The Fury and Cries of Women Page 4

  He opened the gate and ran toward the first buildings to take shelter from the torrential rains. His clothes, now dripping wet, clung to his skin. With a worried look, Emilienne followed him with her eyes until he disappeared inside the school.

  ALONE, HER PANIC MOUNTING, her face tense, she stared so intently at the gate that two little tears sprang from her dilated pupils. She tried with all her might to convince herself that Joseph would bring back their child, or at least tell her she was being kept in by the teacher or simply delayed by the preparations being made for next month’s national holiday parade.

  Her second trimester grades were not good. Her mother could not understand this dip in her school performance, as she had been among the brightest students in her class ever since elementary school. Her presence and her success at school had softened the despair of the mother, long neglected by her father. For many years, Rékia had been the only person who brought her bursts of joy, reinvigorating her with new energy each time. But this did not keep her later from blaming the girl, deep down, for not being a boy. She reasoned with herself, knowing that it was too idealistic to believe that the birth of a child could substitute for the love and presence of a man.

  Emilienne adored the baby who had brought her joy and pride those first years after she was born. She had also grown closer to her husband, whose surges of affection melted her heart just as much if not more. For her, and although she didn’t realize it right away, the intensity of the love she felt for her child depended on how much love she was getting from her child’s father. Looking back, she fully understood that her affection for her daughter had been tinged by a certain reserve the day she realized her husband had a mistress, though, at the same time, she also became her refuge. This also explained her fits of aggression when her daughter sought her attention. She realized with bewilderment that the child did not truly hold the place in her heart she should have.

  “Oh! My God! Have I been a bad mother? While many mothers seem to find their happiness in their children, I look to find it instead in a man. Am I abnormal?”

  How happy they were when she was born! Her birth ten months after the wedding had dissipated the fear that their parents might have cursed them. Since no one had approved of their union, the young couple had closed themselves off in a cocoon that kept them safe. They had lavished their daughter with all the affection and love they were capable of giving.

  In part because of this affectionate protection in her formative years, Rékia had been a cheerful child, stable and well behaved. By the time she was two years old, she was able to express herself better than most children her age. The only gloomy period of her childhood had begun with the arrival of the first dog her parents had gotten. Jealous of the attention they were giving the animal, Rékia became short-tempered and began wetting her bed; eventually, she even fell seriously ill. Emilienne and Joseph had to leave them both alone, and gradually the child became attached to the dog. Her attachment then became so strong that she would sometimes let it sleep in her bed.

  One by one, as if by common agreement, Eyang, Rondani, and Openda made up with their children. Openda, more than the others, became especially fond of his granddaughter, who, he constantly repeated, resembled his deceased mother.

  SEEING HER HUSBAND come back alone, running through the rain, Emilienne clenched her fists. Her nails dug deep into her palms.

  “Where is she?” she yelled opening the door.

  As he got back into the car, he replied calmly:

  “No one has seen her since she left school yesterday,” he said as he closed the gate. “So she must have disappeared this morning after bringing her cousins to school.”

  Furious, Emilienne retorted dryly:

  “I have always been against your idea that letting them take the bus was a learning experience. Everyone, except you, knows that kidnappings are more and more prevalent. If something happens to my child, I am holding you responsible.”

  “You are sick in the head,” her husband responded harshly. “And please don’t forget that this child is mine, too. She disappeared between the school where she dropped off her cousins and the high school, a route she walks regularly. She did fine until now. And anyway,” he added, changing his tone, “this is not the moment to rip each other apart. Instead let’s put a missing persons alert on the radio and notify the police. We will find her,” he concluded, attempting to sound persuasive.

  “What will become of us if something has happened to her?” his wife shrieked, disoriented. “Do you think she’s run away? For some time now she hasn’t been talking much and has been eating very little . . . What if your double marital life has been getting to her! Maybe it’s just puberty, or everything put together. Oh, how everything has changed!”

  Emilienne shifted in her seat.

  “Calm down. If any of your theories are true, I will gladly assume full responsibility for her running away.” He took his wife’s hand in his.

  Emilienne felt herself melt. How long had it been since he’d touched her this way? Her eyes filled with tears! She was about to cry. “Rékia had to disappear in order for him to feel the need to come close to me,” she thought.

  The car came to a stop, and she found herself alone again. It was pouring. The water gushed down from the gutters onto the already flooded pavement, gathering all of the refuse from the street corners as it flowed along. Huge puddles had formed on the flat roadways. The cars drenched the passersby and hydroplaned at the slightest incline, spraying water and dragging everything in their paths. The visibility was very bad, and when Joseph had gotten out of the car, he had left the motor running and the wipers and AC on. So Emilienne could look around her and breathe easily.

  They drove in silence from the radio station to the police precinct. The monotonous beating of raindrops on the roof of the car made the young woman doze off. Joseph squinted to see through the curtain of rain. The car glided occasionally across the pavement and at other times idled in the puddles.

  THINKING THROUGH what he’d said about taking responsibility for their daughter’s possibly running away, he realized he still refused to accept all the blame. When Rékia had been conceived, they had consulted every book and manual they could get their hands on about pregnancy and raising children. That was how they had learned that a child’s upbringing begins in the womb, that a pregnant woman’s diet and peace of mind, as well as her partner’s attention and affection toward her, all contribute to the physical and mental health of a beautiful baby. Joseph did not fail in his duties, and he continuously encouraged his wife to follow the advice from those books. He even attended the birth—which was quite exceptional in this country. His wife’s screams, despite the sedation of the epidural, pierced his heart. He was exhausted as though it had been he who had given birth that day.

  Unlike his friends who abandoned their children to their mother, only showing up for brief moments before bedtime, he swaddled and bottle-fed his child. Only on this last point, in convincing his wife to breastfeed their daughter, had he been unsuccessful. “If we must have at least three children, I am not going to ruin my breasts with the first,” she would explain untiringly. Often, he would leave the office early to be with his girls. The phrase “my girls” had a nice ring to his ears and held important meaning for him. At night, when Rékia cried and her mother was exhausted, he would rock her. The child slept more frequently in her father’s arms than in her mother’s, a bad habit that was difficult to correct later on. It was also he who led her around all the rooms in the house when she took her first steps.

  “When did I start losing interest in them? Was it during the time I nearly lost my job, or when I took my first girlfriend? What was her name anyway? I don’t even remember. There were so many after her! It’s highly likely my apathy took root when Emilienne had her first round of miscarriages. How very odd a couple’s life can be! Each passing day can contribute to strengthen the feelings and bonds that can either bring a couple together or draw them ap
art. We never realize it as it is happening. One morning, you realize that each spent the entire night alone doing his or her own thing and that this has been happening for several weeks. Searching frantically through our memories, we find with bitterness that many things are not going well. For example, for a long time now, we haven’t even been telling each other about our days at work. One of us, just to annoy the other, gets the other’s attention by hanging up the phone when the other is around or sharing important news with a friend while the other is within earshot. The other, while appearing to remain calm, is engulfed in jealousy and his pride is hurt.

  “After several days of agonizing over the frightening discovery of our crumbling love, and after a minute analysis of our worsening relationship, one of us decides to solemnly put back the missing pieces and weave together the broken threads of our relationship. But then! That particular day the other is in a bad mood or quite simply isn’t ready for this reconciliation at the same time. As if to discourage you, she launches into a monologue of complaints against you, and you are paralyzed. You file your good intentions away in your heart, so you can get them back out at a moment’s notice to use against her if she reproaches you someday for your apathy. Hurt, you withdraw back into your pride and tell yourself that it takes two to make up. And if the other did not sense your good intentions, it’s probably because she just doesn’t care anymore. And yet . . . and yet all she had to do was be more perceptive that day, and read your face, detecting that glimmer promising to begin anew . . . What would actually happen if ever anything bad happened to Rékia? Touch wood,” Joseph said to himself, tapping the steering wheel.

  IN SPITE OF EVERYTHING they’d just set in motion to find their daughter, their nerves were raw when they reached home. At least the radio would alert listeners all afternoon to their daughter’s disappearance, and the following day as well if need be. A great number of children had already been found thanks to this radio station, so why not theirs? And the police, already on alert, must have begun their search.

  They sat facing each other and ate their lunch reluctantly, only the occasional clattering of silverware on dishes breaking the silence. Outside, glints of a hesitant sun glimmered on the moist leaves of the plants in the yard. Seated nonchalantly on the folding chair on the terrace, overwhelmed by the somber thoughts that whirled around her old head, Eyang resisted the drowsiness attacking her this afternoon. Sprawled out next to her on a straw mat, Yvon snored. Roxanne slept with one eye open on the divan in the living room. From time to time she flicked her tail. In the bedroom, Nomé leafed through a comic.

  “I’m calling the office to let them know I won’t be in,” Joseph announced as he got up from the table.

  Meanwhile, to keep herself busy, Emilienne cleared the table. She also didn’t want to bother the housekeeper who’d arrived just before the couple came back and was busy ironing. The cook’s absence was a little troubling to the young woman given that since he’d begun working for them he had never missed work without letting them know ahead of time.

  Instead of turning on the dishwasher, Emilienne decided to wash the few dirty dishes herself. It had been quite a while since she’d done such a chore, or any housework for that matter, except the weekend meals she continued to prepare to please the children, which they found tasted better than what the cook made.

  For a little while, Joseph, too, enjoyed her concoctions. But now those same dishes didn’t keep him home anymore. Just so the cook wouldn’t outdo her with his culinary talent, Emilienne had bought Asian, French, and African cookbooks. Her tenaciousness could not possibly disappoint her husband, and had turned her into a cordon bleu chef. And because she was so able in the kitchen, she felt justified in her critique of a particularly skilled cook.

  She would never dream of letting him go despite the fact that she found him ugly. To be so ugly was rare; he was perhaps even among the most repulsive of beings. In the beginning, his repulsive physique alone made her hesitant to hire him. “It’s not a face you want to look at when you’re pregnant again,” her sister had commented back then.

  This thought made Joseph double up with laughter. The young couple had just celebrated their wedding anniversary and were thinking about expanding their family with a second child. Only, here’s the thing: Godwin had been working for them for over ten years, and still no second child!

  EMILIENNE WAS DRYING the dishes when she distinctly heard Joseph in the living room: “Listen, darling . . .” Her heart began pounding. Her legs gave way under her body, suddenly heavy. Her husband’s voice on the phone became more affectionate:

  “I’m telling you, darling, my daughter didn’t come home this morning. You can imagine my concern. Don’t you think that you’re going too far asking me to choose between my daughter and you? . . . Fine, fine, I’ll call you tonight. No! I love you, listen to me . . .”

  Emilienne clung to the kitchen sink. Her head was about to explode and her body became heavier. Leaning against the edge of the sink, the young woman brought both hands to her head. The deep disgust she felt for him along with the throbbing pain in her head made her nauseous. She spat profusely and turned on the faucet full force to drown out her husband’s speech.

  “How dare he call her darling, and in this house?! Is she so important to him that he needs to include her in our moment of crisis? And who does she think she is asking him to make a choice? I must be dreaming! I’m not hearing voices. It’s definitely him on the phone!”

  She shut off the water just as Joseph said:

  “Kisses to you, you know where. See you very soon, my love.”

  Heavy tears of despair ran down the young woman’s cheeks. “Just how far will he go to humiliate me? Isn’t it enough that the entire city knows my husband has two homes? Must he now rub it in my face under my own roof?”

  She gagged and ended up coughing up the little food she had barely managed to swallow earlier. “When am I going to stop emptying myself?” she muttered, straightening up. She wiped her face to remove any sign of her weakness and put the dishes away.

  Walking into the living room, she found Joseph lying on the divan, his head resting on a pillow and his eyes closed. She knew him. If she dared ask him to explain his behavior, he would coolly deny that he’d called a woman—the nerve!

  Emilienne stood watching him for a long time and concluded, to her astonishment, that he no longer belonged in this home. Was it the conversation he’d had earlier or the fact that he’d deserted their marriage that gave her this impression? Emilienne scanned the room; her eyes fell on each piece of furniture and then returned to her husband. No! He really no longer fit in with the décor, which, ironically, they had chosen together.

  It was he, in fact, who had selected this three-seat divan and the three low armless chairs in white ribbed velvet, as well as this smoked glass shelf. And even buying the satin pillows in the colors of the national flag was his inspiration. Together they had selected the design for the living room in a catalogue: high windows overlooking a rectangular table and six chairs. They had then asked an independent contractor to build it all right there using local wood. The project matched the original design so perfectly that all their friends asked the name of the store that had sold it to them. The halogen lamps, however, came from France. The walls were covered with a softly patterned pale pink fabric. The curtain was made of veiled netting with a floral pattern on it, also made by a neighborhood tailor.

  In those days Joseph found this part of the house particularly beautiful. Did he still think that now? Did he know that he had just shattered their intimacy forever by calling his mistress from what used to be their personal refuge?

  EMILIENNE WENT OUT on the terrace, picked up little Yvon, who was still asleep, and brought him into his bedroom. Nomé had dozed off at the desk with his head resting on his comic book. She picked him up gently and put him on the bed next to his brother.

  Standing over them, she watched as the two snored away in this room that had been d
estined for their second child. Nomé turned over and put his foot on his brother, who grumbled in his sleep. At their age, life had seemed beautiful and comforting to her, even though she was still somewhat troubled by her mother’s laments for the brothers and sisters who had died. For a long time these moments of sadness hadn’t affected her at all. She had felt protected and out of harm’s way. But in this moment, she thought back on her mother’s grief. In her own adult life, problems were building up at a troubling pace, not giving her a moment’s rest. How long could she shoulder such heavy burdens? This evening, when her daughter came home, and she would come home tonight, she’d tell her how much she missed her and how much she loved her.

  DEEP IN THEIR SLEEP, Yvon smiled and Nomé twitched his nose. Antoinette, Joseph’s younger sister, had placed them in his care when the older one was five and the younger four. In fact to care for them was not exactly the proper term. Joseph had brought them over one night with an old dented cardboard suitcase containing their belongings. The next day, her sister-in-law, whom she always knew to be insipid and a little trite, came to thank her for agreeing to raise her children with an air of self-confidence and elegance that paralyzed her. She was sure, she had continued, that they would get a very good education. It was killing her to leave them, but she had to if she didn’t want to lose her fiancé, a young man from a good family whom she was to marry the following month. Eyang, who was already living with them, had added that it was important for her only daughter to be among other children of her age until her daughter-in-law had other children. She had self-righteously drawn the conclusion that the two grandchildren belonged to their uncle, whose duty it was to ensure their education.

  This theatrical melodrama plunged the young woman into a long silence. But the most contradictory thoughts kept running through her mind. She could, and she had every right to, make everyone leave her home. And then again, watching out of the corner of her eye her husband gaze tenderly at his nephews, she no longer knew what right she had in her own home. She no longer knew whether she should place her husband’s obvious happiness above her own interests. Must she forgo her rights to please everyone?