Beastly Wives

Beastly wives - a short story by LJ Kundnananji

Trevor walked with a proud gait down the road, his hands in the pockets of his trousers and a smug smile on his face. Two young women, coming from the opposite direction, took the time to greet him.

“Hi Trevor!” they greeted with flashy smiles, their eyes dancing with excitement, adoration and that distinctive look characteristic of females who had laid their eyes upon their prince charming.

“Hello,” he greeted back, the sound of his voice sent them swooning with mad excitement. Trevor smirked as they passed. He knew that they would continue cooing all the way to wherever they were going. This reaction hardly surprised him, for it had become the norm. He hardly understood it. Ever since he landed himself a job as an accountant at the Training Centre, the whole world fell in love with him, and everyone he encountered greeted him with the greatest show of respect. The boys called him ‘sir’, the men called him ‘boss’, and the female kind when addressing him added the very elevated title of ‘Ba’ before his name. Every parent, who prior to this had disdained him and never counted him as a human being, never forgot to mention in their conversations with him, no matter how short, the fact that they had a gorgeous daughter ready to be wed. And their daughters too were always quick to inform him that they were not seeing anyone. Yes, now that he was of the elevated, working class, the whole wretched world wanted him. Had he been something else, say a manual worker whose area of expertise was slashing grass and digging metre-high trenches, the same world would have hated him with a vengeance and no female would have eyeballed his plebeian being. The world was a cruel place.

As he entered the pub, he walked more affectedly to the counter. All eyes turned to stare and these eyes belonged to the old timers in the business. Most of these eyes were as red as chilli, and the faces that housed these were of granite, being hardened by many years of abuse at the hands of their employers, their wives, and their children. Trevor’s face, on the other hand, was reeking of the softness of youth, and there was not the hint of the hardness that came from the aforementioned abuse. At first, the old timers had writhed in discomfort at the very idea of having a mere boy in their domain but they could not deny the fact that he had rightly earned a place among them. So in time they learnt to accept him, and whenever he walked in they nodded in approval.

“One Castle please,” he said in as commanding a voice as he could. The man behind the counter, whose face was cold enough to petrify the onlookers, mechanically whisked out the bottle from the fridge, popped off the top with a flick of his thumb and poured its contents into a glass. After having thrown in one or two ice cubes, he pushed the beer gingerly towards Trevor.

“Thanks,” Trevor said, clasping the glass appreciatively. He stationed himself more comfortably in his seat and took a sip. He shuddered.The stuff was terribly bitter and he had never got used to it, but because he wanted to prove himself a man and not a boy, he persisted despite the bitter taste. He looked around and was unsettled to find all eyes on him. He felt his soul recoil. He took another long sip, and this time he managed to contain himself. He gulped it down like water, without a twinge. The onlookers were appeased and averted their attention to their own business.

A man, who had sat a bit far off on the counter, nodded at him and walked over to the empty seat next to him, grasping his bottle. He had a charismatic look about him. This man was old enough to be Trevor’s father. This man Trevor knew as Mr. Makina.

“You are alright, young man?” he asked with apparent concern.

“Yeah,” he responded.

“’Yeah’ is not English,” the man snapped, throwing him a dangerous look.

“I mean, yes, sir.” He quickly said, quietly cursing himself for having forgotten the etiquette so quickly.

The man chuckled. “So, how is your girlfriend?”

“I don’t have one,” a surprised expression stretched across his face.

“You don’t have one!” the man started and gave him the impression he was going to jump at his throat for saying so crazy a thing.

“I have no intentions of marrying any time soon.” He revealed tentatively.

“Let me tell you one thing, young man,” he said, raising his voice, “you will never be a man if you don’t get married!”

“Sir?” he nearly chocked from surprise.

“Take a look around,” he commanded, placing his calloused hand on his shoulder, “Tell me who the majority in here are.”

He did as he was told, and with a sinking heart, he made his observation: “The married, sir.”

“Exactly,” he took a long sip at his bottle. “There is nothing more difficult in life than a wife. If you can manage to handle and keep a woman, then you are a real man.”

“Is that so?” Trevor asked, curiously raising a brow.

“Women are always nagging: ‘I want this!’ ‘Where have you been?’ ‘There’s no relish in the house!’ – they can drive a man insane.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Why do you think the majority of us married men spend out time after work here at the pub?”

“They can’t be that difficult,” he said with a titter.

“Ho!” the man scornfully bellowed. “Get married and you’ll prove me right.”

“I will, huh?”

“Exactly!” He sputtered, long lines that resembled deep valleys appearing across his broad forehead. A long silence issued, and Trevor could not help but think about what he had just heard. For the sake of all that was good, the man had to be wrong, for the truth was that he intended to get married in a hurry. He had already spotted a beautiful, young lady a few blocks away from his home.

