SHORT STORY – Closure

Forty-four minutes later, Barira, Sabo Dada’s older sister, breezed into his house. His bride, who had just been widowed, was on the sofa, flanked by some early sympathizers. She was yet to grasp the bitter reality of losing a husband she had for only a few hours. “Did he sleep with you?” Barira asked, standing […]

Forty-four minutes later, Barira, Sabo Dada’s older sister, breezed into his house. His bride, who had just been widowed, was on the sofa, flanked by some early sympathizers. She was yet to grasp the bitter reality of losing a husband she had for only a few hours.

“Did he sleep with you?” Barira asked, standing over the widow.

Sadiya did not understand. She looked up through tear-fogged eyes.

“Did he sleep with you, I said,” Barira repeated. “Did he make love to you? Did he consummate the union?”

Sadiya still did not understand. She looked at her sister-in-law, her serious face that had no hint of a joke. That was when she noticed the stranger that had come in with Barira. He was a small framed man, poised studiously with a camcorder to his eye. There was a little red light blinking on the little device that he kept pointed at her face. She was befuddled further. Then she started thinking the whole thing was a joke; the death, this camcorder, everything — a very bad joke, but a joke nonetheless.

But Barira was in no joking mood. She roughly pulled the lens of the camera to her face and spoke candidly into it.

“Let this be on record: my late brother, God rest his soul, has had no carnal knowledge of this woman. He did not consummate his marriage to her before…” suddenly, she broke down and wept bitterly. She stunned her audience the more. The miniature cameraman with his miniature recorder bent over her, focusing the lens on her bowed head.

Rakiya was disgusted by the act. She was Sabo Dada’s maternal aunt who lived nearby. She was one of the first sympathizers to come by. She met some other women who had come as soon as they could. The widow would need all the comfort she could get, especially at that early hour of the tragedy. But this show by Barira was not what she envisaged.

“What on earth are you doing?” she asked.

Barira stopped crying as suddenly as she had begun. She rose to her feet and used the corner of her wrapper to wipe the tears from her eyes. “Aunty, I know what I am doing,” she said.

 “What are you doing?” Rakiya asked again.

 “Establishing the fact that Sabo did not consummate his marriage with her,” Barira replied. “It should be on record.”

 “You impetuous bastard!” Rakiya stormed to her feet. “Your brother has just died and the first thing you could think of…”

“Aunty, the sooner the better,” Barira cut in. “Before we start hearing stories of a child coming from somewhere.”

Rakiya slapped her. It was fast and sharp. The room fell into an equally sharp silence. She then turned to the cameraman and said, “Turn off that thing and leave this place, dan iska.

“Haba! I’m just doing my job,” he said, stepping back nonetheless.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Barira ordered resolutely. “We haven’t finished yet.”

The cameraman repositioned himself and panned the room. His lens rested on the tearful and baffled face of the widow and moved on to Rakiya. He zoomed in on her heaving chest and then her unbelieving face.

She charged at him and grabbed the camera. The cameraman held on firmly. He had spent a fortune acquiring the device and he knew she would smash it. Where would he get the money to buy another one, he thought. That, alone, made him hold on as resolutely as he could. They tussled fiercely. She was stronger and was gaining but he still would not let go. Then she started biting and clawing dementedly.

“Wayo! Wayo!” he wailed.

Barira jumped in on the fray, wrestling her aunt to save her precious confession.

“Kai! Kai! What’s this? God! What’s this?” thundered Bala. He was a close friend of the deceased. He had come in with two others to see how the widow was coping. He was so shocked he could not move at first.  Then he moved in and tried to put himself between the warring parties. Rakiya, seeing that she would lose hold of the camera, sank her teeth into the cameraman’s upper arm. He screamed so loud the sanctity of the widow’s grief was shattered like glass. Barira held her aunt by the waist, trying to pull her away. With the help of Bala and the others, they rescued the cameraman and his camera.

“Wallahi! I’ll kill you,” Rakiya swore at the cameraman. She was still bent on getting her hands on the camera she had to be restrained.

The little man had fled to the door, where he stood and nursed his wounds.

“For God’s sake, somebody just died!” Bala shouted.

Rakiya looked down at the blue rug that still gave off the smell of newness; a warm, crispy smell.

“What’s wrong with Sadiya?” one of the men asked.

Sadiya, forgotten in the excitement of the fight, had slumped to the floor. The sympathizers rushed to her. Rakiya tended to her, dabbing her forehead with a handkerchief.

Barira moved to confer with her battered cameraman. The cameraman nodded and started recording again. He panned the room once more, focusing on each item of value, each piece of furniture and fitment. Most of them were new, unused — some were still unwrapped. Everything was new and the smell of newness overpowered even the perfume and the air freshener. Having done that, he turned his lens on the men who were now trying to get Sadiya to the hospital. That was when Rakiya remembered him. She made to seize him again, but he was alert and dodged. She gave chase but he beat her to the door. She bit her finger and whipped the air with it. Then she helped carry out Sadiya.

The other women rushed to the door, lamenting, supplicating and slapping their palms alternately. When the party departed to the hospital, they returned and stood in the middle of the living room.     

 Barira eyed them and hissed loudly. Suddenly, she burst into tears and wailed. It was so sudden the women were stunned. No one understood what she was crying about. She wept so bitterly and left, holding the corner of her wrapper to her tearful eyes.

Sabo Dada was buried six hours and forty-four minutes later. He was buried by those, who only hours before, had been celebrating his wedding. His father was called to throw the first handful of dirt over the sealed grave. The old man did, and then crumpled, weeping bitterly.

The old man had loved his son from the first day he was born. He never stopped loving him even when he was scrounging for a living as an engine oil peddler by the road side. Then the boy had made a stunning decision. He wanted to go back to school. Though the old man was glad, he had no means to sponsor him. But his son did not give up. He sponsored himself. He eventually got a job in one of the telecom companies and soon built himself a house. He bought a brand new car that was still parked in the garage of his house. The old man loved his son more when the son took most of the responsibility of the entire family off his old shoulders and put a decent face on the old family house. But for most people, Sabo Dada would be remembered as the man who died hours after his wedding.

There are moments when silence is more eloquent than poetry. Sabo Dada’s mourning period was one of such moments. Sympathizers only held the hands of his grieving family and friends and bowed their heads. Days after the prescribed three days of mourning, more sympathizers still came to hold hands and bow their heads.

It was on one of such days that Barira lay on the bed with a novel in her hand. Her mother, Hajiya, was on a plush, blue prayer rug, counting the beads of her tasbaha with muttered supplications.

“Must there be a taqbah?” Barira asked suddenly. She simply could not understand why the widow had to be accommodated for four months and ten days before the deceased’s property could be disposed of.

“And why mustn’t there be?” Her mother asked

“You see, Hajiya, since the objective of the taqbah is to allow for the manifestation of any child and the shedding of any blood ties…well, he didn’t consummate his…”

“Keep quiet, heartless child! All you think of is the inheritance. Have you prayed for your brother’s poor soul?”

“Why should I? Is he not in heaven already?” Barira shot back. Her mother was stunned she only gapped in shock. Barira went on to explain, “Is it not said that those who are murdered would go directly to heaven?”

“What are you talking about?” Hajiya asked.

“He was fine before he married her. She killed him.”

Her mother could take no more. She struck out with the tasbaha. It whooshed angrily through the air and whipped Barira’s back. The string snapped on impact and the decorated beads scattered across the room. Barira jumped out of the bed. When she got to the door, she stopped and rubbed her stung back.

Continued next week