard her voice, and wondered what was happening to madam. When he eased away, she propped herself up on her elbow, and studied his face for a while.
“You are so hot” she told him quietly. “Can we do this again?”
He stared back at her, slightly taken aback at the ease with which she voiced the words. He rolled over quietly and got up, reaching out for his underwear that lay, carelessly flung about the floor.
“Baby, did I say something wrong?” she asked.
He shook his head slowly. She had not said anything wrong. She had said what she was supposed to say, what the world permitted every girl to say to a man. And she had expected him to respond the normal way, the way he was supposed to respond, the way society expected him to respond. She would never know that he just wasn’t cut out to love like this. He felt faint. This was what he was supposed to want, and yet her moanings in his ears, and her firm grip on his shoulders while she glided on top of him did nothing to relieve him of the tense feeling, the aching unsettledness in his soul. It weakened him. If only he could feel what he was supposed to feel.
When he told Ken, Ken stared at him for a while, before he directed his gaze back to his laptop, not saying a word.
“I shouldn’t have done it” Dike said, and the words felt useless in his mouth. “I’m sorry.”
“You should have done it” Ken told him, slightly startling him. He reached out to squeeze his palms. “Dike, I understand.”
He looked at Ken. ‘I understand’. It sounded so true. Ken did understand. Ken could feel what he was feeling, and Ken…understood.
Marriage now became more visible, the possibility of it heightened, as did their expectation for an interruption in this smooth flow of understanding, and Dike would never know that only two months later, Ken would unintentionally drop a bomb in the heart of what held them together.
He saw the Venza, Ken’s car from outside before he saw Usman hurry to open the gate. While Ken parked his car and walked towards him with that slow easy step, he could not help but wonder what Ken saw in him. He was handsome, no doubt, but even his staunch handsomeness could not compare to Ken’s untamed beauty, his smooth, flawless face and skin and his lean, well toned, muscular, athletic build, and that smile that lit up his face.
Ken stopped in front of the stairs that led to the corridor and stared at Dike. “Dike, let’s go in.” His eyes were pleading.
Dike led the way and sat on the arm of the sofa opposite Ken.
“Dike..I don’t know where to start. I love you so much. This impending decision has been more devastating to me than it’ll ever be to you.”
“Who’s She?”
Ken was silent.
“Who’s She?”
He exhaled. “Her name is Kate. The daughter of the minister of education. Her father and mine were good friends while growing up. I don’t particularly love her, but…”
“I asked you her name, not her full history, or what you feel for her.”
Ken stared at him, taken aback by the swiftness of Dike’s tone, the painful malice in his voice. Dike’s hurt now irritated him. How would Dike know that his upcoming marriage was something that hurt him more than anyone else. Anger welled up in him. “You’re being selfish.” His voice was low.
Dike stopped, too suprised to even breath. The steelness of Ken’s tone coupled with that cold, somewhat menancing look now moved him towards something that looked like fear, not just the fear of the future, but fear of the present, fear of the next minute, fear of the next second.
Who knew what would hapen next? Ken was now someone he would never recognise.
For a long time he sat still, staring at Ken, this perfect man he would never have. This lover who made life seem so easy, so livable.
His suprise slowly melted and gave way to anger, a tense, subtle anger at first, and then it was blinding, a fierce suffocating rage.
It was just that spirit, the mutual understanding once shared that stopped him from reaching out to slam Ken’s face against the wall.
“I want you…to leave my house” Dike said, more suprised himself at the firmness of his voice, than the words themselves.
He fixed his gaze on the silver-framed photo that hung on the wall because he was sure there was something on Ken’s face he did not want to see. The photo was taken on his convocation day, the same day Ken had bought him his very first car. It assailed him, how easy it would be for everything they had held these years to be laid out on the bare soil, how his life would be left, a puzzle, with too many lost pieces, and the little piece left would never fit.
He heard the rasped breathing, then the slow footsteps, then the quiet twisting of the door knob, and finally, the soft bang of the door. The bang came with a finality, a throbbing finality.
He reached out to call Kamsiyonna.
