To other people, Cynthia always seems strong and quite in control of her life. But to Edmond, a part of her snapped, bringing out all her retained fears for adequate medical attention—and Edmond is a medical doctor, after all!
Edmond is now far ahead of her in thoughts, and he can see through her eyes that she is still somewhat confused and not quite so certain of herself when it comes to matters of the heart. All she seems to know is just that she wants to be loved genuinely for who she really is. She is sure she knows that true love will be faithful and endless.
But her remaining resistance is subsequently broken completely over time. As time goes by, many months later, Edmond persists patiently in their friendship, allowing her time to fully get to know him. When she eventually does, she cannot help but be madly in love with him, and she thanks him every day for coming into her life.
Edmond, for his own part, is happy to have finally been rewarded, and he thanks the heavens for making their paths cross.
Nine months later, she still appreciates him a lot and thanks him in more actions than words, especially for staying so true to his words. She seems eternally grateful.
On her twenty-ninth birthday, she reflects while lying on her bed and hoping to catch some rest before 7:00 p.m. It’s a Saturday night in summer. Edmond will be coming to take her out for dinner, to the surprise birthday place he promised.
He always calls her Cynthy. Nobody else has ever called her that except Okechukwu, and she adores the coincidence of it.
“There must be something to Edmond that I am yet to know more about!” she says to herself, rolling from one side to another on her bed, struggling between catching a nap and concentrating on her wandering thoughts. She has never been happier in her life than now.
It seems Edmond has brought out the real woman in her, the best person she could be. These days she largely feels incomplete and lonely whenever they are apart. She never knew before now that she could need and truly love someone this way. She shudders slightly while marveling at herself, and suddenly she props her face up in her palms, still stretched on the bed. She seems to have finally decided to give her thoughts their reins; perhaps she will catch the nap much later. There is still some time left before Edmond comes by to take her. Settling comfortably into her creative revelries, she dwells in her happy moment and in the flashing glimpses of her beautiful future.
At a point, she wonders aloud to herself, “Hey Cynthy, is this you?” All with a smile of contentment. “You are so in love with Edmond now,” she teases herself with that smug feeling.
The sound of his name alone can make her tingle, and it gladdens her heart to know it. Edmond’s truly handsome features have a breathtaking effect on her. At last, she no longer avoids his smashing eyes, and she does not deny their effects on her anymore; neither does she caution herself about expressing her loving admiration of him. He has a very sweet character, which is pleasant to the satisfaction of her dear soul.
“Oh my Ed!” she coos, hugging her pillows close to her body.
God! Is she crazy or what?
She has become a hopeless romantic.
Eighteen
The lovebirds are wed in a glamorous ceremony attended by families and friends. Edmond’s parents, Professor and Mrs. Godwin Ezeh, are here, as well as his two sisters, younger brother, and other relatives. Cynthia’s family is here too—Paul and Helen, as well as her siblings, who are grown now.
Friends and everybody else that matters seem to be present. People look their best because it is a society wedding!
Christy is here too!
Needless to say, with the help of Father Phoebus, Christy found Cynthia.
Phoebus had bought a daily last two weeks, and Cynthia’s wedding was in the headlines. Christy had been cleaning his rooms that morning, but when she was done, she needed to also clear the dining table that was used for breakfast. It was there that she saw it: the picture of her Cynthia in large, clear print on one of the newspapers.
It is not real, is it? Christy couldn’t believe it. She read through the details like a speedboat and loudly let out a triumphant shout of joy.
Father Phoebus had come out of his office to find out what the shout was about, only to meet the elated woman.
The rest is history. Father Phoebus reunited Christy with her beloved Cynthia, and what a happy reunion it was.
In times like this, people tend to remember how and from where they started, and it helps to make them feel great about their accomplishments. Spirits are high at the wedding, and they are all excited, mostly with happiness and goodwill.
