His Only Wife

by Peace Adzo Medie

  “He’s not too busy; I see him.”

  “Well, that’s good. So there’s nothing else stealing his attention?” Vimbai asked.

  “No, not really.”

  “Really, so you have him all to yourself?”

  “Yes,” I said, and quickly stood up. These women would not be happy until they squeezed some information about the Liberian woman out of me. I had to get away from them.

  “What’s the matter?” Vimbai asked. She sat up in the chaise, lifted the sunglasses off her nose and squinted up at me.

  “Nothing. I need to make a call, my phone is in the room,” I said, lying.

  “Okay. We’ll be here for about another hour and then go for a dip in the pool, so join us when you’re done,” Emefa said.

  I nodded and then dashed in the direction of our chalet. But when they were out of sight, I made a right turn to the restaurant. I had noticed ice cream on the menu when Eli and I had lunch and I wanted to try it. I bought two scoops of chocolate ice cream and climbed to a deck on top of the restaurant, which overlooked the Volta River. It had comfortable chairs and low tables and green and yellow hedges were planted to form a cubicle around each set of chairs. There was no way Emefa or Vimbai would spot me if they decided to come to the restaurant. I settled into one of the chairs and pulled out the spy novel in my calico bag that I had sewn with some leftover fabric the week before.

  About thirty minutes later, long after I had finished the ice cream, I heard Eli’s voice. For a moment, I thought he was talking to me, but then realized he was in the cubicle next to mine with Ade and Chris. I was so engrossed in the novel that I hadn’t noticed when they came. They were having an animated exchange about bonds issued by the Bank of Ghana so I decided to wait until they were done to announce myself. Ade was still recounting a conversation with the bank governor when Chris interrupted with news about the sale of one of the local airlines, which had just popped up on his phone.

  “I flew it two weeks ago to Tamale,” Eli said.

  “Really. How was the service?” Chris asked him.

  “Alright. But the equipment was old. I don’t know who they’re going to get to buy such old equipment,” Eli said.

  “Did you go with the wife?” Chris asked.

  “Which of them?” Ade asked, and then burst into laughter. Eli and Chris did not join in the laughter.

  “So how are you handling this thing with Afi and Muna?” Chris asked him.

  I closed the book and put it on the table, alongside my bag.

  Eli sighed heavily. “It’s not easy, my brother.”

  “Your mother is still giving you a hard time?” Chris asked.

  “Will she ever stop?” Eli said. “But now it’s about more than what my mother wants. You know?”

  “So now you want to be with her, with Afi?” Ade asked him.

  “Why else would I bring her here?” Eli said, his voice laced with irritation.

  “And Muna?” Ade continued, undeterred.

  Eli sighed again but said nothing.

  “You have to choose one of them just for your own peace of mind. I saw what my father went through trying to maintain two homes and keep two women happy. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone,” Chris said.

  “That’s your father. He and Eli are not the same person; you can’t compare them. My brother, you don’t have to choose; man wasn’t made to be with one woman. You’re a lion, you should have an entire pride!” Ade said.

  “My friend, just stop with that,” Chris snapped at him.

  “I will sort it out,” Eli said, as if to bring an end to the back and forth and then he redirected the conversation back to the sale of the airline.

  I remained frozen in my seat. There was no way I could reveal myself after this. I didn’t even open my novel again, afraid that flipping a page would alert them to my presence. When a waiter came twice to ask if I wanted anything, I frowned and shook my head, eliciting a look of annoyance from him. I breathed a huge sigh of relief when they left about an hour later.

  Back in our chalet that evening, I wondered how to broach the subject with Eli. Should I confront him on what I’d overhead? What if he accused me of eavesdropping?

  “I had a good time with Emefa and Vimbai,” I said. We were in bed.

  “Good, they’re nice. But they were looking for you in the afternoon to join them in the pool.”

  “Really? I decided to do some reading.”

  “Okay. Good book?”

  “Yes. You know, they were asking so many questions, about us . . . about our situation.”

  “They are harmless,” he said, nibbling on my earlobe, a hand caressing my belly.

  “Are they her friends?” I asked him.

  He froze.

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  “But it does . . .”

  “Am I not here with you?” he asked before getting up to stand beside the bed. This was the first time that I had heard him raise his voice, the first time I had seen him narrow his eyes and harden his face.

  “Eli . . .” I began but he stalked off to the sitting area, which was separated from the bedroom by a porcelain tub. I followed him there, naked. He was standing and pouring brandy from the minibar into a glass.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  He glanced at me and then looked away without saying anything. His face was so tight that I imagined it would feel like a wooden mask if I touched it.

  “Eli, I’m sorry,” I said, my voice pleading, not wanting to lose everything I had gained in the past few weeks. What would I tell my mother? What would I tell his mother? But most importantly, how could I go back to being separated from him? I stood on my toes and kissed his stiff neck, his jawline, and then his lips. I could taste the bitterness of the drink. He didn’t kiss me back but he didn’t push me away either. I caressed his face with one hand while the other snuck beneath his boxers. He inhaled sharply and then his lips softened against mine. I pulled away from him and sank to my knees. When I looked into his eyes again, he was no longer angry.

