Short Story: ‘Drip’ ‘Drip’

‘Drip’ ‘Drip’

I.

“The pattern on your tie reminds me of my bedroom curtains” She whispered in his ears.

Her voice reminded him of the pussy cat his brother’s wife kept for a pet. He had hated pussycats, till he visited his brother’s family in Scotland, last Christmas. That one stayed by his sister-in-law’s feet, rubbing herself endlessly while emitting soft purrs.

The cat did not remind him of its witchcrafty counterparts in Nigeria, she even had a reluctance to kill stray rodents. All she did was sway majestically to your feet, and rub her fluffy self, like his Boss was doing now.

“Ma, Please stop” he implored.

He didn’t care for Cats really, he hadn’t even remembered Anna’s cat till now. He wanted to fix his head on anything but the woman tugging at his belts, offering herself on the office desk.

“Focus, Simon, just feel” She purred again.

His zippers came free, his briefs were tugged down in quick succession. His penis sprang free, pointing, taut, he felt the air conditioner hit it first, but only for a few seconds. His Penis became imprisoned once again, this time, the place was warm, moist, soft.

Her tongue flicked, round that place, the line created by his circumcision ring twenty-nine years ago. He near swooned; he gripped her closer, then pushed her gently away. The tongue flicked again, he gripped her closer again, his hands groping through her hair weave.

He pushed her away again, firmly this time.

“Simon”

He looked away, pulled his garments and belted himself swiftly. He wiped his face and made for the door, then left, to the male toilets.

Simon locked the door and aimed for the toilet bowl. It was three days to Christmas, they were working late to finish some account reconciliations at the firm. He leaned against the window and let his penis hang over the bowl. He didn’t have a basket of reasons for refusing. She was good-looking, unobviously older by a few years, single, she had made the moves repeatedly, and even though he inched dangerously close each time, he managed to leave.

He felt harassed, that was the singular reason. His Penis let go of the last drops themselves, without the habitual end of pee flipping.

He watched the drops ‘Drip’ ‘Drip’.

II.

“Madam, this is how to close it if the drip finishes before I come” the nurse demonstrated, rolling her fingers over the white valve.

The mother of the child nodded effusively, her gaze fixed on her child’s wrist, ridden with plasters, to hold the line in place.

She turned her back on them, it was a huge relief for her when they took off her own line, after her discharge at daybreak.

“Your Parents will come for you after they close work” she had been informed at noon.

The ward was for two. She had stared at the walls, the other empty bed, gotten bored of television, yet the clock hadn’t moved past 4.00pm. She was glad when the new girl was brought in, but crestfallen to realize that the girl was too weak to talk.

She turned back to her side of the wall. The minutes rolled in more minutes. The other girl was still asleep, her mom had dozed off too.

She decided to watch the bag of electrolytes for the woman, as the nurse had instructed. If the bag emptied on its own and the valve was not closed, blood would flow back up.

She decided to while away time by counting what was left to finish.

‘One, two, three, four…’ ‘Drip’ ‘Drip’

III.

It was 1997. Brenda was breathless.

She hadn’t been running it was her nerves, fraying.

Atinuke led her quietly to the backyard.

Oya Iya Isaiah, no make noise o, make them no hear your voice o. Today, you go see with your koro-koro eyes, how that your house help dey bring man come for your house when you and your Oga comot

She had left her stall at Tejuosho market at 3.00pm. It was a Saturday, she would have left at 5.00pm were it not for this. She tiptoed to the window of the room, where her maid and kids slept.

She gulped air, then stretched to look in, through the slight gap, where the curtain did not close to the end.
Her maid lay on the bed, with a rough looking man heaving and panting atop her.

Atinuke put her hands over Brenda’s mouth to stifle the scream, a needless gesture.

Her children sat in the same room, backing the action, obviously under instruction. They were laughing over a glass, fighting over who should drink first.  The boy won, he was seven, his sister was six. He threw his head backwards and took the contents down in a gulp.

He looked like he was about to cry, his sister laughed.

“My turn!” she shrieked.

He picked the bottle of Ponche, the 501 seemed to have faded a bit. He turned it into the glass, with a big grin. The liquid didn’t rush out, it just came in bits, like ‘Drip’ ‘Drip’.

© Achalugo.

Afternotes: Happy New Year! Thank you for the moments you share my thoughts when you read, thank you for the hearty conversational comments, thank you for the mails when this space is blank for a while.

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