Binding Scars Read online

  “What’s he to you, huh? What happened to nothing has changed?”

  I blinked. “What are you talking about?”

  “I de talk about how you de look that boy like say you want marry him and--”

  “Stop. Your pidgin English is bad.”

  She switched to English, her voice rising in belief. “Do you know what I had to do to get him not to call the police?”

  I should have expected the police. “What did you do?”

  Joy stepped closer. Too close. Her perfume, something light and flowery, drifted into my nose. It tickled. I sneezed. Her lips twisted to a sneer.

  It took me back years to that night.

  Joy wrapped bleeding arms around herself. “It’s God that will punish you,” She screamed at Madam Gold. “Don’t think it won’t happen. Five years, six years, a hundred years, God go punish you.”

  “I gave him a blow job. Do you know what that is? I opened his zip, took out his penis and put it in my mouth. In the car.” She caught my jaw, squeezing painfully. “You want to go on being the little obedient slave, you don’t want change. You’re lucky to have a good Madam and you drag me into some nonsense with some boy. Word of advice, if you want to be bad, do it with someone that has money,” she inclined her head, “like Mr Matthews or your Oga or his son, but he doesn’t have one--”

  I hissed, “Keep your voice down--”

  Joy took a step back, spread her arms and crowed, “Fuck off. Fuck you. I don’t care. I don’t care!” Her eyes pinned me like a thousand arrows. “How much loyalty is one person worth?”

  Mortification mixed with the heat of the sun transformed me like peeled yam changing color to brown or yellow. Through gritted teeth, I spoke, “Joy, I get why you’re doing this. But for what? Clothes--”

  Her voice lowered. “I’ve been stealing from Mr Matthews. A little here and there. I don’t want to be his wife, I only want to get close enough to have enough.”

  “Enough for what?”

  She sighed, dropping her arms. The white scars on her fingers catching the sun briefly. “I don’t know. Leave this place, far enough away that Madam Gold will never find me.”

  I laughed. “That’s impossible.”

  “But you have a greater chance than me,” she continued like I hadn’t spoken, “take that ATM withdraw an amount your conscience can carry, that your loyalty or disloyalty is worth and run fast--”

  It was my turn to get very close. “Shut up, Joy. You remember what happened the last time you crossed Madam Gold?” I nodded in satisfaction at the flicker of fear in her eyes. “Did you hear about Mary, her Madam doesn’t want her anymore?”

  Joy’s eyes widened. Despite our differences, we both loved Mary. “What happened?”

  “It doesn’t matter, not yet. There’s no price to loyalty. You just--”

  “And when does it end?” she asked bitterly.

  “It doesn’t,” I snapped.

  Joy shook her head, hands clenched at her side. “Sometimes I just—”

  The line moved a bit. The people on the queue struggled to drag their focus from us. They were openly listening to our discussion. I wanted the ground to open and swallow me.

  Joy opened her handbag. It was small and compact, with a long gold chain. “So what? You’ll go somewhere to change to your usual rags before you head home?”

  She flicked an upward glance. “Do I look like a babe you take ‘somewhere’?” She took out classy sunshades, with pinkish glasses and tiny golden hooks. “A five star hotel or nothing, you get?”

  I feared for her. “Just be careful.”

  “See you at the party.”

  I stared after her, wishing I had more time to drum more warnings into her head. It was almost an hour later before I took my turn at the ATM. I slotted in the card, counting the steps like Benita taught me.

  I breathe a sigh of relief when the withdrawal went through without a hitch. As I stuffed the money, a hundred and fifty thousand, into my bag, I considered Joy’s advice. I imagined taking this money and running back home. Aunty Sheila would stop running herself to the ground. The twins, Tochukwu and Tonna would attend better schools and stop hawking processed cassava. Madam would find out. Who would tell her first? Maybe when I didn’t come home early enough. She would refuse to believe it. Her faith in me was unshakable.

  My mouth went dry with fear. I zipped up the bag, keeping the money out of sight.

  Even the thought of betraying Madam left a bad taste in my mouth.

  Not after everything. My hands drifted to my left cheek. I dug my fingers into the scar, needing the pain to wash away the sin of Joy’s suggestion. A hand ran over my back. I jumped back in fright. A young boy of about fourteen, just two years older than the twins, looked on in concern.

  Staring into his cold, desperate eyes, I knew exactly what he wanted. And the exact moment he realized I knew.

  “Get away from me.”

  “Hey.” He raised both hands in surrender, his face wreathed in innocent lines. “What’s wrong with her?” he asked another boy in the queue.

  I moved, angry with myself for standing there for too long, daydreaming. I glared, unmoved and furious. Finally, he shrugged, muttering about wicked women, and left.

  Why had I even let Joy get that far with her nonsense? If she gave Mr Matthews a blow job, and so what? She must do much worse than that with him to get those clothes.

