Ancestor Stones - Aminatta Forna [54]
This house I was living in contained more than one kind of hell, and I had just thought of a way to deal with one of them.
Several weeks passed. Osman came and went. When he was at home he would enter my room as he pleased and force me to play my part in his monstrous game. I offered no resistance. As the days passed Osman gradually relaxed, believing he had mastered me.
One night he fell asleep on my bed. I crept in next to him and we stayed that way until dawn.
A few days later, in the early hours of the morning, I lay awake and watched Osman. Behind the lids I could see the bulge of his eyeball, the iris trembling as he dreamed. At the corner of his mouth a bubble of spit swelled and subsided. His chest rose as he drew in shuddering breaths. In his sleep his lips curved upwards.
‘Osman,’ I whispered. ‘Osman.’ My husband jerked slightly, his mouth twitched. He turned his shoulder away. ‘Wake up, Osman. Wake up.’
I let a few beats pass. Gently I shook his shoulder, taking care not to rouse him too quickly. I rocked him, whispering his name until his eyes stilled and the lids cracked open. He uttered a groan and softly sighed.
Again: ‘Osman, Osman!’ His eyelids opened a fraction further.
‘Asana? Eh, Asana. What is it?’ he mumbled, his lips struggling with the effort of forming the words, wanting to stay in the dream. The next moment his eyelids began to flutter and close as he slipped back under.
‘Osman,’ I said. ‘Wake up and see. See what I have for you!’ I groped the floor until my fingers closed around the handle of the knife. I held it up, allowing the blade to glow in the silver light. I put my lips very close to his ear, brushing the lobe. I made my voice gentle, coaxing. Osman’s eyes opened. I put the blade up under his chin: the tip made a soft indentation in the flesh. ‘You see what can happen, Osman? So strong but what good do your muscles do you now?’ I felt his body slowly stiffen.
I laid my cheek on the pillow, let the knife down slowly and slipped it out of sight. I lay quietly. Waiting.
It happened just as I hoped. Moments later Osman sat bolt upright. He leaped from the bed. He was naked, flailing. A little deranged, really, when I set my mind back to thinking about it. Next he bent over and peered at me closely. I let my eyes open, I gazed back at him, I reached up and stroked his cheek. ‘What’s the matter, husband?’ I asked, as though I was greatly concerned. All the time his puzzlement grew. ‘What is it, Osman? Is something the matter?’ I reached up, took his hand in mine and drew him back to the bed. ‘A dream, that’s all. Just a dream. Go back to sleep, now.’ Osman hesitated and then sat down heavily. I rolled over and pretended to sleep. After a while I felt him lie down, a long way from me, right on the other side of the bed.
From that night and for the remainder of my pregnancy Osman never touched me again. I congratulated myself heartily on my cunning. I lay back on my bed and buffed my belly with Vaseline petroleum jelly.
Osman Iscandari, I chuckled, ng ba kerot k’bana, kere ng baye erith.
You have a big penis, but you have no balls.
My daughter arrived, as had I, at the close of the rains. Unlike me she took her time coming into this world. I bore it. After the birth my mother praised me. Nobody would ever have known a woman was giving birth in this house. At night she took the baby to her bed to let me rest, carrying her to me when she needed to feed. Still, in the hours in between I found I missed my daughter already. I could not sleep, I could not wait to hold her again. I crept into the