  Eight

  If I had had any doubts before, Eli’s behavior that night made it clear that any mention of the Liberian woman was out of bounds. I was to pretend that she did not exist. Every once in a while he let something slip about Ivy: what the girl liked to eat, how she stayed up crying through the night, how she clung to him in bed. But those slips were followed by heavy silences tinged with regret; the countenance of a man who had disappointed himself. The uncertainty circled like a mosquito that is buzzing in a dark room, always threatening to land so that its victim can never know peace. I told Mawusi about what happened and she too was bothered that Eli was still pretending while he was with me that the woman did not exist while acknowledging to his friends that she was still in the picture. I was also troubled that I was yet to enter his house, that at the end of each week he took the traveling bag away, filled with dirty clothes, and returned in the evening with a fresh set of clothing.

  “What’s happening?” I asked my mother, hoping that she would have heard something from the Ganyos.

  She didn’t have an answer. “Just focus on taking good care of him. That is what will get you into his house. Do your best to make him happy and everything will be fine.”

  I sighed; I was already doing everything I could. I was cooking every one of his favorite dishes, even when it meant that I had to leave school before closing time. I timed my cooking perfectly so that the food was warm and the table set as he walked into the flat. I washed, starched, and ironed his clothes whenever he would allow me to, and after he had taken his evening bath and was poring over the documents he usually brought home from work or was typing away on his laptop, I tried to make myself useful. I hovered nearby, ready to respond to his every wish.

  “I’m fine,” he would usually say without lifting his eyes from his work, “don’t worry yourself, get some rest.”

  But how could I rest? Resting would cost me my marriage, my husband. There could be
no rest. I did my best to stay up with him, watching TV or reading novels while he worked, then rising to go to bed with him as soon as he put away his documents and laptop. The bedroom part was still a bit of a challenge. I didn’t want to be loud and enthusiastic but he seemed to like it, to enjoy my pleasure, to find nothing wrong with it. So I reluctantly allowed myself to show how I felt, all the while hoping that it would not come back to haunt me.

  But when it came to the woman, I could not show how I felt. I asked Richard one day as we stood in the hallway waiting for the lift, what was going on between his brother and the woman. He had come by to drop off some building plans and I had followed him outside under the pretext of seeing him off.

  “Nothing, that woman is not even in Ghana,” he told me. He was wearing another shirt so tight that I wondered how the sleeves had not yet cut off his blood circulation.

  “But when will I move into his house, when will I leave here?”

  “Ah, but isn’t this also his house?” he asked with a forced laugh.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Afi, these things take time. What’s the hurry? Besides, are you not happy here?”

  What kind of a question was that? I was a married woman who was not being allowed into her marital home.

  “But Richard,” I began, but the lift doors opened and he hurried away.

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” he said.

  I sighed heavily as the doors closed and tears began to well up in my eyes. I turned away from the lift to enter my flat and noticed Evelyn’s open door. She was standing right inside it, this time wearing a mini-dress that could pass for a negligee.

  “Have you been spying on me this whole time?” I snapped at her.

  “Spying? Please O, my door was open before you even came outside.”

  “And you didn’t see the need to close it?”

  She laughed. “Afi, I’m not fighting with you so please don’t take your frustration out on me.”

  I sucked my teeth and turned away from her, not wanting to anger myself even more.

  “Muna is gone on vacation, that’s why he’s here. She’s coming back soon,” Evelyn said. I turned; the smile had disappeared from her face. Now she just looked like a woman who was forced to deliver sad news.

  “Vacation?” I said, my voice a whisper.

  “Yes, and she’s coming back soon,” Evelyn said. “They don’t want to tell you. They don’t want to admit that they haven’t been able to get him to leave her. This thing that he’s doing here, I don’t know if he’s also on vacation or what, but don’t be fooled into thinking that he’s left Muna. You just tell him that you want to move into his house and hear what he will tell you.”

  I inhaled deeply and held my breath to stop myself from bursting into tears. I knew immediately that everything she was saying was true, he had confirmed it in the conversation I overheard at Kpong. I felt so humiliated standing in front of Evelyn, so insignificant, the small town girl who had been brought to the big city but had failed in playing the game like the city girls, like Evelyn who had Richard but didn’t seem to care if she only had a part of him or even if she lost him.

  “It’s okay,” she said, stepping outside. I bowed my head to hide my tears and she put a hand on my shoulder. I flinched and she took the hand away.

  “Why don’t you come inside?” she said.

  I shook my head. “Eli is inside,” I said. Why was I even bothering to explain anything to her?

  “So? My friend, come inside,” she urged.

  I gave up and followed her, this woman who I mistrusted but felt like I needed.

  In her flat, we sat on the couch. She muted the volume on the football game she had been watching.

  “You’ll be fine,” she said.

  “How?” I asked. I could not think of how I could do more to make him see that I was all he needed, that the Liberian woman was not worthy of him.

  Her gaze wandered to a spot behind me as she tried to come up with an answer.

  “Well, I think you have to talk to him. You know, just be direct, straightforward.”

  “He got angry when I tried.”

