Option C

Option C - A short Story by LJ Kundananji

Any semblance to actual people or incidents is purely coincidental and is not intended.

“You heard the news?” Samuel asked upon entering the room.

“What news?” Matthew asked, without looking up from the computer, over which he stooped, typing away swiftly and skilfully.

“Someone committed suicide again.”

“Who?”

“Mary!” He breathed, flopping into the sofa and hurling his bag beside him. He loosed his necktie with his eyes on Matthew, waiting intently to see his reaction. He had expected that he would jump off the chair, throw his hands to his mouth and goggle at him—something he always did when he heard shocking news. But he didn’t. He just went on typing, unperturbed, without so much as giving a little start.

“Mary killed herself!” He repeated, louder this time.

“Which Mary?” He asked nonchalantly.

“Mary Mwansa.”

This time he did start, but he did not jump out of the chair, throw his hands to his mouth and goggle at him. So many suicides had been committed that it was not shocking to hear about them anymore. People everywhere were killing themselves for trivial and even stupid reasons. Someone had killed himself because his girlfriend dumped him; and another because he owed a friend a hundred thousand Kwacha! But probing beyond the surface, you would see that life had become a nightmare for many people, and they were looking for opportunities to escape from its wretchedness, because obviously, to them, it was better to die than live a life of uncertainty.

Matthew gradually ceased typing and swung his chair around to face Samuel. There was a sober look on his face with a hint of annoyance in his eyes.

“For what reason, may I ask, did she commit this horrible deed?” He asked, hoping that this time he would hear a more convincing reason, even though we all know that hardly any convincing reason exists for committing suicide.

“They say she had an abortion after discovering that she was pregnant, but then she could not handle the remorse which followed thereafter and decided to clear herself.”

At this point, Matthew appeared shocked. He got up to his feet and paced up and down the room with one hand on his chin and the other across his chest. He was shaking his head in disbelief.

“First she kills her child, and then she kills herself! How awful! How gross!” He exclaimed, clasping his hands heavenward.

“So do you suppose she is being roasted in hell?” Samuel said with a chuckle.

“I doubt it,” he intoned, shaking his head and staring at him from the corner of his eyes.
Samuel, who could not resist the urge, shot up to his feet and threw his hands to his hips.

“How could you say that?” He hissed. “Just look at all those horrendous deeds she’s done! She deserves to go to hell, she does!”

Matthew stared hard at his brother. He was a thoughtful person, and looked at things differently from the way ordinary people did.

“Sam,” he began, “if you were given the chance to punish Mary for aborting, which we know is tantamount to killing a person, what would you have done to her?”

“I would have her sentenced to death, that’s for sure!” He blurted, out almost thoughtlessly.

“What is the difference then when Mary decides to kill herself before you could actually get to it?” Matthew said with a smile.

“Oh—I never thought of it that way…” he said in a small voice, and slumped back into the sofa.

“Anyways, that is not the point,” Matthew sniggered. “Suppose you were given the task of punishing Mary and you were given two options: A—shoot her right in the head so that she dies, or B—burn her at a stake, which one would you choose?”

“I’d go for option A,” he revealed.

“And why not option B?”

“It’s cruel man,” he barked in disgust, “I can’t bare to watch a person burn to death—with all the screaming—the hair-raising screams for help, ugh!”

“Ah!” Matthew jumped up and down passionately. “If you can’t do that, what makes you think God—the one we say is the epitome of love—can stand watching people burn in hell forever and ever?”

Samuel was speechless. He stared at his brother with goggle eyes. Gees, he had never thought of it that way!

“He can’t, huh?” He said in a tiny voice. “He certainly can’t, huh?”

“I don’t think so.” Matthew whisked the bag off the sofa and slumped onto the seat next to his brother. They sat for about a minute, each of them engrossed in his own thoughts.

“Mat,” Samuel began tentatively, “let’s say that by some wretched mistake you do something very bad. Would you go for option C?”

“Option C? What is that?” He asked with a puzzled expression.

