Category : Stories

Sub Category : Romance

JOY AT LAST

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Sitting at the doctor's office,  waiting on the diagnostic results of her husband's tests. Lately, Bankole has been forgetful,  and Bankole never forgets; at least, not her 40th  birthday.  Reminiscing their walk to stardom, the days of wants, breakfasts of leftover Eba and a fishless watery stew; then, he worked hard, very hard, and here they are.

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A smile bursts her gagged lips open, but the creaking door stole it away.

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'Mrs Bankole,' the doctor called, with a flare of sympathy. A fervent, young man in his mid-thirties; tall, and surely flashy, as the Cartel 073 wrist watch of #100, 000 glitters in his hand.
'Yes, Mr Tayo,' the familiarity is obvious. Tayo has been the family physician since Dr. Ebenezer retired from the profession a year ago. 'You know, I do tell him to Bankole to learn simplicity, that one day it may. . . .' She had been gestured a stop by the stern look of Dr. Tayo.
'Mrs Bankole,' he called, face shinning of pain and anguish.
'Doctor,' she could sense the formality in the voice.
'I want you to be strong,  'cause the next four months would be energy consuming for you'
'I don't get your meaning, Doctor,  please, explain'
With a deep sigh and a long beat around the bush, he arrived, 'Prof has Alzheimer Disease,  with four months left to live, I'm sorry.'

The Dalbergia-wood office table welcome the tender placement of her face. The news had not just depressed her, but also a shock, for she knew Bankole must have known a while but hid it from her. She tried to hide her tears, but the sniffing and sudden hiccups gave her away. Two minutes, she placed her head still; Dr. Tayo, familiar with such scenarios left her to it.

•Sigh!•

'But, he's only 45,' she finally said, still trying to hide her tears.
'Apparently, it can be caught when one's family has a history of it; I believe he's been aware a long time ago, just didn't tell you not to scare you.'
She breaths in...out. A dark cloud had suddenly hovers over her world. 'How, Bankole? How do I live without you?' Her thought wanders as she walks to the section he was, to see him.

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'Bankole, ko daa bayii o,' she said quietly, resting her sudden pale body on the closed door.
'I know, Ife. I'm sorry. I just didn't want to scare you,' his flail voice thickens of pain.
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She took a deep breath in...out, with a stressed 'ah...I'm too young for this, Bankolemi. How do I cope without you. You're my strength, my everything, why? Why now? Why us?' She placed her hands on her head and move slowly downward with her back still resting on the door. Few minutes of quietude passed; tears had become the Ode of both couples. 'Come here,' Bankole called lovingly, with an outstretched arm for his lovely wife's embrace, and as she run up to him, they both wallow in a flood of tears; 'everything will be alright, I promise,' he assured.

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If no word, hell could best describe the emotional distress, mental disorganisation, physical disorientation and whatnot. At a point, she drove a long journey away from home hoping to hit a ditch, but the thought of leaving Bankole spending his last days with strangers, backbiting friends, house helps, brought her back home. But his death was peaceful. He died in his sleep, after a long read of a letter he'd wooed her with. He couldn't tell who wrote or to whom it was written though, but it was found by his bed side with a bottle of Ijebu Palm wine, which seemed to be the only thing unchanged - his love for palm wine.
So, she decided to give herself a break.

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The Calabar Festival had only begin two days before, and she'd wanted to see the beauty of Cross River anyway.
Effiong drove her; a boy Banlole had taken under his wing years ago. Now 21, loyal, respectful and dedicated in his studies. His firm support in that four months plus realised the birth of a mother-to-son love between them.
'When we get there, you can go see your family as discussed, I'll drive myself, all through; and tell Mama I'll come see her before I leave,' she said scheming the newspaper on her thighs.
'Okay, Mar, but I can still drive you; my younger ones can come visit me,' 
'Thanks, Effiong! But I'll cope. See your family, okay?'
'Okay, Mar!' His eyes trust into the express road.

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The beauty of the land exceeds her anticipated expectations. It felt like a garden of streets. Simple, but beautiful homes with standard structures, coupled with explicit of creative arts. The sculpture of Mary Slessor sits on the outskirt of the capital, and that alone, mesmerises and tickles her jolly fancy.

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The Calabar Fall stole her attention from the Festival. She'd seen it as Effiong drove past, and he'd told her of its beauty and unending wonder. The way he'd said was so catching, calling and captivating her soul and spirit wanted a feel of mother nature. 

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'Calabar Fall, here I come,' she said to herself as she awaits the gateman of her hotel. A light chuckle tears her left cheek, as she heard a white couple laugh at her self expression.

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Heaven! She thought, driving into the gate of the Fall.
White water falling from a cliff into a rumbling fountain - the fountain is set to sprout and splash out every ten seconds on anyone standing 30fts around.

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For a moment, she stood still, drenched in the fountain, wishing Bankole was there to breathe in the healing air of freedom with her. She shook her head and shrug off the thought.
'Let's hop in,' a smooth voice relates behind her. She needed not look; she wished not to be disturbed. 'I'm sorry, if that came out wrongly.'
An average height, lanky man, clean shaven with an opera hair.

'Ayo,' he said, stretching out his hand for a shake.

'Ife.' With a coy look and a brushing smile, she took two step away. And sensing her discomfort, he did the same.

'You know, I came here to have fun and make friends, ' he screamed out from underneath the Fall. She kept quiet, hoping he will get tired and keep to himself. 'The water is nice, come on. I won't bite, I swear!' His invite caught her. she'd wanted to go in earlier, but scared it's forbidden.

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Reluctantly, her wet body walks out of the Fall, standing on a small stone. 'What do you do?' She asked.

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'I'm a writer.' He shook off the drops of water in his hair.
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'Writer, hmm! Anything I've read?'
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'Maybe. Empty Caskets. . . ?' She shook her head in a negative response, as he calls a few, 'Murder?' He paused

'Yea, I've read that in a book of short stories'

'You have? Hell Abound!'

'Yea! That's the book'

'It's mine, actually!'

'What! You wrote Afopina - The Moth, From Ajegunle to the World, The Robbery?' 

'Yes, I did,' he replied, opening his bag. He brought out a novel, and hand it to her. 'My first novel, fifteen years ago.'

'Empty!' A sober reflection taunted her face. 'I've read this; my husband got it for me on our first outing together.'

'Husband?' His voice still warm and friendly, with a coy mix of surprise and intuition.

'Yea...died two years ago. Two years by November, actually.'

'I'm sorry, I - I didn't, I didn't...,' he stuttered.

'It's okay. It woke a sleeping thought, that's all.'
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He shook his head and took a long glance at the Fall. 'I haven't written anything in two years; I think I just got my next storyline.'

'Hmm! And what will it be titled?'

'I'm thinking: Underneath a Fountain, no?' 
She shook her head in a negative response and they both burst into laughter. 
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Few seconds passed, leaving the two in a coy state, but Ife broke the silence with a surprising statement. 'You're not sick, are you?'
'No! And I'm not married too. Why?'
'Nothing, ' she replied, and muttered 'just in case' to herself. 
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'Joy at Last,' he finally said, whipping his wet body with a clean towel, and handling one to her.
'What?'
'Title of my next book: Joy at Last. You like?'
She gave a positive nod, and a sultry smile. 'That's more like it. Joy at Last.'

'Lunch?'
'Yea, sure!' She stood up from the small stone, and they walked out together....