My Wife, My Man?

Chapter Fifteen

"Truth should be in love and love in truth." An African Proverb

The delicious flavour melted in her mouth like fire melted a candle. She shut her eyes, drawing herself into a land that brought her happiness.

Perli did what made her feel free and that was stuffing her mouth with food in Liz's place. All it took was a bag full of chocolates; a few pleadings here and there, a public declaration of how stupid she was and an awful attempt to sing, and their friendship was on track as if they never fought at all.

"You know what?!" she exclaimed, her lips covered with the thick yellow chicken soup. Her mouth filled with pieces of meat presented a scene of a woman who barbarously chewed like a cave dweller. "Relationships are not as glamorous as you think. I don't know why people on the internet exaggerate these things," she stated, pointing the chicken drumstick at Liz's face before she viciously bit on it again. "I mean look at me, I am eating like a mad pig," she smiled stupidly at the faces that stared confusedly at her.

"Liz, sy okay is?" The voice of the little girl, who sat between them, asked in a whisper while adjusting her glasses. She inquired about Perli's well-being in Afrikaans.

Perli giggled, "Of course I am."

Liz wiped her mouth with the serviette and raised her brow at Perli. She studied the way Perli ate; the vicious way she murdered the already dead piece of meat — the fifth one she was having. Her tongue occasionally stuck out to lick off the soup that formed a faint moustache upon her lips, while her fingers held selfishly onto the chicken, as if not to let anyone take it away. She expected the eleven-year-old girl, she babysat, to be eating like that but, no; it was Mrs Onel eating like a madwoman.

The girl's gaze was fixed on Perli, while her fingers playfully tangled the edge of her ponytail. She had been like that since they began eating, occasionally airing up her voice to ask for more water or whisper words to Liz. She recognized the face that sat opposite her. The black curly-coiled hair with light brown highlights; the perfect chocolate skin with an oval face, and a pair of deep-set hazel brown eyes that could pierce through one's soul, could only belong to that person she saw a few months ago on the Huisgenoot and the Drum magazine: the bride to the famous Mr Onel.

What was her name again? Oh yes Perli, Perli Jaki Onel. But the woman behaved strangely. She thought for sure a woman of her class wouldn't eat like a pig in front of an eleven-year-old.

"Uncle Jabo keeps on saying," Perli continued, still speaking with her mouth full and ignoring the puzzled look on the girl's face, "that I'll learn to accept things, but all I have learnt is how to, professionally, swim in confusion."

"Clearly," Liz muttered softly, rolling her eyes and staring at her plate. She had barely eaten anything. The only thing she had eaten was the mashed potatoes on the side of her plate. Perli's plate, on the other hand, was almost licked clean. The only evidence that there once was food on it was the sight of the little crumbs of the chicken skin on it.

"Hey, that's mean!" Perli narrowed her eyes at her.

"Perli, you're scaring the child," Liz's voice was firm but calm. She was glad the little girl couldn't understand half the things Perli was saying, or so she hoped. She tried to keep a smile on her face while deep down, she boiled with irritation at Perli's eating and action. It was only recently that she found out the whole deal about Perli's marriage and why she was always upset about it. And now Perli sat, occupying a seat opposite from her, at her three-seat dining table, and eating uselessness into her life.