“Suicide—would you clear yourself?”

“Never! No matter how bad the deed I’ve done, I would never kill myself!”

“Yeah, me neither,” Samuel agreed. “It would be the most stupid thing to do.”

“Yeah—extremely stupid.”

And so the two brothers agreed that no matter what misfortune befell them, they would wrestle it like the men they were and not choose the easy way out, namely, option C.

Matthew, who was not only the older of the two, but also the more intelligent, was well-known in his community and respected by all for his outstanding achievements. He had recently graduated from high school with excellent results and was waiting to be accepted at the prestigious University of Zambia. He was also a virtuous young man with an eye for perfection. He desired that whatever he did, he did it just right. Being interested in computers, he usually embarked on private jobs, fixing people’s computers in their homes. He was a helpful soul, and for this, he was dearly loved by all, whether young or old. Namalundu community, where Matthew stayed, was indeed one proud community for having such a gracious young man in their midst.

One fine Saturday morning, Matthew was seated outside on a camp chair, basking in the warm and caressing early morning sunshine when a little shy-looking boy entered the yard, and approached him rather timidly, and knelt beside him, with one little hand on the arm of the chair.

“Good morning Ba Matthew,” he greeted timorously, hardly looking up at him. When addressing someone older, young ones usually add the title “Ba” as a sign of respect.

“Good morning,” he greeted amiably, “what can I do for you?”

“Mom wants you to fix her computer for her—it’s not working.” The little boy revealed, looking up at him with a sparkle of faith and trust in his eyes.

“What is your name by the way?” He asked with amusement. Of course he did not know the boy, and hence, he had no idea which ‘mom’ he meant—it could be any mom, anywhere.

“Charles Makina,” the boy revealed.

“Oh, Mrs. Makina!” He hit his heard in slight shame. How could he forget? The boy terribly resembled his mother, now that he noticed. “What is the matter with it?”

“It’s not working.”

Matthew laughed at his naivety. “Okay, I’ll be coming as soon as I can; tell her so.”

“Ok.” With that the boy ran off.

Matthew got up quickly and rushed into the house. He got his backpack and began to load it with his tools and his software CDs.

“What’s up?” Samuel asked as he munched at a bun, an extremely curious look on his face.

“I’m going to fix Mrs. Makina’s computer,” he said, his face radiant with pride, and for good reason. Mrs. Makina was one of the most respected people in the community. She worked for one of the biggest company in the country, Zambia Electrical Supply Corporation, which churned out megawatts of power every second from the great big generators installed deep under the earth, a little distance off from the awesomely steep Kafue Gorge. She worked as an accountant, no less. Hence I am sure you know why he was so proud of being hired by her.

A little while later, Matthew was making his way up to Mrs. Makina’s home, located atop one of the hills which gave way to the incredibly steep slope of the gorge on the other side. He trudged up the stony path with a big smile on his face. In no time, he was knocking on her front door. He looked around timorously. Everything was clean and neat, so neat he felt out of place. He hastily stepped back when he heard footsteps from inside coming towards the door. The door swung open and he was instantly hit with the sweet smell of perfume. There in the doorway stood Mrs. Makina. She smiled broadly upon seeing him.

“Come in, dear!” She said warmly, stepping aside. Matthew hesitated. His first impulse was to kick off his shoes, least he besmirched the pure-white carpet upon which she stood with her bare feet.

“Never mind, dear! Come in just like that!” She said when she noticed him goggling at the carpet.

“No, please.” he said, almost pleading. Finally, she just had to allow him to do it. She guided him inside to the seating-room. He looked around at everything with wonder and admiration: the large high-definition television set that stood on an immaculate stand, the large sound system with monstrously large speakers, and the sumptuous sofas that resembled those in Buckingham Palace (well, he hadn’t been there, but if he had, he reckoned that the seats there would look just like these). The computer sat in one corner, on a little shiny stand, and there was a revolving chair before it.