It is the sudden surfacing of Mama Ngozi at her wedding that steals Cynthia’s concentration away from the happy excitement. Cynthia has hoped to never see her again, because the last time they met, they did not part as friends. That was a little over twelve years ago, after the death of Okechukwu.
When Dr. Paul takes her home, it is agreed that she will be taking him to Mama Ngozi to enable him to clear out some doubts and be personally sure of Cynthia’s story. Dr. Paul really wants to meet this woman who meted out such cruelty on the young ones and has apparently killed a boy.
They are at her house at about 7:00 p.m. on a Saturday. They planned days ago to visit at this time so they can also meet Mama Ngozi’s husband at home, hopefully. They do meet him at home when they arrive.
Now, after some preliminary introductions, they are going to have a real long conversation. Without much ado, Paul goes straight to state his mission officially.
Mr. Ben Onyeazor is totally surprised to be receiving such a “misplaced” visit. He is horrified to eventually understand what actually happened, which is very different from what his wife told him some days ago. He has believed before now, as told by his wife, that the children left by themselves. And he is not particularly surprised at the story his wife told; neither did he see anything strange in it to raise an eyebrow, going by his family’s history of absconding house help.
But now, such a big surprise it is to him, to realize there is more to the story. He doesn’t known that something as even a squabble occurred in his house the fateful day, let alone the accident—and this is six days after the purported absconding, or he must now say accident, as it is now being told to him.
“So the boy is dead now?” he asks, petrified.
“Yes. He died three days ago, and his body right now is at Namaste Minor Mortuary,” says Dr. Paul.
“Gosh! I can’t believe this,” Mr. Ben exclaims in utter disbelief and shock.
“And the girl here is being wrecked by the death of her younger brother. She is just a teenage girl,” Dr. Paul continues.
Dr. Paul and Cynthia are sitting away from Mama Ngozi and her husband. The discussion is in the main living room upstairs. It is a tastefully finessed room with state-of-the-art furnishings, beautiful and luxurious. “And from every indication, the boy suffered a severe concussion from the impact of your marbled kitchen wall. He hit his head there the morning of the accident.” Paul stops hesitantly and then adds, “He was pushed by your wife, according to the story I got from Cynthia.”
“That’s not true! Don’t tell me you believe the girl’s story, Dr. Paul!” Mama Ngozi defends herself.
But Paul overlooks her words for the moment and rather seizes this opportunity to enunciate, in detail, the physiological intricacies of Okechukwu’s head injury that led to his death.
Dr. Paul’s details are not pleasing to Mama Ngozi and husband, and most of his medical jargon is over their head. But being a deliberate man, Paul takes careful time to duly make it clearer for their understanding. Being sure they now understand him, Dr. Paul goes further, describing the observations they made of Okechukwu’s post-mortem at the hospital, even to their greater horror.
“You know, whenever somebody is about to die, studies have shown that there is always
a last-minute struggle with death. Those who conquer death and finally live are those who are strong in spirit and in body. The boy’s spirit may have been strong, but his body could not have been, because after the autopsy on him, it was found that he had minimal and insufficient body nutrients, and he could not have had the stamina to fight death. In other words, the boy was critically undernourished.”
“What are you insinuating, Dr. Paul?” interjects Mama Ngozi.
“What I’m saying, Mrs. Onyeazor, is that the impact of the collision was bad enough, but his faint concussion, excessive bleeding, and unusual fast-clotting blood were all worsened by his heavy malnourishment; hence his ability to have survived it was reduced.” Paul maintained his experienced calm demeanor all the while.
“That is sad, but how is that my problem? I give them food. Ask her there; she may explain to you more,” says Mama Ngozi pensively, drawing one open arm toward Cynthia’s direction. “And you don’t expect me to tolerate disobedience and insubordination from the ones I feed and take care of in my own house, do you?” She finishes arrogantly, trying to make her points clear to Dr. Paul—and at the same time hoping to avert whatever explanations he is obviously taking his time to make. She is not interested in all that and wishes he would better spare her those.
