A. Barrett - Love Is Power, or Something Like That - Stories

“Chief Samson Briggs. Enchanted to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Anabraba,” he said, clasping her hand. His thumb stroked the back of her fingers. “Your husband boasts of your beauty, but his words have done you no justice. You are spectacular!”

A giggle rose to Perpetua’s throat, but she fought it back, forced it into a smile. “I’m happy to meet you too, Chief Briggs,” she said.

“Please call me Sam.” He raised his head, sniffed the air, and grinned at Perpetua. “Your cooking skills are also not overstated, I see.”

“Of course not,” said Godspeed, pushing forward to stand beside Perpetua. “Now, Your Highness, may I introduce my wife to the others?”

Sam Briggs laughed, his head thrown back, his shoulders shaking, his walking stick jabbing the floor.

The woman in the group walked forward. She looked older than her male companions. She wore a lion-head-patterned velvet wrapper, a puff-sleeved lilac blouse, and no jewelry. The skin of her face was clean, devoid of makeup, and her thin, brown hair was pulled into a bun. Godspeed said, “This is Mrs. Kenule,” and she reached forward to shake Perpetua’s hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Kenule. I am Perpetua.”

“Likewise, my dear,” Mrs. Kenule said. “Your husband has been singing your praises.”

“Stop giving my wife the impression that I speak only of her.” Godspeed smiled down at Perpetua, then draped his right arm around her waist and raised the left in a beckoning gesture. “Boma, my wife. Perpetua, Boma Peterside.”

With a swift sidelong glance at her husband, Perpetua turned to Boma Peterside. “Pleased to meet you,” she said, and smiled at the ginger-haired, sea-eyed albino who came forward, nodding shyly. His handshake left a dab of sweat in her palm.

“And you’ve met my almost namesake,” said Godspeed, inclining his head at Goodnews Abrakasa, who strode up, grasped Perpetua’s shoulders, and bussed her on both cheeks.

“Welcome, Goodnews,” Perpetua said, her eyes twinkling. “How come you’re alone today?”

“Ah,” Goodnews Abrakasa said, throwing up his hands, “it happened like this. I planned to come with Number Two wife, as Number One has been here before, but one of her children, the one who’s a sickler, got malaria this morning, so she couldn’t make it. Number One wife wanted to follow me, but to avoid future wahala, I refused o.”

Goodnews Abrakasa was a wiry man with caterpillar eyebrows, a pimpled nose, and strong, white teeth. His face shone with good humor. He favored wide collar shirts, unbuttoned to his hairy belly; bell-bottom trousers that were tight in the crotch; and high-heeled boots. Close friends, in private conversation, called him “Big Snake.”

Godspeed made a rude noise in his throat and jerked his head at Goodnews Abrakasa. “But you claim you can control your wives, don’t you, Mr. Polygamist? How come then you’re afraid of them?”

“Who’s afraid?” Goodnews Abrakasa shot back. “When a man sees boiling water and doesn’t stick in his hand, do you call that fear?”

“You two, not now,” Sam Briggs said, brandishing his walking stick as he stepped forward. “Dinner is waiting.” Perpetua took his offered arm. They walked toward the dining room, the others following.

Godspeed sat at one end of the table, Perpetua at the other. Sam Briggs took the seat on Perpetua’s right and Goodnews Abrakasa sat on her left. Tene was passing round the serving dishes when Godspeed sat bolt upright in his chair and glanced around, then raised his hand, beckoning to her. She approached his chair. “Where’s my daughter?” he asked.

“She dey her room.”

“Why?”

Tene looked at Perpetua, and Godspeed followed her gaze.

Perpetua, deep in conversation with Sam Briggs, was unaware of the attention.

Godspeed’s eyes flared. “Drop everything you’re doing and go and bring my daughter, now!” he said in a furious voice. The table fell silent.

“Yes, oga,” Tene said, and left the room.

In a coaxing tone, Mrs. Kenule said to Godspeed: “I was going to ask about your daughter, but I thought she had gone to bed.”

“My daughter doesn’t go to sleep without first seeing me,” Godspeed said. “Besides, she hasn’t had her supper.” He looked at Perpetua. “Is that correct?”

Perpetua nodded. Sam Briggs turned to speak to her, saw the expression on her face, and coughed into his hand.

Tene entered with Daoju in her arms. The child’s eyes were tear-swollen and her face was drawn into unhappy lines. When she saw the strange faces, she clung tighter to Tene’s neck. Then she caught sight of her father.

“Daddy!”

“Baby!”

Godspeed pushed back his chair and rose with opened arms. Tene handed the child to him and shuffled backward. Daoju wriggled in her father’s arms, her features fluid, riven by excitement. She spoke in a rush, her voice a brook after rain, babbling.

“Daddy, Daddy. . crying long. . dark room. . Bible story—”

“Sh, baby, sh, my dear, my love, sh.”

Godspeed asked Boma Peterside to move seats. He set his daughter in the vacated chair, spread a napkin over her lap, then sat down and said, “Everybody, this is Daoju, my princess.”

She beamed and nodded round the table, her body swaying from the force of her swinging legs. Sam Briggs called her beautiful, a budding rose, a chip off her mother’s block. Boma Peterside reached his hand forward and brushed her cheek, as if to check that she was real. Mrs. Kenule asked her about her age, and when she replied, “Two years and three-quarters, thank you,” the whole table except Perpetua burst into laughter.

“My dear Perpetua,” Goodnews Abrakasa said loudly, “I’ve told your husband before and I’m telling you now, your daughter must marry one of my sons. Yes o, Godspeed, I’m staking my claim early. This girl will marry an Abrakasa.”

“As long as it’s your son and not you, we might consider,” Perpetua said, to the amusement of everyone but her husband, who did not join in the laughter. He waited to the end of the others’ raillery of Goodnews Abrakasa, and then he said: “When the time comes my daughter will marry who she pleases.” He turned to Perpetua, who was staring at him with a wide, bitter gaze. “And please, my dear, don’t joke about such matters in front of our daughter.” He looked sideways at Daoju, smiled, pulled a funny face, and patted her head. “One more thing.” He glanced across at his wife, and his jaw muscles bunched. “Daoju just told me, ‘Bible story took my play.’ What does that mean?”

Godspeed and Perpetua, one week after their fight, were still not speaking, not sleeping in the same room or sharing mealtimes together. Daoju had become a sore in their relationship. Since her mother moved out of her father’s bedroom, Daoju had taken over her mother’s side of the bed. When her father returned from work in the evenings, she stuck to him; she played at his feet until her bedtime. But daytime was her mother’s — the mornings when Perpetua, hot-eyed and sharp-fingered with resentment, prepared her for school, and the afternoons when she returned home to meet the cold, haggard look of maternal enmity.

The following Friday, Mr. Farasin returned for the usual. Perpetua welcomed him warmly. She was lonely, unhappy, everyone was against her: her husband, her daughter, even the housemaid.

“The devil’s attacks are getting stronger,” she said to Mr. Farasin as he measured oil into the bucket of water. “Pour in the whole bottle, please, I’m losing my family.”