“Sit down here, dear,” Mrs. Makina said pointing to the chair. He sat down nervously. His hands quivered as he laid them on the fantastically white and pert keyboard. Everything was just so breathtakingly clean that he feared that he would sully them with his besmirched being.

“What is the matter with it?” He asked, looking her in the face.

“It’s not working, dear,” she said, batting her eyelashes rapidly and repeatedly. “See what you can do.”

“Okay.” He said with a smile, which almost turned into a laugh, but he controlled himself.
“I’ll be in the kitchen,” she said turning to leave.

Matthew pressed the on button and waited patiently. He smiled when he realized how simple the problem was. The operating system was messed up, and all he had to do was use ‘System Restore’ to restore the computer to an earlier state. This was just too easy.
A little while later, Mrs. Makina returned and was mighty impressed to find her computer working.

“You fixed it!” She squealed.

“I am almost done,” he said with a proud smile.

“You are a genius, Matthew!”

“Nay,” he shook his head shyly.

“Oh, don’t be too modest!”

“I believe there are better people than me out there.”

“I don’t believe so,” she said, smiling broadly. Her perfectly white and well set teeth flashed. Matthew felt acutely shy and looked away. He suddenly felt her hands on his shoulders. His heart nearly stopped and he looked up at her in utter disbelief. She just chuckled and shrugged as she stared at the screen. He grudgingly turned and typed one or two commands onto the keyboard. She eventually withdrew her hands and he felt tremendous relief.

“Let me make you some tea,” she offered.

“I am fine,” he declined.

“Oh come on!” She said and skipped into the kitchen. Matthew remained shaking his head in disbelief. He never knew that Mrs. Makina was so affectionate. He usually was afraid of her, but now, strangely, he felt freer around her. He usually observed her as she drove past in her car with scowling looks on her face. But today, she had given him nothing but amicable expressions.

Finally, he was done and could settle down to some tea that she had made for him and spread on the little table, along with a few peanut butter sandwiches—his favourite, however did she know.

Mrs. Makina, on the other hand, shrieked and jumped up and down like a little girl—much to his embarrassment, sat at the computer, and played a little game of solitaire.
As he ate, he looked at the many photos that were hanging on the walls with intense curiosity. One of them was a wedding photo of Mrs. Makina and Mr. Makina. Mrs. Makina looked terribly fetching in her white wedding dress, whereas Mr. Makina looked bold, handsome and slightly intimidating. He seemed to be staring right out of the picture at him. He shuddered slightly. He had not seen Mr. Makina in months. But rumour had it that he was now working in Kafue, and only came home once in a while.

“How much can I pay you?” She asked, after she was bored with her game.

“What ever you deem best,” he said shyly, staring down at the mug in his hand. He ran his finger along the rim thoughtfully. He felt slightly guilty about making such a nice lady pay for a problem that he knew was so not a problem. But hey, business was business.
He watched from the corner of his eye as she reached out for the low lying neck of her blouse, pulled it slightly and slid her hand underneath. He winced as she retrieved the notes that were lodged in her bra and handed them to him with a broad grin.

“Here is a little something.” She said.

He reached out for the notes with shaking hands. They were clean and crisp and reeked of the smell of almond.

He gingerly counted the money. His eyes grew wider as he counted. Upon finishing, he gasped. It was exactly five hundred thousand Kwacha—more money than he had ever had in his life! He stared at her with goggle eyes. He had the urge to jump to his feet but he restrained himself.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” He stammered, “I… thank you ma’am.”

“Don’t mention it,” she chirped. “And by the way, don’t call me ma’am, too formal. Call me Linda.”

“Ma’am?” He stared at her in disbelief. This time, he nearly jumped to his feet. Actually, he did raise a couple of inches above the seat. Where on earth did anyone call a married woman by the first name?

“Linda,” she snapped.

“Okay,” he said with a shrug, “Linda.” His lips suddenly felt quite heavy.

“Oh, by the way, there is something else that I would like you to check on,” she said standing up, her smile suddenly turning enchantingly saccharine.

