BLINDFOLDS

  When Francis George-Bode died at fifty-five, he did not leave his beloved twenty-five-year-old daughter – Monica George-Bode – an old, wrinkled mother, an ancient, ghostly house, an ugly, worn-out pair of leather shoes, and a scrappy car. He left her a beautiful, loving mother and a wealthy business empire in oil, gas, steel, and real estate. So, Monica was a young and incredibly opulent woman.            Francis George-Bode died in a fatal plane crash, on his way to close a business deal overseas. The plane had plummeted and slapped itself onto an ocean, splitting in two, and killing everyone on board. It was a heartbreaking and difficult time in Monica’s life and that of Helen, her mother. They grieved Francis’ death for months with a heavy heart. And for Monica, it was as if she would never get over it. She was very fond of her loving father – the shrewd and loving business mogul.            Francis George-Bode had suffered a great deal in life. Ravaged by poverty and having to support his widowed mother at an early age. It was from this that he learned his prudent and entrepreneurial skills, and through the sweat of his brows, his hard work, and tenacity, he rose from nothing, like the Phoenix, and built for himself an incredible and impregnable business empire that made him the ‘Rockefeller’ of his time.            Helen, Monica’s mother, married Francis because of his vision and persistence. She saw in him a man who was standing on the shoulders of a giant, with fire in his belly, and with the wildest dreams unimaginable. She fell in love with him and married him at twenty-three, and their marriage was a happy one and was complete when Monica was born. Everything seemed to have fallen into place as Francis George-Bode’s business flourished by leaps and bounds and became the totem of the business world. But their cloud turned dark when Helen began to have several miscarriages, and bearing another child became as difficult as going to the sun. It was in this incompleteness that Francis George-Bode died, leaving Monica as the sole heiress to his outlandishly wealthy business empire.            Monica had a great education. And, of course, almost everything she ever wanted. From sweet, creamy chocolates to beautiful and exotic clothes, vacations in five-star hotels in the most beautiful parts of the world, shiny toys, and chauffeur-driven cars. Yet one thing had always left Monica sad and incomplete. It was nothing but her seemingly endless search for true love – for that man that would love her in the same way, or more than her father ever did; that man that would love her not because of her wealth or name, but because of who she was. Strangely, that yearning had remained unfulfilled and very distant. It was the one thing her money could not afford.            Yesterday, Monica had returned from the office in the sweltering afternoon earlier than she used to. Her face was puffy, and scalding tears were running down her eyes as she ran into the living room of her lavish mansion and slouched on the plump chair. She was weeping profusely when Helen clattered down the shiny marble stairs to the living room.            ‘I heard the cars wheezing outside, with your bodyguards everywhere. What’s wrong with you?’ she asked her sobbing daughter.            ‘It’s Richard! I broke up with him,’ Monica said in a shrill, unsteady voice. She was choking with tears. Helen stared at her with dismay and c****d her head to one side.            ‘You broke up with your boyfriend and you’re crying. Where’s the sense in that?’ asked her dumbfounded mother.            ‘I didn’t mean to. You know how much I love Richard; you know how much he means to me. But I’ve been stupid to think he feels the same for me. He’s been cheating on me with Jane!’            ‘You can’t be serious about that,’ said the shell-shocked Helen, ‘Jane? I thought she was your best friend?’          ‘I’ve been so stupid. She’s been smiling in my face and sleeping with my man. I’ve been foolish. What happened to trust, honesty, and true friendship?’ Monica asked, burying her face in her hands.            ‘I don’t understand all of this. And I certainly do not know why men love to cheat,’ Helen said, staring at her husband’s large-framed photo placed on the shiny wall.            ‘Because they don’t understand the true value of a woman’s love. Men are all the same. It’s in their blood!’ Monica shrieked, reaching for a glass, and flinging it on the wall. Helen recoiled and sat on the chair. She could feel the convulsing rage coursing through her daughter’s body. She could understand her rage and pain and the right she had to feel that way. She was completely undeserving of the pain Richard had caused her. Monica was also right to think that men cheat because they do not understand the true worth of a woman’s love. Of course, a woman’s love is priceless. But that is not to say that women are not willing accomplices in the cheating and heartbreaking business of men.         ‘Richard said I don’t look African. He said I don’t look like Jane, that I don’t have her buttocks and curviness. He called me a Paperback.’            ‘What does that mean?’ Helen asked.            ‘It means a woman that doesn’t have rounded buttocks,’ Monica said contemptibly. ‘Am I not enough for him? It makes no sense that I’ve to lose him because of that. Buttocks and looks go, but my love is eternal. I gave him all of me. Why did he not see that?’ Helen stared at her daughter with absolute pity. