The silence in Tom’s house tightened, despite Nnambi’s mother’s intervention. Until Friday night the following week, when the boil burst.
Tom came home early, at around three. One car door banged, which meant he was driving. Perhaps he had come to pick something up, Kirabo thought. She heard him get into the corridor.
‘Nnambi?’ he called cheerily.
Kirabo realised that Tom was calling for a truce and she was disappointed. Tom should have held out; truth was on his side. Now Nnambi was going to make her life unbearable.
Ten minutes later, Kirabo’s door opened and Nnaki’s head popped in with feverish excitement. ‘It is hotting up in the master bedroom.’ And her head popped out again. Kirabo sat up, readying herself. She knew she would end up at the centre of it. She did not wait long.
‘Kirabo?’ Tom called.
‘Yes, Dadi?’
‘Hurry up here.’
She rapped, then opened their door and leaned in.
‘Take a wash and get dressed: we are going out.’
She looked from Husband to Wife, thinking Why go out with me? Wife lay on the bed facing the wall. Husband shone his shoes. The tension was solid. Wife had rejected Husband’s compromise, Kirabo realised. She stayed standing at the door until Tom asked, ‘Did you not hear me? Wear something formal.’
She closed the door, took a bath and pulled on a frock. She rubbed a little talcum powder on her face as she had seen Nnambi do. It gave the skin a smooth, even texture and got rid of the greasy shine of petroleum jelly. Then she fashioned her hair, combing some of it into her forehead to get a mini Afro. She glossed her lips with Vaseline and looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. She wished Sio was at the end of the journey. As she got into the car, Kirabo glanced back. Nnambi was peering through a window. Kirabo smiled – Your cheap tricks will not work – and got into the car.
It was a Coffee Marketing Board staff party at the International Hotel. Tom kept apologising for his wife’s absence. ‘Nnambi is unwell, but she asked to bring our daughter in her stead.’ Kirabo endured curious glances, especially from the women, until Tom explained, ‘She is an early one,’ with a wink. Male colleagues smiled knowingly, as if Tom had been the lovable rogue in school. As for the women, they were dumb. They kept saying, ‘She looks a bit like Nnambi.’ Kirabo barely held back a sneer.
She had never seen such a beautiful display of food. Some of it was nonsensical. Who eats fried pieces of pineapple with avocado on a toothpick? Someone malicious had mixed raw onions in with what looked like raw eggs. Ntaate once said that expensive hotels in Kampala caught frogs and snails and snakes and put them on the menu. Everyone had shut him up because Ntaate could say some freaky stuff. Seeing dead milk, bongo, labelled yoghurt and fried pineapple, Kirabo wondered whether Ntaate knew what he was talking about. She kept close to Tom and only ate what he ate.
When dancing started, Kirabo took a walk. Jubilee Park rolled down the hill around her. It was dotted with flower beds, fountains, statues and monuments. The park was littered with people, especially young couples, lying on the ground or sitting and reading or strolling. She lingered around the swimming pool to watch the swimmers, then walked to the bottom of the park to see the independence monument. On the way, first, was a mouldy bust labelled King George VI, then a metallic statue of a drummer, a rattle man and a woman dancing like a whirlwind. She walked through the ivy-clad archway to where the independence monument stood. It was lofty but lifeless. The old woman had fallen asleep behind her child, and the child’s delight at being free was frozen. Kirabo walked down the steps and looked out at the Bank of Uganda, the roundabout, then the Standard Chartered Bank. Rich army men and wealthy mafuta mingi sat outside the Speke Hotel, smoking. When a chill came, she walked back to the party. She piled a plate with cakes and biscuits, grabbed a bottle of Mirinda and went to the lounge to watch TV. From time to time, she went to the hall to check on Tom.
Nnambi was not waiting in the sitting room this time. Kirabo hurried to her bedroom. She switched on the light and there, lying on her bed, was Nnambi. Her father’s wife sat up as if disturbed by the light.
