There’s something in the water
Written on 4 November 2020. A (Very) Short Story
The prompt from Bhala Writers: Write a Prison Story that is inspired by or includes the phrase “I/we/she/he couldn’t wait to see him”. I did not get to including the actual words but they inspired the story. I have not written in ages but courage is trending in 2020, so here we go.
I stare coldly at him from across the glass window. Why aren’t prisoners given more choices? Stupid question. Why can’t I refuse to see visitors? As though the hell inside this place was not enough. A sharp pain pierces my shoulder as I fold my arms; pain I could not afford to show on my face. But he’s on to me. He knows my mannerisms too well. The years spent memorizing me are playing to his advantage. His eyes cloud with concern as I attempt to hide a wince. Concern, and then disdain. Was he disappointed that he still cared for a convict? Did he regret the decisions he had made that landed me here? No, that was too hopeful an assumption. I wasn’t allowed to be hopeful — hope was a privilege for the free. When you are free, hope can find you. Here in my grim surroundings, bitterness was my cruel companion. How did we get here?
“Have you eaten?” he ventured.
Stupid question. It wasn’t my stomach that wanted to be fed, it was my anger — boiling underneath my skin and begging for a target to devour. Food was the least of my problems. I do not dare break eye contact. I continue to stare coldly at him hoping that the rest of the time will pass in silence and we will be forced to return from whence we came. Him, to the house I furnished and me, to a prison cell.
I was not to be so lucky. A look of determination entered his eyes. This man came for something and he was not going to leave without it.
“Saka chitaura zvawavinga pano.” If I was going to be forced to speak, I would use my mother tongue. It was more piercing and had more stinging words to express disdain. It was the only ammunition I had. At least, for now.
“Chichi is asking questions and we need to get a few things straight,” he continued in English. I almost broke at the mention of my daughter’s name. I swallowed down the cry before it could reach my lips and give me away. I would cry later. Not here. Not in front of this monster.
“She wants to see you and I don’t think refusing her request is the best thing for her right now.” I wonder when this ‘what’s best for Chichi’ reasoning started kicking in? Certainly not when he meticulously laid out a plan that landed me here and him out there.
“Saka unoda kuti mwana wangu andione ndakadai? Usauye pano kuita miyedzo saMai vako, shamwari.” The mother my daughter knew was a strong and confident woman, who didn’t believe in repeating outfits and needed two Personal Assistants to keep up with her life. I would not let my daughter see me this way, as much as I longed to see her face. Surely, I would make my way out of this hell?
“Udza mwana wangu kuti ndichauya ndichimutora.” I stood up to leave and started to motion to the guards.
“Dee, be reasonable…”
It was the childhood nickname, the almost comical reference to reason in the most unreasonable situation. I snapped my head back and pounced at the window. “Don’t talk to me about reason,” I said through gritted teeth.
He cowered back in surprise, and then smiled. Dammit. I had shown an emotion I hadn’t meant to. I wanted to be cool and collected, unrattled. I unclenched my fists and retreated. I had said too much already and he would be back. This was a long game and I could not play all my cards in the first round. I knew this nzenza. There was more he wanted to demand of me…the offshore accounts I astutely kept hidden in this whole ordeal. He wanted to strip me dry and he was going to use my daughter to do it.
No matter. When he returned, which I knew he would, I’d be ready. I’d rather rot in prison than strike a deal with the devil I’d married.
