Ali could already see his house when he decided to go back to Esi. He had been feeling guilty for all the fifteen or so minutes since he’d left her. Of course, there had been no question of sleeping at hers tonight; tonight being New Year’s Eve. Although Muslims, and therefore he and Fusena had very little interest in Christmas, they could never avoid the general air of festivity that simply invaded everything and everywhere around this time of the year. Like other Muslims, Ali felt particularly bitter about the fact that the country didn’t bother to claim a state religion, yet Christianity was everywhere. Assumed. The children were especially vulnerable. Towards the end of the year, which was also the end of the first school term, they always came home singing Christmas carols. He and Fusena had still not got an answer to the problem. So they bought the children some balloons and sweets and soft drinks. New clothes were still only for the Id. And no expensive Christmas presents either. That would be going too far. Altogether the struggle to maintain a difference between Christmas and Islamic festivals was extremely difficult.
New Year was different. He and Fusena had, over the years, established a pattern for New Year. He organised his business affairs in such a way that he wouldn’t have to be away from home on New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day. On New Year’s Eve, he dropped everything by six o’clock if it had been a working day, and went home. He was convinced that a man had to see his family — at least for a while — by the daylight of the passing old year, and let the family see him. Not that once he was home, they did anything special. They just had tuo together. Then when the children were asleep, he and Fusena would sit and watch whatever was on television. Depending on how they felt, they talked or sat in a relaxed friendly silence. In recent years, he would sometimes select a film he knew both he and Fusena would enjoy, and show it on video. When the new year actually arrived, he would open a bottle of champagne, and they’d each have a glass — the only time he shared alcohol with Fusena. Then they would wish one another a happy New Year, then go to bed, make love and sleep. On the New Year’s Day they had an open house. Nothing like a conscious celebration. But there would be kola, fried meat, gravy and rice. And lots of fruits, for themselves and any friends that cared to drop in. For something to drink there would be non-alcoholic beverages for strict Muslims, and different alcohols for anyone else who preferred them. It was often a pleasantly loose day: the kind he enjoyed tremendously because most of his days were really so unhealthily busy. So they spent New Year’s Day very much like they did the last day of Id: let it assume its own character and momentum.
Now here he was: one part of him feeling the need to hurry home and initiate known rituals, while another part of him was busy feeling guilty.
Guilty in spite of the fact that by all the precepts of his upbringing Esi was indeed his wife, and yet by ‘home’ he meant only one place, which was where Fusena and his children were. Hopelessly guilty because he knew that there was not the slightest possibility of him ever being able to establish any rituals in the relationship with Esi.
However, on this particular afternoon, he decided, there was something he could do. It wouldn’t be much, but it would be something. From the office, where he was, he would go and spend some more time with her, and then he would rush home. It was already getting to five o’clock, and it was plain that he would not be able to make his six o’clock deadline. A real pity. However, he would try and be there before the children had to go to bed. In a flash, he had jumped into his car and was heading towards Esi’s place.
How did our fathers manage? He wondered to himself. He knew the answer. They, our fathers, lived in a world which was ordered to make such arrangements work. For instance, no man in the old days would be caught in his present predicament: that is, wondering which woman he would be making love to on a New Year’s Eve.
That was the real problem this afternoon, he admitted to himself. And the thought panicked him so much that he nearly hit a young girl who was crossing the street holding the hands of a little boy who must have been her brother. He screeched to a stop, his heart thumping very badly. He drove the car to the side of the road to enable him to pull himself together. Then he looked across the street and saw the girl and the little boy hopping along their way as if nothing had happened. He sighed with relief. He started the car and decided almost at the same time that he would go back to the office and pick up a bottle of champagne for Esi.
Esi was very surprised and pleased to see him. Yet after managing a rather muted hello she said almost nothing at all, all the time she was opening the gate and entering the house with him. And he didn’t say anything. They just went to her bedroom, and started eating one another up. It was a wild and desperate lovemaking. For both of them. For Esi it was shame for her dependence on a man who, as far as she could see, was too preoccupied with other matters to ever be with her … and of course for him it was several shades of guilt, especially one which was a product of an awareness that if he was so busy pumping into Esi, then he was also busy ruining a tradition. And the more he thought of what he was destroying between him and Fusena, the more his groins burned, and the harder he drove into Esi. And both he and Esi peaked so high, they feared they wouldn’t survive that incredible climax. Then he was ready to empty some of his confusion and genuine affection for both women into a cauldron that was one.
Just at that moment they heard a car come through the gate. They couldn’t believe their ears. But sure enough it was a car, and they could hear it parking outside where their two cars were. Their passion died instantly, each pair of eyes asking the other who they thought it could be. Esi remembered with regret that in her excitement at seeing Ali again she had not locked the main gate or any of the doors after Ali had come in. There was nothing she could do about any of that now. There was knocking on the front door... Poom, poom, poom. ‘Esi...’ Poom, poom, poom, poom. ‘Esi...?’
Ali got off from on top of Esi and fell on the bed beside her. Whoever it was had tried the front door, found it unlocked and was in the front room already.
‘Esi, Esi, Esi.’
Then Esi knew who the voice belonged to. It was Oko’s voice. Esi jumped off the bed, naked like the day she was born, rushed to the door between the bedroom and sitting-room, banged it shut and double-locked it. Ali was never to forget that. Because he just couldn’t figure out how anyone can have that much presence of mind in the middle of a crisis. But then having done that, neither Esi herself nor Ali knew what to do next. And of course, they couldn’t discuss the situation.
In the meantime, Oko must have realised what was happening when Esi locked the door, and now even more angry with himself for not rushing straight into the bedroom in the first place, he was banging on the door and calling her name with a frenzy which Esi was later to think had been amusingly childish. But of course at the time, she had been in no position to laugh.
‘I know you are in there, so why don’t you answer?’ he was screaming. Esi’s mouth refused to open up. Finally, she and Ali got up at the same time, and hurriedly put their clothes on. Then, opening the door only wide enough for his slim body to pass through, Ali went out. When Oko saw him, he dashed towards the door, as if to rush in. But the door had a Yale lock and Ali quickly banged it shut and locked both of them out of the bedroom. Frustrated, Oko turned and faced Ali.
‘Where is she?’ he demanded.
‘Where is who?’ Ali asked coolly, as if he genuinely had not the slightest idea to whom the other man was referring.
‘My wife,’ Oko thundered.
‘Your what?’ Ali demanded.
‘My wife. That’s what I said, and you heard me well,’ said Oko.
‘Your wife?’ and Ali burst out laughing. Oko got hold of the front of All’s shirt.
‘Yes, yes,’ Oko screamed again, ‘the bitch you have been sleeping with. She is my wife.’ He was shaking with rage, as he tried to shake Ali.
To break free, Ali pushed Oko away from him so violently, Oko virtually fell. He didn’t quite, but a button from his shirt fell to the floor.
Then a child began to cry. It was Ogyaanowa. Oko picked himself up quickly and resumed banging on the door. Ogyaanowa continued yelling. Ali was trying to prise him away from the bedroom door and saying over and over and over, almost to himself, ‘Listen, I don’t know who you are, but Esi is my wife ... I don’t know who you are, but Esi is my wife ... I don’t know
Oko left the door, turned on Ali with a raised fist. But Ali was too quick for him. He got hold of the raised hand. Then, as they began to struggle, Esi, who had heard Ogyaanowa from the bedroom, opened the door, rushed out, passed the two men, picked up the child, ran with her into her car and drove off. She left two very surprised men staring after the car.