Anthills of the Savannah - Chinua Achebe [55]
Just as he was going to plead for mercy she screamed an order: “OK!” and he exploded into stars and floated through fluffy white clouds and began a long and slow and weightless falling and sinking into deep, blue sleep.
When he woke like a child cradled in her arms and breasts her eyes watching anxiously over him, he asked languorously if she slept.
“Priestesses don’t sleep.”
He kissed her lips and her nipples and closed his eyes again.
“YOU CALLED ME a priestess. No, a prophetess, I think. I mind only the Cherubim and Seraphim part of it. As a matter of fact I do sometimes feel like Chielo in the novel, the priestess and prophetess of the Hills and the Caves.”
“It comes and goes, I imagine.”
“Yes. It’s on now. And I see trouble building up for us. It will get to Ikem first. No joking, Chris. He will be the precursor to make straight the way. But after him it will be you. We are all in it, Ikem, you, me and even Him. The thing is no longer a joke. As my father used to say, it is no longer a dance you can dance carrying your snuff in one cupped hand. You and Ikem must quickly patch up this ridiculous thing between you that nobody has ever been able to explain to me.”
“BB, I can’t talk to Ikem any more. I am tired. And drained of all stamina.”
“No, Chris. You have more stamina than you think.”
“Well, I certainly seem to. But only under your management, you know.” He smiled mischievously and kissed her.
“You know I am not talking about that, stupid.”
She left him in bed, had a quick shower, came back and only then retrieved her dress where she had flung it and put it back on. All the while Chris’s eyes were glued on her flawless body and she knew it. She next retrieved Chris’s things and stacked them neatly at the foot of the bed. Then she left the room to find out about lunch. Agatha seething with resentment was seated on the kitchen chair, her head on the table, pretending to be asleep. Yes, she had finished lunch she answered while her narrowed, righteous eyes added something like: while you were busy in your sinfulness.
Beatrice prepared a plate of green salad to augment the brown beans with fried plantain and beef stew. Agatha had not bothered to make any dessert no doubt expecting to have the pleasure of hearing her mistress’s complaint. Beatrice simply ignored her and quickly put together from cakes and odds and ends in the fridge two little bowls of sherry trifles. Then she went back to the room and woke Chris up.
It would appear from the way she beamed at him when he appeared at the table that Agatha did not include him in her moral censure. Girls at war! thought Beatrice with a private smile which the other apparently noticed and answered with a swift frown. Even Chris noticed the sudden switch.
“What’s eating your maid?” he asked as soon as she had returned to the kitchen.
“Nothing. She is all smiles to you.”
“Familiarity breeding contempt, then?”
“No, more than that. She is a prophetess of Jehovah.”
“And you are of the House of Baal.”
“Exactly. Or worse, of the unknown god.”
OVER LUNCH she told him about last night at Abichi. Or as much as it was possible to tell. Chris took in the introductory details warily knowing that the gaiety in her voice was hiding something awful. When she finally let it out he was so outraged he involuntarily jumped up from his seat.
“Please sit down and eat your food.” He sat down but not to eat. Not another morsel.
“I can’t believe that,” he kept saying. Beatrice’s efforts to get him to resume his lunch failed totally. He had gently pushed his plate away.
“Look, Chris, this salad is not Agatha’s. I made it specially for you.”
He relented somewhat and shovelled two