Chapter 6

Nyaradza—Comfort

“Don’t wake your mum,” Priscilla begged in a croaky voice after Unashe closed the gate behind them.

“I’m sleeping in the cottage like you suggested so you can come here,” Unashe said, helping her into the room that had the double bed he had just been sleeping in. She stood, soaked, by the door. He ran and took his towel from the bathroom and handed it to her. Absently she began unbuttoning her shirt. Unashe caught himself staring, and, when their eyes met, he flushed with embarrassment while she stared blankly at him.

“I’ll wait in the bathroom,” he said, then took his t-shirt from the cupboard. When he returned, she was sitting on the bed wearing his t-shirt. Her clothes were in a wet pile by the door. The towel dangled from her hand.

“I’ll put these in the tub to dry,” Unashe said, picking up her clothes. Priscilla just stared at him. He came back, took the towel from her, and wiped the water dripping from her hair.

“You are really wet,” he said, shaking his head. She took the towel from him and began wiping her head more vigorously than he had been. She wiped her legs, and then leaned back against the wall.

Unashe took some water from the mini kitchen a few steps from the room. He sat next to her and gave her the water. She drank slowly then held the glass precariously in her hand. Unashe took it before she dropped it and put it in the sink. Her eyes were half closed and there was strain all over her lovely face.

“What happened, Cilla?”

The sound of his voice filled with concern and love brought tears to her eyes. She blinked rapidly and took a deep breath. “Baba kicked me out of the house,” she explained, wiping her eyes and trying to stop crying. Unashe looked incredulous.

“Why? Why did he do that?” Unashe asked, putting his arm around her trembling, delicate shoulders.

“He’s crazy, that’s why. I thought he had changed. I hate him. I hate all men.” Priscilla looked at his face. “Except for you. You are the only one who understands me. You are the only man I’ll ever trust.”

Unashe smiled. He wanted to hug her, but he just rubbed her shoulder quickly and then let go. He was so furious at what had happened to her that he couldn’t even think straight.

“You are the best person I know, Cilla. Why would he kick you out?”

“Because I told him I was moving out tomorrow. And I think he just hates me.”

“How could he? So—How on Earth did you get here?”

“I got a lift into town, and then I walked the rest of the way.”

“What!”

“It’s all right, Unashe. I’m okay.”

“Damn him.”

“I must lie down for a while,” Priscilla said, leaning into the pillows. Unashe covered her with the blankets and in a second she was asleep with her hand still in Unashe’s. Unashe gently moved away and stood watching her sleeping face with the long lashes covering her cheeks.

A strong feeling of protectiveness gripped his heart and spread all over his body. The feeling intensified when he saw the flimsy bedroom slippers she had been wearing. That bastard had kicked her out when she was ready for bed. How could he?

Unashe went and sat on his mother’s old sofas that were pushed against the wall. He just sat back and watched her sleeping, and then he, too, fell asleep.

* * *

Monica Pasipano went into the kitchen and started tidying up the mess. Her heart was crying in pain because of what had just happened. It was all too much to come to terms with and through blurry eyes, she washed the plates and then started mopping the already immaculate floor. She just did not feel like talking to her husband who, after Priscilla had run off into the night, had gone into the bedroom and slammed the door after him. Of all the awful things he had done to her daughter, this was the worst. With shaking hands, she remembered what Priscilla had said when her father had shouted.

“You are no child of mine.”

“I know.”

She remembered the slice of lightning across the dark sky as she said those words.

What did she mean by that? Goodness, did she know?

Monica pondered as she poured the water into the sink that was located just outside the kitchen. The night was dark and the smell of the coming rain strong in the air. Somewhere it was already raining and her daughter could be walking in that darkness alone. She felt angry. Oliver had been unfair and irrational in his treatment of Priscilla, and this was so unnecessary.

Since the wedding several weeks before, and for years before that, he had tried to be reasonable and they had tried to talk things through. Now this.

After a long time in the kitchen, Monica had herself under control and went around the house making sure doors were locked and windows shut. Lastly she went into the bedroom Priscilla had been in just a short while ago and felt hysteria threatening to engulf her as she saw her black purse on the chair and her clothes for the next day on a metal hanger hooked on the wardrobe door handle. Where are you, my child? What is going to happen to you?

Monica felt a strong urge to go and look for her, but by now she would be far away. No. She felt a strong urge to leave this house forever, but she knew she would never do that. She would stay for better or worse and though most of her married life had been more on the worst side she was not the kind of person who ran away.

With steely determination, she walked into the bedroom and was not surprised to see that Oliver was on top of the blankets listening to a talk show on the little radio beside their bed. Oliver glanced at her and watched her as she gracefully changed into a cotton nightdress and started to put cream on her hands. She was not going to say anything. She would wait for him to start speaking.

“Did you know about Priscilla leaving home?” he asked in an accusing tone. The same accusing tone he had used when Vimbai had gotten pregnant out of wedlock many years ago.

“No. Tonight was the first time I heard it,” Monica replied, sitting on her side of the bed.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Monica said calmly. She never showed her anger even though inside a volcano was erupting. Oliver shook his head, disbelief all over his face.

“I don’t know what she was thinking. What kind of girl goes to live on her own? Why does she want to leave home?”

You are no child of mine. I know.

“I don’t know.”

“She’s the worst of the lot of them. That’s why I wished I could have had sons, not daughters. Problems, all of them. They are ungrateful and ignorant. You send them to school and they thank you by getting pregnant with the first useless man they meet or they leave home in the middle of the night.”

Monica listened as her husband twisted events to take away his guilt. He would never admit that he kicked her out and as they settled in the double bed, they were both unable to sleep, but unable to say exactly what was bothering them. There were two things keeping them awake that night: Priscilla’s safety and her paternity. But neither of them was going to say anything. At least not for a very long time.