“Sure, no problem, ma’am—oh, I mean Linda.” he smarted. How could he not want to do any thing further for this benevolent lady? Not after the great generosity that she had shown him!

“Where ma’am… um… Linda?”

“Right this way,” she led him down the corridor towards the room at the far end. Matthew knew very well that this was the bedroom. But he had too much respect for Mrs. Makina to suspect anything fishy (or sharky, as my friend Solomon would say). She definitely knew what she was doing. In fact she was so nice a lady that even the devil would have been shocked at what she did next. When Matthew, all oblivious and naïve, entered the bedroom, she slowly closed the door behind her with a diabolical smile across her face...

 

When Matthew walked out of Mrs. Makina’s front door, a dreadful confusion was raging in his mind. It was almost as if all the musical instruments on earth were being played in his head at the same time. He turned and gazed at her with ambivalence. She looked so sweet and innocent, but at the same time, there was now an aura of darkness about her. She ran up to him, slightly pulling at her short skirt. He stopped in his tracks and she finally caught up with him. She leaned forward and whispered into his ear, her breath hot and wet: “Come soon, my little angel; my darling little angel.”

Matthew stared at her with slight disdain. Without saying a word, he turned and walked away. He did not go home. He went to the edge of the gorge instead and stared down at the breath-taking scenery of the river as it splashed against the rocks about half a mile down. But it was so far that he could not hear it. Instead, all he could hear was the confusion in his head.

In addition to the pandemonium in his head, the wind which was blowing from the gorge below was now howling in his ears. It seemed to be saying: “You fool… fooooooool!”
He remembered everything that had happened at Mrs. Makina’s house. He remembered the photo and recalled Mr. Makina’s gaze. It was still clear in his head, so clear he could almost see him before his eyes. In a burst of rage, he hurled his bag and it rolled down the hill until it finally got caught in a branch of a shrub. He spontaneously began to edge his way downwards. As he did so, his life flashed before his eyes, and he thought of everything—what his life had been before this wretched day, and what it was going to be like after this. He also thought of option C—anything to end the noise in his head.
His eyes flooded with tears as he grasped the strap of his bag. He knew that he had committed a very bad crime. When people found out, that would be the end of him. He could not bare life with himself after the wretched thing he had done. He was sullied, besmirched, impure.

A wild thought suddenly ran through his mind. There was a way of ending it all; a way of avoiding all the terrible consequences of his actions. He unzipped his bag with trembling hands and slowly removed the adaptor with the long electrical cord that he always carried. He hastily unscrewed the cable off and threw the adaptor back into the bag. With fierce determination across his face, he scurried around the hill side until he found a ledge with a steep rockfall beneath it. There was a young but sturdy tree that overhung the ledge. He grasped one of the branches and tied the cord firmly around it. He pulled at it to ensure that it was firm and strong. He made a noose at the free end. With deep heavy breaths, he hung the noose around his neck. Yes, he was going to end it all.

But at that moment, when he was just about to hurl himself over the edge, he remembered the promise he had made to his brother, and between clenched teeth, he said, with no little effort: “No… not option C. I will fight. Not option C.”

Had he not sworn to himself that he was never going to take the easy way out? Had he not promised to fight like a man? He was going to tell the whole world that it was all Mrs. Makina’s fault; that she had tricked him, and probably he would be exonerated. Yes, he was going to fight.

“Not option C,” he breathed as he moved to remove the noose. But as he did so, the ledge beneath gave way and plummeted to the depths below, breaking into little tiny pieces. The noose tightened around his neck. He struggled fiercely to remove it as he dangled from the branch like a pendulum, but it was awfully and fatally tight. With his eyes bulging out like golf-balls, he chocked and gave a series of spasms. His struggles eventually died down and his body grew limp. Everything grew mysteriously dark and a very quiet silence settled in.

Several hours later, Matthew’s body, silhouetted against the red setting sun, was still dangling from the sturdy branch of the tree.

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