  I got on the bus to Demola’s shop and sunk down in my seat. What was Joy thinking, especially after everything we had been through? My stomach churned with the force of my emotions. I stared fixedly out the window throughout the ride.

  If not for a kind passenger, I would have missed my stop.

  Demola’s shop was right across the road. I crossed the road eager to get things over with. I inspected the goods, gave my approval, and waited for Demola to ring up the order. We joked around as I counted out his money. When I came up with eighty-five thousand and some change the first time, I laughed it off and counted again. And again.

  But after the third and fourth count, I knew.

  That small boy at the bank had successfully scammed me.

  And Joy asked how much my loyalty was worth? If we posed the same question to my Madam, how would she react?

  I would soon find out.

  Chapter five

  “Did you take the money?”

  The question left me surprised and disappointed even though I fully expected it. Yet, it was a legitimate question. Inside the shop, the lights were gone and the heat high. I looked my Madam in the eye, struggling to form the words. If I went straight for the apology, I was guilty. I decided on the truth.

  After a long stare, she nodded.

  Benita spread her hands. “That’s all?”

  She was back from school and chose today of all days not to go straight home. Madam gave her a droll look. “That’s all.”

  The shop chair fell with a loud crash. Benita stood over her mom, panting. “That’s not how you investigate a theft, Mom! A large amount of money is missing and—”

  “She said she didn’t take it,” Madam said evenly. “You heard her.”

  Benita almost lost her mind and smoke trickled out of her ears. “You heard her,” she mimicked, “Just like that? And you believed her?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “And yesterday, I told you I didn’t take that one thousand from your purse and you never believed me,” she paced the shop, kicked our bucket, spilling water everywhere, “you didn’t believe me. Your own daughter. What did I ever do to you? You think I’m a thief, me?”

  When Benita paused, budding breasts heaving beneath her uniform. Madam leaned forward. “Did you take the missing one thousand from my purse?”

  Benita’s eyes took on an unholy gleam. “Maybe Ada took it, you ever think of that?”

  Madam nodded. My legs went weak. “Ten years. She’s served us for ten years. She raised you. Has anything ever gone missing all that time?”

 
“Fuck you, Mom.”

  “Did you take the money?”

  “Fuck you.”

  Benita deliberately stepped on my toes as she stalked out. I didn’t care. I dropped to my knees and kissed Madam’s feet, whimpering in gratitude. Here, this was my vindication. A good Madam was rarer than gold. Would Mrs Matthews take Joy’s side like this? We all had our struggles. Even though I was Joy’s friend, I would stop judging her way of coping with hers and face mine.

  She sent me back to the bank and Demola. Same ATM card, same route, same everything. When I returned, it was late at night. Madam and Benita had the shop locked up, so I used my key. With brisk efficiency and renewed devotion, I put away the goods and did inventory.

  I was locking up when I spied the adult education pamphlet in the waste basket. With shaky hands, I reached for it. The venue was at Abeokuta, close to Benita’s school. I pictured myself in some classroom receiving education. Adult education. A disbelieving laugh ripped out of me.

  I crumpled the note in my fist.

  At home, I went straight to the kitchen. I could hear voices from the living room. Oga had visitors. Then I heard Blessing’s sweet voice. I froze with my head inside a cabinet. What was she doing home? As if I had conjured her, she called, “Hi.”

  I shut the cupboard and crossed to her. We last saw each other during Aunty Yemi’s wedding. She traveled from the wedding straight to her expensive University. “Welcome home, ma. Hope the trip was alright?”

  Blessing, good-looking and dainty smiled sadly. “I’m just nineteen. There’s no need for the formality.”

  My mouth dropped open.

  She laughed without humor. “I’ve been a bitch to you so I deserve that.“

  Shock broke goosebumps over my skin. What did Joy say about change again? But Blessing wasn’t done.

  “I… ah, thought we could be friends.” Her eyes caught mine, pleading and remorseful.

  If I had any regrets about serving Madam, it was Blessing and sometimes, Benita. Oga ignored my presence. Benita mocked me, but not maliciously. But Blessing? As beautiful as she was on the outside, was the most vindictive creature I ever had the misfortune to meet. I didn’t know what she was playing at but I went along.

  “Whatever you want,” I replied softly.

  She stepped forward. To my shame, old fear had me scrambling back until my back hugged the cupboards. It didn’t matter that she was only a year older. It didn’t matter that I was probably smarter and stronger than she was.

  She was the Princess of the house.

  I was taller at five-eight, her head just topped my chest. Yet, I felt like an ant she could crush beneath her heels.

  “I treated you badly. I’m sorry, not that I expect you to believe me.” She walked past my stunned figure to the gas cooker, long braids brushing the top of her ass. “I’m afraid you’ll probably cook all night. Mom’s hosting the workers, dinner, breakfast, lunch, the works.”

  “OK,” I croaked.

  She shook her head ruefully. “I’m making you uncomfortable. Let me get out of your hair.”