“So I am not a man unless I marry?” he asked musingly, stroking the rim of his glass.

“No—absolutely not!” a proud look spread over his face. “And I can tell you that I am a man indeed. I have the most difficult and beastly brood of a wife, but I handle her with effortless ease.”

“Is that so?”

“Exactly.”

Trevor could not help but admire. Mr. Makina was no under achiever. He was the head of the staff department of ZESCO (Zambia Electrical Supply Corporation), and he wielded great authority over his fellow employees. Everyone who worked under his head certainly knew all about it. Failure to comply with his instructions was met with the most severe of censures, which often saw the expulsion of the offender from the work force. Obviously then, with such credentials to his credit, handling his beastly wife (as apparently all wives were) was a minor feat.

It was at this moment of serene meditation that the serenity was cruelly severed by the dramatic entrance of a man with a wild countenance. He stormed wildly to the counter and slammed his hands down with such a great force that he nearly split it apart. With bloodshot eyes, he glared at the barman. His chest heaving, and his hands quivering, he looked like a rhino whose tail end had just been set on fire by a careless tourist. This man’s name was Mr. Chembo, nicknamed ‘The Wild Animal’, for the obvious reason that it was easier to tame a wounded buffalo than to tame his anger. Every eye turned to stare with that glint of excitement that precedes a great show. Mr. Chembo was well known for offering public entertainment, and generously, he charged no fee.

“Give me my beer!” he shouted, spraying the barman’s face with a goodly amount of saliva. Though the barman was a callous man who evinced very little emotion, he now looked like a meek lamb, and hastily threw a bottle before the panting man.

“Good!” Mr. Chembo said, grabbing the bottle with one sweep and immediately pouring half of its content down his throat.  He put down the bottle and suddenly noticed that Trevor was seated hard by, eyeballing him with a wide gape.

“Young man,” he coughed, “you should not get married!”

“Eh?”

“Women are useless!”

“Oh?”

“My wife is driving me mad! She is at me heels right now, vowing to put me six feet under!”

“Eh?” Trevor’s eyes grew wider and he could not help but stare at Mr. Makina, who winked and chuckled back at him.

“What did you do to her, my friend?” Mr. Makina asked sympathetically.

“I told her that her cooking was not good enough.” He paused to gulp down some beer. “Now she wants to kill me for it!”

“Big mistake,” Mr. Makina said, shaking his head, “to tell your wife that her cooking is not good enough.”

“Is it?” Trevor asked. He was insanely curious about how a fair comment on a woman’s cooking can rouse her anger to fatal levels.

“It is—it usually implies that you ate out, and had a taste of another woman’s cooking.”

“Oh.” Trevor said as the realization struck him.

“I must finish this beer before she finds me.” Mr. Chembo said in so dismal a tone that Trevor felt sorry for him. He emptied the bottle in one gulp.

“Finds you?” the words were hardly out of his mouth when the ravings of a woman in the doorway answered his question.

“There you are! I’m going to kill you! Idiot!” Mrs. Chembo screamed, her long braids flying out of her head like little vicious snakes, and her wild, white eyes almost popping out of their sockets. Mr. Chembo immediately dived for cover under the counter between Mr. Makina and Trevor. An overriding cowardice had suddenly taken over his prevailing vicious nature, and it was suddenly revealed to everyone watching this show that the only thing that The Wild Animal feared, and the only thing that tamed his wildness, was his wife.

“Oh! You can’t hide!” the women shrieked, stripping off her chitenge cloth and throwing it aside to reveal very tight trousers. This gesture of stripping off a chitenge was a sure sign that a woman had totally lost her head. She thumped towards them. She was a big, fat woman, and her huge buttocks swayed disturbingly from side to side as she strode, and each time her foot landed on the floor, the ground seemed to shake. For all the excitement that the audience was afforded, they kept solemnly silent. They feared for The Wild Animal, for it seemed his end was near.

“Be a man,” Mr. Makina whispered. But The Wild Animal just stared back at him like a slug surrounded by stacks of salt.

“Come out! Come out!” the woman hissed, jumping over two chairs and a table in so manly a manner that Trevor and the on lookers could not help murmuring in amazement. Imminent that they would get caught up in the frenzy, Trevor and Mr. Makina did the wisest thing: they moved out of her way, leaving The Wild Animal dismally exposed. In a burst of insane anger, the woman dived at him and grasped him by his ear. He immediately shot up to his feet, reeling in pain.

“I’m sorry!” he screamed, waving his hands wildly and gasping like a fish that had suddenly found itself on land.

“Sorry? No—you are not sorry!” while still grasping his ear, she swung her long arm and her large palm landed on his cheek, the sound of the impact echoing throughout the pub. A hush fell upon the onlookers, almost as if they had been slapped as well. As they watched, the woman swung her arm again, but this time, they sprang to action. It suddenly dawned on them that if they did not intercede, the Wild Animal would be a total goner. They all came forward and stopped the arm in midair, jut before it landed on its well-marked target again.

“Let me go!” the woman squealed, clawing out with her long, lethal nails. But her subduers held fast, and before long, she was easily subdued and led outside. It took seven strong men to completely overpower her. These strong men pinned her down on the grass. Crying and hissing out insults, the only thing she could do was writhe helplessly.

Meanwhile, back inside the pub, Mr. Chembo was laid on a bench, for he had passed out. It seemed the single swipe had knocked him out. His soul came back to him after a few bucketfuls of water had been poured over his organism. Gazing about in fear and clasping his hands together like a frightened little child, he asked:

“Where is she? Is she gone?”

“Don’t worry.” He was told. “She will not lay a finger on you.”

***

An hour later, Trevor and Mr. Makina were walking out of the pub. It was now well after sunset, and Trevor was greatly disturbed by what he had seen.

“I had no idea a woman could be so dangerous,” he said in a low voice.

“Ha!” Mr. Makina laughed. “My wife is worse than that!”

“But you manage her?”

“As I said, with effortless ease.”

“Amazing.”

Trevor now felt profound respect for this man who walked beside him whistling with a carefree expression on his face. He wielded great control over all aspects of his life. Trevor could not help but murmur in admiration. All of a sudden, he felt that he had found a mentor in Mr. Makina.

“Chembo is a weakling.” Mr. Makina said. “He is not a man.”

“I’d agree, sir.”

“If you get married, my son, you should not allow your wife to overpower you like that. You have to put your foot down and show her who the man is.”

“Certainly, sir.”

“A man can beat down the whole world, but if he cringes in front of his wife, he is not a man.”

“That’s right, sir.”

As they walked on, two dark forms appeared in front of them. As they drew nearer, it became clear that the two forms were feminine.

“Ho!” Mr. Makina purred with pleasure. “My wife and daughter.”

“Hi dear!” his wife greeted which such amiableness that Mr. Makina’s heart skipped a beat.

“Hi daddy!” his daughter greeted. This daughter Trevor eyed with a gapping mouth. She was the very girl he had spotted a few blocks away from his home, and the very girl he intended to woo into his arms. Things could not get any better.

“Hello my darlings.” He raised a brow. “Where do you happen to be going this time of night?”

“We are looking for you.” His wife answered, a strange coldness suddenly coming over her.

“Why?” he asked.

“You are late…so we came to get you.” His daughter said chirpily.

“Late? Late for what?” he asked innocently.

The expression on his wife’s face suddenly turned black—blacker than the night itself.

“George!” she hissed. “George you forgot that today is our anniversary!”

Mr. Makina tried to find his tongue, but apparently, the cat had got it, for he only gasped and gaped.

“George how could you?” Mrs. Makina said, working her hands quickly to remove the chitenge around her waist. In no time, it was off and thrust in the hands of his daughter, revealing a fine pair of tight trousers.

“No dear, not now, not here.” Mr. Makina stuttered.

“How dare you forget our anniversary!” she shrieked, grasping him by the shoulders, her long nails sinking into his skin. In a burst of effort, Mr. Makina, broke free and bounded off like a sprinter at the Olympics. Barely a few seconds later, he had vanished into the darkness like he had never been.

“Oh! he won’t get away that easy!” Mrs. Makina said with determination. A few moments later, she bounded off after him with even greater agility.

“Oh, that is typical of my parents—don’t get surprised,” the young lady said as she turned to face Trevor. He stared back at her with popping eyes and a wide gape. The expression on his face could neither be described as shock nor fear, but something close to dismay and confusion.

"You are Trevor, right?" the girl continued after a moment of awkward silence. Her eyes were glistening of something that he could only imagine as the first sparks of love. She smiled ingratiatingly back at him, despite his very evident wretched state. He gazed from her to the darkness and in his mind, the memory of his mentor bounding off was still fresh. Visibly at a loss of what to do, he placed a hand on her shoulder, rather tentatively, and managed to cough out some wind up his windpipe to form a few elaborate words:

“I like you...a lot...but now I must leave.”

With that he kicked up his legs into a sprint and vanished into the dark night, leaving the girl confused. Indeed, he proved faithful to his mentor and the way he had shown him by his own example: when confronted by a beastly wife and her daughter, the only thing that availed, even for the strongest man, was flight.

© Kundananji Creations 2009

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