What is pleasurable for a man may not always be good for his sanity. It all started innocently about two years ago after Arinze woke up starring at this dark lady whose face held more charm than Genevieve’s. Not recognizing his immediate environment, he shuddered in fright; She is a mirage – I must be dreaming.
“You’re OK, sir. You’re awake now!” he heard a suave voice spill from her – a nurse, mid-age and stunning. Her frame gleamed so radiantly at his glaze, with lush charcoal cascade braids over her shoulders in their fitting luster vying with the ebony of her skin, in her beauty sang its fill, a treasure sought after until lately by none.
“What is pleasurable for a man may not always be good for his sanity.”
“How long have I been here?” he asked in a whisper.
“Almost 15 days today, Sir,” she answered. “It’s COVID 5.0, the new variant of Coronavirus.”
“Your consciousness has been drifting back and forth, but you’re in the clear now. Thanks to technology and the latest vaccine.”
Nnenne – the nurse smiled at him, and the rest they say is history. From then on, she hosted him in her apartment every weekend – in her bed, they tumbled on each other as if her cot was the epicenter of a Category 5 hurricane. In her heart, she sang like an Italian – the Givoanezza, as though he was her elixir. The hymn of her emancipation. But, you know how it feels for a guy who meets a phenomenal lady, a lady who appeals to his sensual needs, but he is halfhearted at making such a relationship permanent.
It was about 10:30 A.M. on Wednesday – three weeks ago. Arinze recalled the time vividly; he was rolling all over on the bed half-asleep and half-awake when Nnenne called over the phone. He was surprised; she was emotional – elated.
“Hey, um, I have good news, I’m pregnant.”
“Oh, shit! Are you sure?”
“What do you mean? Am I sure, no come spoil my joy.”
“No, be you dey chop me back and front.” She rebuked
“I thought you are on pills?”
“I thought you were using rubber,”
“Baby! Baby! It takes two to get pregnant; birth control isn’t only a woman’s responsibility.” she cautioned.
“Anyway, it’s too late for that now. I think it’s about time.”
“Time for what?” Arinze demanded.
“It’s about time I meet my in-laws.”
In matters as this, self-denial is the solace of the first, second, and third resort; but it only gives free rein to self-contradiction.
(To be continued)
© Ugo Nkwoala | Spilledwoords.org | 2020