A Promise From My Heart

46.

The shrivelled leaves would have cowered under Wasilat's look of irritation if they could. Discoloured and limp they looked as if the little life in them was slowly withering away. Many were spotted with holes, sign of pest infestation and few yellow pigmented leaves began to fall off the weak stalk, a mark of death.

I eyed the oha leaves from the corner of my eyes wondering whether her eyes were in her pockets while she bought such dead vegetables for cooking, my discontentment hidden behind an expressionless face. I swung the round stainless tray in hand in an upward motion one last time to ensure all the shafts and stones have separated from the beans. The neighbour's generator convulsing in the next compound added to my subtle annoyance.

"How much you say you take buy this nonsense?" I questioned, raving my eyes across the tray, ready to pick out any debris which had successfully hidden from my sight.

"Five hundred naira." She sulked.

"And you opened your eyes and let them sell this nonsense to you?"

"No o." She defended immediately. "My customer was not around so I bought it elsewhere. I trusted the old woman because of her age. So, I left to buy meat while she sold it. I did not want to waste time."

"This is bad, sha." I commented. My words only seem to stimulate her annoyance.

"I am going to return this back to her. Iru pala pala wo ni yi." In a swift movement, she grabbed the bako bag from the kitchen island and went over to the vegetable. "Some people would sit and wonder why their business is not progressing. They won't know it is because of their deceit. If you see that woman, she's so old that she should be resting at home and make her children take care of her." At the end of her rant, the vegetable had been squeezed into the bako bag, remnants of leaves on the floor.

"What if she does not have children?" Certain that every debris had been taken out, I stepped to the bowl on the island made of durable black wood and covered with monochrome marble top.

The kitchen was renovated before my mother died. Kenny had ensured he was involved in everything related to the kitchen from choosing tiles for the walls to the kitchen appliances; what type to buy, the kind of pots that are durable and non-stick and even the beautifications like a miniature sponge case in the shape of a bed. His suggestion and supervision turned out to be a spacious, well organised kitchen with everything up to date. I remembered he stood at the entrance of the kitchen; arms wide open as he praised himself for such a result.

"Why would she not have children? People like her can't have kids. Not with how wicked they are."

"Wasilat!" I called out in horror. "Don't say that. Let it go." I moved to the sink, kept the bowl of beans and stepped over to freezer. "It's getting late. Besides that, do you want to go and fight an old woman. Forget it. I will get another one from the market tomorrow." I opened the freezer and brought out the chopped pepper, ponmo and fish needed to cook beans.

"This is not fair."

"Yeah, but what can we do?" I was indifferent about it. The deed had been done, there was nothing we could have done to change it.

"Money has been wasted. Do you know how long I have been craving for oha soup?"

"It happens." I rinsed the beans then poured it into the instant pot which was Kenny's most recent purchase.

After I broke the news to him, Kenny reaction had been a quiet "get out". It was said in a low voice fringed with menace that I had said nothing but left the room. The next morning, he had not come out of this room early and had left the house almost noon. He came home late that night and I had not been out to see him because of a painting I was working on. The next few days passed with him being in bed all day except he had something important like prayers and food to take him out of bed. He rarely had a conversation with anyone in the house. But I never saw him cry. I knew he was hurt, crushed and dying inside. It was written on his face in dark stamps around his eyes, lack of joy in his expression and contours of emotional distress.