Bayo’s voice was unusually low on the phone when he called to say he could no longer make it.
“I expected this” Dike said.
“Come on man. Don’t make it sound like that. You know I would have loved to come, but my mum called to say…”
“Save me the long story” Dike said. He felt tired, an emotional fatigue. He wished he didn’t have to call Bayo, that he didn’t have to lean on Bayo for support. He wished he could simply love Ken without needing him. “Bayo..I’m so tired. Right now, your help is what I need.”
Bayo chuckled, “I wonder what else you want to hear from me.” He increased his voice, slightly. “Quit being a homosexual! It’s so disgusting, and…”
“Bayo…don’t start.” Dike felt faint. He wanted to go on, to explain, to make Bayo see that what he felt for Ken wasn’t just love.
It was deeper than love, stranger than love. How would Bayo know that his life would never be stable without that feeling only Ken understood? But he knew Bayo was right, in a human sense. He had to change, to love the ‘right’ way. He didn’t know how to love the right way, but he was willing to learn, to try if only that would clear his brain of this wool that stuffed his memory. If only it would appease society.
Kamsiyonna called again. It was her fourth time now. He would pick up when he was ready, and he would answer her, and he would invite her over, and he would undress her, and he would make love to her. Then, the law of nature would be appeased. And yet, he knew that his regular thrusting would never fill that aching emptiness in his soul, the slight unsettledness of his heart. His body would react to hers, but his soul never would. It was only Ken who could activate his spirit, that seemless, weightless desire.
The knock that came was slow, and even before he opened, he knew it was Ken. It was so unlike Ken, to knock in that slow manner, but he knew it was Ken, it had to be Ken.
And there Ken stood, looking unchanged, his bulging eyeballs red from crying. There he stood, both hands in his pockets, staring at Dike, and Dike would always remember this moment, staring at Ken that Thursday afternoon.
“Should I come in?” Ken asked.
He noticed the crack in Ken’s voice. Something that sounded like a whimper, and he could tell from the heaving of Ken’s chest that Ken also shared the fear of the impending disruption of this sweet flow of love. And yet, he said. “No. Say whatever you want to say here.” It was foolish, feeling this kind of childlike sympathy for Ken, for the both of them. What would Ken say once they were inside? Nothing, of course. Except to moan about what was going to be, to cry over, and long for what should have been.
“Who was that man that took you home yesterday?”
“None of your business.”
“Dike, tell me.”
He looked at Ken “I don’t know him.”
“He had sex with you.” Ken’s voice was calm.
It sounded more like a statement than a question, but Dike answered anyway. “Yes.” He liked the pained look on Ken’s face.
“Dike. It’s not just my forthcoming marriage that is responsible for this change of attitude. Something else is behind it. Dike, What happened yesterday?”
He stared at Ken, mildly suprised and mildly impressed. So Ken had noticed? There was so much he wanted to explain, and he knew he wouldn’t do that standing here. He wanted to say. ‘What happened yesterday was that I realised, all this while I had been building castles in the air, and, of course an enternal relationship with you was just impossible. It was so stupid of me to have ever thought about it in the first place. What happened yesterday was, I was sexed by a stranger, and for the very first time in my life, I couldn’t even touch my body. What happened today was, I saw a boy and a girl stroll pass my gate, with so much ease and grace, and I knew I was cut out to be like that’.
All that would not be said, standing here. So, he said:
“Ken, come in.”
Ibeh Leonard Ebuka
Ibeh Leonard Chukwuebuka was born in Nigeria in 2000. He started writting at the age of eight, and has since then written sevral shortstories and plays including ‘The Power of a Rain in January‘, published by Tuck Magazine, and ‘Price’ which won the JohnVic Interschool Shortstory competition. He cites Buchi Emetcheta and Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie as his models. According to him, “‘Second Class Citizen’ and ‘Purple Hibiscus’ by two remarkable African women I respect so much irked something inside of me, made me see the need to pen down my thoughts”. Ibeh Leonard Chukwuebuka has been described as ‘”a writer to watch out for.”
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Fiction: What Happened Yesterday
TUCK
TUCK - ...magazine