Dr. Paul continues with his scolding.
“Well, Madam, you know the law and our society do not allow people taking another’s life, directly or indirectly, be it accidental or intentional. And the court of law does not support mistreatment of children, which is child abuse. And naturally, these children do not deserve maltreatment. Children are but the younger versions of us, the grownups; they will also grow up someday.”
He is going to speak further, but Mama Ngozi now interrupts him again.
“Excuse me, Dr. Paul, I hope you are not here to educate me on how to raise my children, because I consider it an insult! With due respect, man, you may take your insults elsewhere.”
“Okay, Madam, let us not digress. That isn’t exactly what brought me to your house,” Paul says, trying not to lose his focus.
“Who cares? Just be careful while you are still sitting on my sofa,” she adds with a tone of warning.
Though she is getting on his nerves, Dr. Paul is trying as much as he can to be calm. “Well, Madam, I am a medical doctor by profession, not a declared human rights activist. But that does not mean that I should just sit back and watch, or support, injustice by not responding when it is meted on the defenseless, like orphans and the very young Cynthia.” Directing his speech to Mr. Ben this time, he continues. “Sorry to trouble you, Mr. Ben, as it seems you don’t have anything to say to all this. But I am actually going to take up this case for her in court. I am merely here on a fact-finding mission, to confirm what she already told me.”
“Wait, wait, wait… I’ve not even heard from the girl!” says Mr. Ben in a desperate bid not to allow the matter to escalate to a court case. He has been withdrawn all the time and listening.
“And you could be guilty of child negligence,” continues Dr. Paul, directing his speech to Ben again. “Anyways, I could be wrong, Mr. Ben, but this could be litigated, especially if you believe it is wrong of me to intervene, merely being a good citizen by trying to live by the human rights laws of our republic! You can also tell me if it’s wrong of you to be fully responsible in care and provision to the young ones taking shelter in your home!” He pauses briefly to weigh the reaction, and then he continues. “Mr. Ben, supporting and abating the serious crime of child abuse in your own house, by not minding and intervening in what your wife does with the children in her care, is surely more than a felony. The children are left in your care, Mr. Ben!” Paul says plaintively at Mr. Ben, emoting emphatically on child abuse and trying to place the responsibility on Mr. Ben as well. In his passion for justice and fairness, he has forgotten to note that his speeches have been a monologue, not the earlier-intended dialogue. He is apparently forgetting to allow them space for response.
Papa Ngozi and his wife are simply mute, but Paul goes on and on with his passionate lines. “Pardon me, but how would you explain to the court that playing dormant and being silent or impassive to what happens in your own house is not conspiracy with your wife to mistreat the kids? Of course you have your own biological kids, but I am sure the drastic difference in their health and well-being, compared to those of Cynthia and Okechukwu, is enough evidence. Plus there’s her testimony and the medical results on the dead boy”
All the while, Ben has been apprehensive. He is definitely not happy about the daunting explanations, especially the twist it is all taking now. Neither is he happy about Paul’s domineering arguments and stance. Who is he talking to like that? And who the hell is he to dare talk to me that way? Papa Ngozi says to himself. Given a different circumstance, he would have asked them all out loud, but he lets the better part of him take it cool.
While Paul has been speaking, Buike, Mama Ngozi’s second son, who is eight years old at the time, has sauntered into the living room having just woken from a nap. He has been taught to welcome visitors to their house, and he greets Dr. Paul when he enters the living room. Paul takes note of the boy’s healthy robustness.
Mr. Ben has never been so challenged in his life before. He thinks he has it all—a gorgeous wife, children, a state-of-the-art apartment, a good job, and good money. But the clarification of Dr. Paul unsettles him into a panic now. His apprehension is more toward himself and his wife than toward Dr. Paul, who is obviously challenging him—and in his own house! It’s definitely more than his manly ego can take, except because of the critical circumstance. Sadly and for his own better standing anyways, any defense or counter-opinion Ben may have wanted to present is quickly removed from his mind right away as the reality suddenly dawns on him. He is afraid that if Dr. Paul will take the case to any court, then he may soon be losing all he has. He resorts to personal appeal instead, but not to Dr. Paul.
