CWRC Anthology

NO MORE TEARS

by
OREMODU OLUWABUKUNOLA RUTH
Bible Text: Luke 10:30-35 (The Good Samaritan).
Theme: Sacrifice

***
I hurry home, watching as the sun sets, bathing the earth with an orange dusty glow. The project at the office had taken all my time, and while my colleagues zoomed off in their cars, I had to take the bus.
This adult life is not easy.
My phone vibrates in my bag, and I pick it.
“Mummy, good evening.”
“Deborah, how are you? I hope your work didn’t keep you late this time?”
Worry laces her tone, causing me to increase my pace.
“I’m almost home, Ma.”
She sighs. “Just be careful. And don’t pass any dark corners oh.”
“Yes, Ma.”
Slipping the phone back into my bag, I glanced at the sky, noting that the sun was no longer visible. Then I look left and right, before quickening my steps towards the bridge.
I pass a group of young men, drunk and noisy. They whistle at me, jeering when I give no response.
Almost out. Almost out.
After making it out, I drew in a sharp breath, my hands trembling. Just as I rounded the corner, two streets away from my house, a man stumbled out of an uncompleted building, a bottle tucked underneath his armpit.
“Fine girl.” His words are slurred, his eyes bright.
I pay no attention, almost running now. There were no streetlights here, and everywhere was almost silent, since most people have retired to the comfort of their homes.
“No be you I dey talk to?”
“Leave me alone!” I shout back.
I was flying now, caution thrown to the wind. As I take another step forward, my foot hits an object and I tumble to the ground. The contents of my bag spills out, and as I grope in the dark to pick them up, a sharp pain shoots through my head.
I shriek and clutch my head, glancing up to see him swing his bottle for a second attack. It hits me in the temple this time, my vision going black for a second.
He bursts into laughter, his voice hoarse.
“You think say you fit run away? God don bota my bread tonight. Fine girl like you, you no fit pass me by.”
I try to stand but he pushes me down and pins my arms with his. My scream tears from my throat, and I swing my legs with as much force as I could muster to fight him off, but the man lands a slap on my face, knocking the breath out of me.
“You beta kip shut.”
I spit at him, but he simply chuckles and unzips his trousers. Writhing underneath him, I try to get away. My phone begins to vibrate again, and tears fill my eyes.
Mummy, help me. Please.
I stare up at the night sky and count the stars, silent sobs wracking my body.
Nothing’s happening. It’s all a dream.
When he’s done, he rises to his feet with a grunt and kicks my legs.
“You cannot even make any sound. Abi, you didn’t enjoy it ni?’
I give no response.
“Ehn hen, you didn’t? You’re just like that stupid girl that broke up with me yestaday, after everytin I did for her. All of you are the same.”
I close my eyes as a chill settles upon me. My body starts to shake all over, so I curl into a ball to warm myself.
“Women are very wicked. And we must–” he’s panting now, his voice trembling, “–we must get rid of the wicked people in this world.”
Picking up his bottle, he smashes it on the ground. I jerk at the sound, my gaze traveling up just in time to see him bring down the jagged end of the bottle on my thigh. I howl in pain, while he laughs. He jabs my shoulder with the bottle again, barely missing my neck.
“Die dia.”
The bottle slips from his fingers and falls with a soft thud. Spitting on the ground, he walks away, disappearing into the night.

***
The sun peeks over the horizon like a shy lover, its golden rays bringing light.
I had lain here all night, bleeding out from my wounds. Surely, I would die here. This is how my end would come, because no one who had passed by had been willing to help.
First, a man had walked by with brisk steps, his briefcase swinging from his hand.
“Help me.” I had called out.
He had stopped, looked over and then crossed to the other side.
“Before I touch her and she dies in my hands. God forbid.” He said, and then continued humming a tune to himself.
My heart drops.
I lick my lips, chapped and dry from dehydration. Now that hope is gone, the pain reappears. I grimaced, as time had used up all my tears.
Minutes tick by, and then I began to hear voices as a group of women walked along the street, discussing the rise and fall of market prices.
“Help me. Please.”
“Eh! What is this?” One of them says as they stop and gather around me.
Another one claps her hands thrice. “Is it not all these prostitutes that yahoo boys use for money rituals?”
They exclaim in oohs and aahs, their lips curling in distaste.
“Olodumare, please my children must never end up like this.” A third one says.
Then they carry their baskets, adjust it on their heads and continue walking, their voices fading as they discuss the prostitute they just saw on the road.
My breath slows, and I close my eyes, minutes passing by again. Time, unreadable like the scribbles of a mad scientist, yet just as important. I lose track of it, resigning myself to death and not even making a move to call for help when the harsh hum of a bike begins to get louder.
Then the hum stops, and I hear a deep voice say, “What–? How… How did this happen?”
He reaches down and taps my cheek. My eyes flutter open. It’s a young man in his twenties.
“You’re alive?”
I blink, my tongue too heavy to speak.
He reaches underneath my arms and legs, drawing me into his embrace. I hissed in pain, my wounds feeling stabbed all over again.
“I’m sorry.” He says as he places me on his bike, climbs behind me and holds me in place. “Don’t worry, we’re almost at the hospital.”
At this, I drift off, the steady hum of the bike lulling me into blackness.

