Poetherapy 2.0

The Boss, Maid and garden boy

It was past midnight, Mr Smith hobbled into the spare bedroom where his maid, Anna slept. It was some two hours since she had gone to sleep. Mr Smith abandoned his feeble attempt to switch the light on. Still struggling to adjust to the darkness, he fumbled for the bed with both hands. He felt for Anna's feet. They were warmer than his hands.

Mr Smith had knocked off late that night. For weeks, he was yet to get used to that he was now the custodian of the company's finances. For someone conscious of his drinking habits, he preferred to leave the company pistol in the safe where he kept the cash. It was now three days since his wife went to Dubai on business.

Mr Smith's arms ascended the still frame of his maid. Anna twitched with fright when the ice-cold hands of the intruder touched her face. Although the room was dark, it did not take her long to identify her boss. She wondered in her half sleep why her boss would sneak into her room in the dead of the night.

Mr Smith forced his frame into the blankets. He smelt like a brewery. His heavy breath and body odour produced a nasty concoction inside the blankets.

"When your madam is out, you are the madam," Mr Smith mumbled in a deep and rather tired voice, feeling for his maid. Anna was at a loss on how to respond to her boss' strange behaviour. It was the first time in the six months of her employment that Mr Smith acted that way.

Mr Smith still had his suit trousers on but had no shirt. He undid his belt with his right hand while his left elbow levered his big frame even closer to his now sobbing maid. Anna felt her boss' tough beard prick her bare back.

"Please Mr Smith, don't do that, please," she pleaded, trying to break free from his frail grip.

Seeing her boss' determination, Anna tried to calm him down.

"Ok, just give me a few minutes to think about this," she said, gently fending her boss away with both arms.

"Anna, I want you to be my second wife," Mr Smith whispered, trying to find the best bait for his maid's consent.

"I don't doubt you Mr Smith but how do I become your wife if you won't listen to me. Please go back to your bedroom. Give me some 15 minutes. I just want to visit the bathroom first."

Anna sounded agitated as her boss finally loosened his grip around her.

After a brief moment, Mr Smith rolled off the bed. His ankle low trousers disturbed his first step. He staggered and collided violently against the wardrobe. He could not suppress a groan of irritation.

After Mr Smith had left, Anna's brain was in a maze of mournful thought. She clutched the blankets with both hands and sobbed uncontrollably. She held the blankets against her face in a bid to gag her own noisy sobs. One half of her told her to burst out of the house and sprint into the dark night.

Mr Smith was like a father to her. The thought of surrendering her innocence to him horrified her. Anna was an orphan. She could neither betray her madam who had warmly accepted her into her family and treated her like her own daughter.

Anna finally collected herself. She rolled a towel around her body and stole away to the back cottage where Mufombi, the house's garden boy lived. He got the nickname Mufakose after his hometown, later bastardised to Mufombi as he grew up in that particular township.

Anna made a gentle tap on the door and entered. She did not wait to be invited in. She knew Mufombi had a habit of not locking his door when he slept.

Mufombi was still sleeping on a tattered sofa, his head tilted backwards on the couch. The top part of his overall was undone and lowered to his wait, revealing stitch marks from long healed knife wounds. His eyes were rolled upwards like a corpse. He groaned noisily like a grinding mill. The room had a thick scent of sweaty shoes and the unmistakable traditional cigarette. At 40, Mufombi was twice Anna's age. But poverty and lack of baths gave him the features of a 69-year-old.