‘I’m sorry I borrowed your bed. I have a headache; could you sleep with your father tonight? I would like to sleep on my own.’
Kirabo stared, unconvinced.
‘I hope you don’t mind.’ Nnambi winced.
Kirabo grabbed her nightdress and went to the toilet to change. Then she walked to the main bedroom and knocked on the door. No answer. She pushed the door open. The light was turned off but the beam from the corridor flooded the bed. Tom was sprawled on his back, already snoring. Though his lower half was obscured by a thin blanket, Kirabo could see that his chest was covered in thick fur. She stood and stared, unsure. Grandfather did not look like that. She hesitated, hoping that the beam would wake him up. It did not. She went to the bed and nudged him to move over. ‘Dadi, Dadi?’
He opened his eyes.
‘Could you move over, please?’
He lifted his head.
‘I am sleeping here tonight.’ Kirabo started to slip under the covers.
Tom sat up and then jumped out of the bed, taking a sheet and the blanket with him. The blanket fell. He clutched the sheet around himself.
‘Dad, it is me, Kirabo.’
‘Why?’ Tom gasped. ‘Do you not have your own bed?’
‘Mum is sleeping in my room. She told me to sleep with you.’
As soon as the words were out, she realised Nnambi’s request ‘… sleep with your father…’ was sexual. To make matters worse, she became aware that Tom was naked underneath the sheet.
‘Step outside so I can get dressed,’ her father said.
Kirabo ran out. She went to the sitting room feeling sick. She gave in to tears. The idea that she had almost got into bed with her naked father brought on a new wave of nausea. She wept for everything that had happened to her since her arrival in Kampala. She was returning to Nattetta first thing in the morning. She would tell everyone what a witch Tom had married. She was not living this disgusting life a minute longer.
A door banged. ‘Let go of me,’ Nnambi screamed. Kirabo ran to see what was happening. Tom dragged her out of Kirabo’s bedroom and dumped her in the corridor.
‘She might as well share your bed. After all, she is your wife now.’
‘I begged you to come.’
Nnaki and Mwagale stood at their door, staring.
‘Tomorrow, pack your bags and go back to your parents. You hear me?’ Tom panted. ‘I should not find you in my house when I come home. Take whatever property you wish, but don’t touch my children. You two’ – he pointed at Nnaki and Mwagale – ‘back to bed.’ He turned to Kirabo. ‘Come on, let’s go to bed.’ He led her back to his bedroom and helped her into bed. He covered her and rushed out. ‘You heard me, Nnambi? Pack your bags tonight-tonight.’ He clapped his hands rapidly to denote the urgency. ‘Now-now. Back to where you came from first thing in the morning. Then we shall see who is who in this house.’ He returned to the bedroom, breathing hard. Then he stormed out again. ‘And do not touch my children. You go back to your home exactly as you came.’
Nnambi was silent. The minute Tom threw her out of their marriage her tongue froze into ice.
Tom appeared at the door and got into bed fully clothed.
‘Go to sleep, Kirabo.’
Kirabo lay at the edge, even though it was a double bed. But she was soon overcome by exhaustion, and woke up to the sound of Tom’s alarm. He got up and told her to go back to sleep. Kirabo covered her head, but the events of the previous night came back with such force she moved to the edge of the bed again. Tom got dressed in the bathroom. When he came back to the bedroom, he guzzled tea like water.
‘Can I go back home?’
‘This is your home, Kirabo.’ He wrapped a tie around the raised collar of his shirt.
The sound of the chain on the gate clinked. A car drove in. Tom grabbed his coat and said, ‘Come, Kirabo.’ She jumped out of bed and followed him back to her bedroom. Her bed was made. The witch had not slept in it after all. ‘Stay in here. Don’t go out until Nnambi has left.’ As he hurried out, he called, ‘Nnambi, I don’t want to come home and find you here.’ The house went silent again. Kirabo closed her eyes. Where is my mother?