  Blessing was right. I cooked all night and didn’t have time to eat at all. Exhausted, sleep deprived and hungry, I was swaying on my feet by morning. I had just finished cleaning the kitchen when Madam appeared.

  “The police are here.”

  For a second, I could only stare back, my mind drawing a complete blank.

  A policewoman stuck her head in. She ran an admiring glance over the kitchen. My eyes strayed to Madam.

  Nothing happened.

  Within seconds of listening to them, I learned two things. One, it didn’t matter. Two, it didn’t matter. The Babalolas had them in their pocket. They weren’t really here for the case. I served them food and listened to their raucous laugh and jokes as they filled their bellies.

  My heart stretched in sympathy for the poor maid. She had to be worse off than anything I could imagine.

  The policewoman called me to the living room, probably to make a grand spectacle of their ‘hard work.’ She slid a picture to me. As I reached for it, she slammed a hand on the table. I jerked my head up.

  “We want the truth, or else. Look at it,” she ordered.

  I did. And nearly slid to the ground in a puddle. Eriga. Shit, she preferred Riggy. Riggy.

  “Do you know her?”

  My voice refused to work with my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I had to clear my throat three times. “No.”

  Madam frowned.

  “What happened?” The woman yawned.

  Tears of shame and anger prickled my eyes. Jesus, Eriga.

  Yes. The neighbors never came between a Madam and her girl. We were like invisible creatures for them. For one to call the police, Eriga had to be more than a little hurt. Dead?

  I shivered. Eriga or Madam? “No, nothing happened.”

  They said I could go. I escaped to the kitchen, out the door to my one room apartment near the gate. Then past it to the tiny bathroom at the back. I ran to the toilet and howled.

  When I reappeared, Madam sat on my bed waiting. She took one look at my face and sighed. ‘You knew her.”

  I nodded.

  “Madam Gold?”

  I nodded.

  She cursed. “I’m so sorry, so, so sorry.”

  I wanted to ask what ‘being sorry’ meant, but it wasn’t my place. She pulled me into her arms and apologized again. “Get some rest,” she placed a palm against my cheek, “you’re hot. Get some rest--”

  “But--”

  “Between Blessing and Benita and myself, I’m sure we can survive without you.”

  I laughed at the joke even though I wanted to cry. Eriga. “Thank you.”

  My sleep came in bits and pieces.

  It was completely normal.

  I should be used to it, but the tears were not.

  In my dreams, I took the long walk back. To the Orphanage. To Madam Gold. Our compound was huge. Inside was the farm. Beneath my bare feet, the freshly weeded ground tickled the soles of my feet. The girls glanced up as I passed. The ones who had been there the longest like Eriga stopped work altogether, her hoe slipping from her hand.

  She took a step forward.

  A mistake.

  Aunty lashed the cane across her back, and she slumped to the ground from the force of it.

  I tore my eyes off her and continued to the house. White, glass windows, brick walls and pillars and flowers. Lots of flowers. The front door was open. Madam Gold waited. I hesitated on the threshold. The Aunty behind pushed me forward, so I stumbled inside on my hands and knees.

  Fittingly, my lips almost grazed the gold slippers clad feet with the red painted nails. Heart pounding, muscles twitching in readiness for the punishment I deserved, I raised my head. I smelled processed cassava and nothing else.

  My memory of the Orphanage dissolved. Then I was home. Mother smiled and held her arms out wide. Relief revved up inside me, and I ran. I stopped when I slammed into a barbed wire fenced round the place. I cried out in pain as the edges dug deep and opened my skin.

  “Tonna!”

  I jerked my head up. That was not my name. It was my junior sister’s. Then I saw mother properly. The dirty bowl with jagged ends she wore on her head as a cap. The flies rising like black smoke from the waste dump. One buzzed close to my cheek and landed. The wetness sent shivers of disgust down my spine. I swatted it off.

  Mother came close and my eyes filled with tears. Her smile stretched her teeth wide, tufts of yellow edged in between them. She held something out.

  A mango.

  I smiled. Maybe she finally recognized me. Maybe she was better. Until I saw the maggot wiggling through the flesh of the fruit. My stomach roiled alarmingly. Another patch of yellow caught my eye. It took a full minute to confirm what my eyes saw.

  A basket full of mangoes. Discarded for many days, if not weeks. The dark cloud of flies fighting for space. Then the smell.

  I bent over and vomited.

  T
he nasty taste in my mouth jolted me awake.

  In the dark, I scrambled outside to the bathroom. None too gently, I pushed the door made of aluminum roof open. It screeched grudgingly before baring a space for me to squeeze through. I gagged painfully, coming up empty. I used water left over from my morning bath to wash my mouth.

  Shuddering, I slid to the ground, my loud pants the only sound in the dark. My eyes drifted closed. Eriga. I pushed my hand through my hair, so antsy I could jump out of my skin.