“Young girl, I understand how you feel about the death of your brother,” he says gently to Cynthia.
“No, you don’t. You don’t know that he is the only person I have in this world. But he is dead now!” replies Cynthia. She has been watching keenly the reactions of Mama Ngozi. Now, she is beginning to bubble up with slow sobs.
Ben takes a moment to observe her closely, as if he is just seeing the girl for the first time after she has lived with them for a year. In all honesty, this is actually the first time he has ever taken a real good look at Cynthia. What an irony! But with it, he can now see what Dr. Paul means by “the girl is being wrecked.” Then he says in response to her first remark, “I know. I truly know how you feel, and I am sorry about his death. Would you please forgive me and my wife?”
His words to Cynthia happen to be very unsettling to his wife, who does not want to accept any blame.
Mama Ngozi is restless now. She is sitting by her husband and tapping her hands and foot vigorously—foot to the rayon plaited marble floor, and hands to the sides of the settee she is sitting on.
But Cynthia continues with her response. “Sir, you never cared to help us. We suffered deprivation in your house. But finally, my brother has been killed!” She goes off with sobs now.
Ben is incredibly taken aback by her reply, shaken by her pitiful sobs. He feels sorry for the girl but thinks to himself now that if such a girl should speak like this in any courtroom, then he will surely be finished.
“Give me back my brother!” she cries. “Okechukwu nwa nne m o! My only brother!” She is crying terribly, and Ben is petrified.
Cynthia’s uneven sobs wrack her body. She suddenly grimaces in the painful upheavals now; her back and shoulder still ache from the injuries she sustained in the recent fracas, and the sobs are roughening them up.
Through the time of their conversations, Mr. Ben has noticed her injuries, and he now realizes to his increased helplessness
and horror that it would all be added as evidence against them. Moved with overwhelming pity now, Ben goes close to Cynthia and holds her shoulders.
“It’s okay, dear. Sorry about the death of your brother. I feel sorry that I’ve not always been around. Please forgive me and let me know how I can help.” He had said that and expects some form of supportive response to his gesture.
But instead, Dr. Paul interrupts him. “Mr. Ben, I hope you are not trying to persuade or bribe your forgiveness. Who really should be in the front line doing that is your wife. I suggest you discuss your preparations with her, because I will be back next Friday with my lawyers. Here is my card.” Dr Paul slips his card on the center table at once and gets to his feet, taking Cynthia with him. He is not prepared for this embarrassing drama the couple is putting up. He came to the house with little expectation of some reasonable outcome, maybe a fair trial at the court. But now he is very disappointed by his fallen expectations. “We beg to take our leave now,” he says, and they start to leave.
“That won’t be necessary, Dr. Paul—I mean, about taking this issue to court. Forgiveness should be the case, not the court. The boy’s death was an accident!” Papa Ngozi implores.
“No, she pushed him to the wall!” comes Cynthia’s voice again. Ben looks at her unbelievably, perplexed. She continues in between sobs. “Even when he fell and fainted, she did not care. I even called her, but she refused to come out of her room. I finally carried him on my back downstairs and took him to the hospital,” Cynthia explains further.
“This is what I get for accepting to help people by keeping them in my house!” charges Mama Ngozi suddenly from her seat, throwing her hands up and standing up at the same time. She can no longer bear the insult, and her time of silence and allowing her husband speak has expired. “Ingratitude, all the time! So much ingratitude! Now you want to take me to court because I cared?” she laments angrily. Her face now furrows deeply into horizontal lines. “If I hadn’t taken care of you for this past one year, where would you be now? And would you little things be standing here right now and talking to me this way? Would you be insulting me by saying you will take me to court?”
One Love, Many Tears Page 20