Snippets of tales of the dark begin. The sky is all dark. Just a few white clouds. The rest are sad clouds which have been going through a lot lately. You know, the grey kind which can break down any time. All you have to say is ‘huff’ and voila, downpour.
The moon is feeling a little shy. The stars checked out too. Dogs bark from afar. Blackie, the family dog picks the noise and begins to bark too. As soon as Blackie stops barking, the neighbor’s dog takes over. Pictures of tales of the dark start to appear.
I wonder what they are saying. Maybe their general just passed a memo that says there’s going to be an equinox and so they need to look for more water reserves otherwise they will be panting till they can’t pant no more. (phew…. That felt nice, I have always wanted to use the word *pant*in that context, just as it is). A sad montage, if you will.
Somehow, my eyes have done the thing they do to get used to the amount of light intensity so my vision is clear. Tales of the dark? The trees look like deformed creatures. I am seated at the cement slab just outside the house where the duster is normally put after the house has been mopped.
And that duster stays there till it’s all dry. It serves the purpose of dusting legs when one wants to go in and is a standby tool used if anything in the house spills. Or is it just my home? There’s talking in the neighbor’s house. They are actually arguing. He is drunk. It’s hard to argue with a drunkard. It’s even harder to argue when they actually want to argue with you. He clearly went to drink today so as to come back and have this talk.
Apparently, a man never says it when he does not have courage to do something. He goes to have a glass or two of courage. Then he comes back staggering because the courage is overflowing and its making him lose balance as he walks.
The Truth About TALES OF THE DARK Is About To Be Revealed.
She does not want to argue. She is doing the dishes. I know that because he keeps asking her to stop doing the dishes and listen to him. Perhaps I should go in because it is wrong to eavesdrop, but I probably won’t. I suddenly do not have the energy to get up and go in. They are now shouting louder. She tried the silent treatment but it did not work because his words aggravate her.
They are like corrosive acid. Hot corrosive acid. Now add pepper on the hot corrosive acid and pour it on a wound.The horrifying parts of tales of the dark. That’s what his words feel like. She is arguing back. She is talking about how she does everything around yet all he does is go out with his good for nothing friends.
Friends who ask you questions like,
“How can a lady shout at you? How dare she ask you where you came from? Is it not you who gave up your sweat, tears and blood to look for those cows you drove to her home?”
All this time, he has been silent. I don’t know what he is doing but I know for sure that him being quiet is not a good thing.
Next thing I hear is a slap. She yelps. Their infant starts crying. Stools and tables are moved as he threatens to go get his whip. He might actually be going to get the whip. Why is she not running away? Am I the only one who is listening to all this? Should I go in and intercede for her? What will I say or do? ….
“Hey man, I said stop beating her up! I know she’s your wife but people stopped beating women since people like Chimamanda Adichie rose up.’’
He will then ask, “Chichime…hic…nda, who now? hic!”
To which I’ll answer, “It’s not chime…it is chima… chima… chima! Chi..ma..ma..nda…! ma….ma!”
He will then make up his mind to whip me along with his wife.
‘’Hey, we are all friends here. Don’t do anything stupid,’’ I’ll say while holding my breath.
He will charge furiously with all his might and body towards me, or the wife. Who knows who or what makes him madder? A wife who stands at ease and not alert when he is talking, or a girl who does not understand how boundaries work. It could be anyone really, but most probably it’s the one who confuses him with names like Chimamanda and causes him to make a fool of himself when he tries to pronounce them.
I will close my eyes and then the whip cracks. My brain will then summon all my nerve endings to find out if they are in pain but they will say, “negative, sir”. Maybe it is his wife after all that he was mad at. It’s always been her. Opening my eyes though, she does not look like someone who just got whipped. Okay, she doesn’t look like she’s straight outta vacation in the Bahamas or anything. I mean, she doesn’t look like she’s in pain.
Pain has this kind of creased look. It also has a smell. A horrifying stench. It has no color though. (But maybe if it would have one, it would have been pink. Yikes, pink!) Joke’s on him, he missed his target and hit a container. Poor container.
I’m still at the slab. I will not go into that house on a rescue mission because I fear for the container. No, I’m not a coward. (I heard that, dark guy in the corner.) Shortly after, there’s music in the house.
Its soul and its drowning everything: the noise, the painful moans, the wails of the baby, the chairs dancing to the rhythm of the whip.
I hope they will drown her pain too. I hope the music soothes her heart and she does not stop believing that things will get better. Maybe after whipping her thrice, he’ll sober up and realize how grievous the mistake he’s doing is. Maybe he’ll get down on his knees and asks for forgiveness.
Then request for the food he had been offered earlier but rejected because he had more important issues to address. Of what importance is a rumbling stomach? Whether you give it food or not, it will still ask for more and better.
ALSO READ: GONE ARE THE DAYS
Its 0100hrs. Only people who are awake are babies who slept during the day and are on a mission to bring mayhem upon the lives of their parents. And a wife who is giving his man the silent treatment, hoping that he will wake up and ask her, “Why are you mad at me?”
My phone beeps, it’s the love of my life. His name is Safaricom. He is reminding me of the special offers tailored just for me. I know I am not the only one he reminds but who cares? I am happy. We are all happy. The music is still playing. My eyelids are getting heavy. I need to be in bed when my system shuts down.
A PERSONAL MOMENT WITH YOU.
Hey guys, it would not be fair for me not to thank you for the support and love you showed when the last article I wrote went up. I can never thank you enough for your kindness.
Here are some recent comments and shutout. Feel tagged.
I’m so grateful for that 😁. Let’s keep the blood banks full.
Boflo still inspires the child in me. It definitely is time!
Thank you Mercy. I’m tagging you along for the next blood drive.
Thanks a lot man. I’m sorry about the oversight on photo credits.
I have not donated blood before but you’ve changed my mind😊
I would also love to announce the winning name of this wordy corner. Drum rolls…. rain drops….. drum rolls again! And, the name to this space will be, THE WORDY CORNER. (Did you notice it when I called it that in this very paragraph?Tales of the dark?)
The others were all really good names too. I even thought I should use all of them at once.
But then you would get tired of reading the title and by the time you’d get to the piece itself, you would probably be dozing off. And we have Mozart and Beethoven for that.
Blessed week ahead!