  “Then try again; you have the right to know. Besides, marriage is not always full of laughter, sometimes it is anger and tears. Don’t back down.”

  I looked at her through my tears. It was so easy for her to say this, to say that I should knowingly provoke my husband. She had nothing to lose. Richard was just a boyfriend, one who she would have no problem replacing. But me, where was I going to find another man like Elikem Ganyo to marry?

  “Afi, you can’t be afraid of your husband. If you can’t share your fears with him then who can you share them with? You are his wife! Ask him to tell you what is happening with him and the woman. Ask him.”

  I stood up after she said this. “He’s waiting for me,” I said even though I knew Eli would still be working and would not even realize that I was not in the flat.

  Her lips moved as if to speak, but she said nothing, just shook her head sadly.

  I left, a mixture of emotions roiling inside me: frustration, betrayal, anger, disappointment.

  Eli eventually noticed my quietness.

  “What’s wrong,” he asked me one evening as we snacked on a bowl of cashew nuts.

  “Nothing,” I told him.

  “Are you sure? You seem down,” he said, reaching for me.

  “It’s nothing, I’m just tired from work.”

  “Then let me get you someone to help with the housework.”

  “No, that’s not necessary. It’s only because we are very busy at school this week. Sarah has a fashion show coming up and we are all working overtime. But I cooked for the week over the weekend so we are fine.” It was true that Sarah had a show coming up in Dakar and we had been fitting the models for most of the week, but of course that wasn’t the reason for my quietness. I could tell from his furrowed brows that Eli didn’t entirely believe me so I faked a yawn and said goodnight before he could ask any more questions. His hand lingered on mine, reluctant to let me go. That was the first time that I went to bed without him.

  On Thursday of that week, I returned from work to find Tɔgã Pious waiting for me in the lobby, a small Ghana Must Go bag at his feet.

  “Tɔgã?” I said, my surprise preventing me from greeting him.

  “Afi, are you well?” he asked, as though there was nothing unusual about him being here unannounced. Had something happened to my mother? I hadn’t spoken to her since the day before.

  “How is home?” I asked, expecting bad news.

  “Home is well, everybody is well, they all send their greetings,” he said cheerfully.

  “My mother?”

  “Afinɔ is fine. I saw her in front of the post office this morning. She’s fine.”

  “Okay, thank God. Woezor.”

  “Yoo.”

  We remained staring at each other after this, he with a wide smile.

  “So where is your house?” he asked.

  “It’s upstairs,” I said and picked up his jute bag. It didn’t weigh much, thank God. I hoped it meant that his would be a very short visit.

  “Pious Koku Tekple, look at where you are,” he said under his breath as the doors of the lift opened. Inside, he nodded and smiled at his reflection in the mirrored walls. While my mother’s awe of King’s Court had pleased me, his only irritated me. In my flat, he ran his hands over every surface, even the white walls, as though to confirm what he was seeing. He followed me into the kitchen and peered over my shoulder as I fetched a bottle of water out of the fridge for him. All of this was accompanied by a running commentary.

  “This is not a fridge, it is a provisions’ store! Everything is shiny, shiny. This chair is so soft that my whole body is entering inside. This TV is more than a cinema.”

  Bush man!

  When we were seated in the sitting room, I welcomed him again.

  “Thank you, my daughter.”

  “I hope
all is well,” I said, still wanting to know what had brought him here.

  “Everyone is well, it is nothing bad. I only wanted to come and see where you are, to spend some time with you.”

  “How did find your way here?”

  “But you told me over the phone where you live. Have you forgotten? Besides, am I not your father? How will I not know where you, my daughter, live?”

  I frowned. I had no memory of telling my uncle where I lived. But that didn’t matter, he was in my house and Eli would soon be coming home. Why did he have to visit now, when I was already so stressed out? I offered him food, and while he ate, I took his bag into the guestroom and made up the bed. I ran to the door as soon as I heard Eli’s key turn in the lock and told him my uncle was visiting us, and I was happy to have him, but that I hadn’t known he was coming. I wanted him to know that Tɔgã Pious had surprised me, but at the same time, I didn’t want my uncle to look bad in front of my husband. It was one thing for my mother and me to mock him; it was another for people outside the family to do it. But Eli didn’t seem to mind. He chatted with an obsequious Tɔgã Pious when the old man came out of the bathroom, shirtless, as though he was in his own house. But after dinner, Eli retired to the bedroom while Tɔgã Pious clicked through all the TV channels.

  “What do you want to watch?” I asked him, annoyed. I wanted to join Eli in the bedroom but didn’t want to leave my uncle alone outside. I had to be a good host, and I feared that the nosey old man would search through every corner of the flat as soon as I turned my back. I could already imagine the stories he was going to tell when he returned home. I wouldn’t be surprised if another uncle showed up next week.

  “I want to watch everything,” he said, laughing and placing his ashy feet on the center table. He wouldn’t have dared to do this in Eli’s presence. At that moment I wished that my husband would suddenly open the bedroom door and surprise the old man. Imagining his frantic reaction brought a smile to my face.

  “Look at how happy you are, I should have come a long time ago,” he said.

  My smile faded. He didn’t seem to mind.