Something To Live For

The cry of a baby is heard. Shouts of dancing and jubilation too. The nurses and midwives turn to praise the mother but she's gone. The song of rejoicing turns abruptly into an old dirge of a pauper who loses her life while giving birth to a baby. They sang on, laying the baby aside. The desperate father burst into the room to find tearful women. "What's the problem? Where's my child? Where's my wife?" he cried, turning to look at every face in the room. He rushed to the bed where his wife was lying. He took her hands in his and rubbed them hard as if to bring back warmth and life to her already cold and pale body. The nurses and midwives closed in around him as they attempted to console him. He flung himself unto her and wept loudly, pouring tears down her white face. "She was my life,all I ever lived for. Without her, I’m nothing "he wailed. "Don't say that. Your daughter is something to live for" a young nurse spoke from behind. For a minute or two he remained silent and his face expressionless. Then he spoke in a trembling voice. "Where's she?" No one moved but for an elderly nurse who gestured to the left where the baby lay in a battered crib. He moved slowly,still shaken by grief, to where his baby lay. "She's beautiful" he said in a quivering voice, taking her in his arms. "She looks just like her mother"he said again, this time,his eyes travelling to his wife's deathbed. The child's skin was a pasty white, her little fingers curled,her tiny face relaxed in her first sleep. Her dad stroked her cheeks as tears rolled visibly down his. The night sky was clear except for a few stars that escaped from beneath the white patches of cloud. The moon shone almost as bright as the lampposts that lined the driveway. The tree leaves swayed slightly in the gentle breeze. Once in a while, a flash of lightning flashed across the sky. He took his baby in his arms and set off for home accompanied by the young nurse who had encouraged him earlier. He flung himself into the old armchair. He looked older and ragged than he really was. Mr Phil Jack was a man in his mid thirties. He had gotten married to his girlfriend in London, where he had schooled. After six years of marriage, his wife had finally given birth but died in the process. He was devastated. His handsome features were now contorted in grief. His blue eyes had dark shadows underneath them, his dark cheeks showed marks of dried tears. His hands shook and trembled whenever he tried using them. He swayed while walking as though his slim long legs were incapable of supporting him. His lips twitched but when he spoke his voice, which was cold and nothing more than a whisper, was strong. “Give her here,I'll take care of her. You can go.” The nurse looked slightly abashed. She had expected his voice to be broken but surely his voice had an edge of determination in it. “No sir, you must let me take care of the baby. Till your better” But that obviously was a wrong turn. This time sadness erupted into a sudden outburst of anger. “So are you trying to say I'm not capable of raising my own child?” “No Sir I...” But she was cut short when he raised his hands to silence her. “Give her here now,quick.” “But...but” the nurse stuttered. “I said I don't need your help to take care of my child.” “Sir, you can't take care of this baby. She needs a mother or a female who could play the role of a mother. You can't bathe this child, or feed her,or put her to sleep.” It seemed that finally did the trick. “OK...OK I get you. Please stay and help”. He sat down with a loud thud resigned to fate. He turned from time to time to look at the nurse who was making preparations for the baby's bath. ******************* It was three months after the death of his wife but he had still not gotten over the incident. He had resigned from his job two weeks after his wife had died. It was a rainy night. It drizzled. The sky was dark and devoid of stars or the moon. Flashes of lightning lined the sky. But the air was still thick. The rain began falling in heavy torrents, yet he walked on in the dead of the night. He staggered into his apartment and was almost thrown out of balance when a blinding light shone directly into his face. “Sorry”said a quiet voice from behind the light. “Where have you been?...No don't tell me you've been out drinking again.” He collapsed into an old armchair and muttered something under his breath. “You should not drink, it's not the best.” “Cynthia” he said in a weak voice, “Can't you see I've lost everything?” “No you haven't, Louisa was only a part of your life,now you've got Scarlett.You have to be strong for her. I know she can't replace Louisa but you've got her to take care of. Louisa is never going to be able to rest in peace if she knew that no one is there to take care of poor baby Scarlett.” He nodded his head slowly in agreement. ************** He woke up the next morning with a pounding headache. Somewhere in his dreams he could hear the cry of a baby and a female voice crooning to the crying baby in Igbo. He tried getting up but felt a sharp pain at the back of his head. He managed to get up. The day was still young. The sun was rising in the East. The weather still had a bit of a chill in it. The ground was still wet from yesterday but it was promising to be a sunny day. He got up,put his feet into his slippers and was on his way out of his room when he caught his reflection in the mirror. There was dried blood on his face. He tried to remember what happened the night before but was not able to recall anything, but instead his head ached badly. He quickly rushed to the bathroom to wash his face so that Cynthia, his baby's nurse, wouldn't see it. *********** Anxious thoughts ran through his mind. He had to pretend all was well. He needed to get over Louisa's death. For the greater good, he thought... “Sir! Sir! Sir!” “Yes! Yes?” He was staring into the worried face of Cynthia. She was wearing a bright pink lace top and faded jeans. Light-skinned,she was a young lady in her mid twenties. He had begun to get used to her being there. (No not today). He wasn't going to let his mind wander in that direction. “Are you okay?”Her voice had an edge of concern in it. She was everything a man could need in a woman.She wasn't a tall person. Bow-legged and plumpy,she was the real definition of an African woman. Her curves were well formed but her face was a bit too little for her size. Her pointed nose just below her amber brown eyes had a little black dot by the side. Her small lips, covered in glossy pink lip balm, formed an angry pout. She was talking to him and all he did was stare into her face. “Sir, I was asking if you were okay.” “Eehm ...y...yes...yes I am okay.” he stammered. “I'm going out to get some food for Scarlett.” “OK...OK, are you going with her?” “No... I put her to sleep.” He let her go. He had begun to get used to her being there. He tried to direct his thoughts away from her. He couldn't afford to let his mind wander in that direction. She would make a good wife, no doubt. But... There was a very big but. Now that he thought about it, he wondered how he was going to break the news to Cynthia. How he managed to get entangled in all this mess he couldn't clearly remember. Lost in his thoughts, he stood in the bathroom, staring blankly at the mirror. His phone rang loudly, jolting him and waking him up from his reverie. He answered the call after contemplating for a while, but had to move it away from his ear immediately because the person on the other end was shouting, loudly. “Hello! My darling! How are you doing?” Binta screamed. “You know you don't have to scream for me to hear you, right?” He answered indifferently, ignoring her greetings. His reply wasn't a reply at all, it was more of a question aimed at telling her to stop screaming. She snubbed his question and went on asking him a couple of questions, enquiring about his welfare though she subconsciously adhered to him and began speaking more subtly. Purposely ignoring her tirade of questions, he then asked what the reason for the call was, even though he knew she was calling to find out if he had finally given thought to her proposal. He had thought about it and considered it, but it left him shattered each time. “I called to know what decision you've finally made” she answered, unfazed by his carefree attitude. He didn't respond for a long time, as if he was about to decide whether to end his life or not. Silence screamed loudly as time stood still. Binta waited for his reply patiently. Meanwhile, Phil took his time. He knew this decision was more of a matter of life and death. Not making the right decision now could cause either him or someone else in his family to lose their lives. Should he marry Binta or Cynthia? Of course, Cynthia was his desire, but was she the right one?