***
I open my eyes, the pristine white walls of a room staring back at me. My eyes roam the room, before settling on my Mum who sat in a chair in the corner, studying her Bible. Her spectacles sit on the bridge of her nose, her lips moving in whispers.
“Mummy?”
She looks up, before jumping to her feet and rushing to my side.
“You’re awake. Thank God. Oh, thank You, Jesus. Let me call the doctor.” She says before dashing out, the door swinging shut behind her.
Closing my eyes, I breathe in the antiseptic odor of the room and await her return. Soon she’s back with the doctor and two nurses. The doctor examines me and informs us that I would be discharged in a month’s time.
After, he leaves with the promise to come check on me again.
I give a nod and yawn, my eyes closing of their own accord.
My Mummy stays close and adjusts the duvet over my body. Then she smoothes my hair, before fixing the hospital gown. I blink back to sleep and gaze at her.
“I thought you would never wake up.” Her voice trembles, her eyes are misty.
“I’m sorry, Ma.”
She looks at me, startled.
“I’m not accusing you. I’m just happy you’re alive.”
Putting her arms round me with as much care as she could muster, she took me into her embrace. As I rest my head against her bosom, I let her warmth envelop me.
It was a balm to my soul.

***
I groan and slump on the hospital bench, the walk I just took squeezing all the strength out of me.
A butterfly flutters past, and I sigh.
I wish I was as light and free as this butterfly.
My hand rests on my shoulder, my fingers tracing the outlines of the bandage that has been there for three weeks now. The events of that night flash through my mind and my breath catches, but I quickly switch my thoughts to the food my Mummy brought for me earlier.
But it didn’t work.
My hands begin to shake, so I clasp them as my breath comes in short gasps.
The silhouette of the man falls across the bench I’m sitting on and I let out a scream.
No!
The person steps back, his voice a low timbre as he asks, “Are you okay?”
I mumble out a response, my eyes darting to and fro as I look for a means of escape.
He reaches out and touches my cheek. “Hey.”
At this, I relax, the fear oozing out of me. I glance at him, and see that it’s a man in his early twenties.
“Are you okay?” He asks again.
I give a curt nod, before pushing myself to my feet.
“T-thank you.”
Silence.
Then, “For what?”
“For saving me that night and for paying my hospital bills.”
He says nothing again, his eyes studying me.
“You don’t know this, but a lot of people passed me by without helping. Yet you–you helped immediately you came.”
A tear slips out of my eye, and I sniffle.
“How did you recognize me?” He asks.
“I never forget faces.”
He steps closer and wipes the tears. I lean against him, breathing in his scent.
“Your name, please?”
“Banji. Your Mother called me here.”
I smile at this. Then the smile widens, and soon it turns into full blown laughter. I throw my head back and laugh, all my worries and anxieties bubbling out of me like the gas in a fizzy drink.
Banji watches me at first, emotions flitting through his face. First astonishment, then thoughtfulness, and then understanding.
A smile curves his lips, the joy in his eyes mirroring mine.
No more tears.
No more.

***

Oremodu Oluwabukunola Ruth is a barrister and solicitor of the Nigerian Bar. Writing from a young age, she honed her talent over time by writing short stories, novels and taking writing courses. Her story, Even The Skies Are Not Blue Today, was published in an online magazine to commemorate the fallen heroes of her country. A certified International Model United Nations intern, she enjoys singing and dancing. She also swims to keep fit.
Having a penchant for skill acquisition drove her to learn make-up artistry and Do-It-Yourself beauty remedies. She studied law in Obafemi Awolowo University and is part of a family of six.

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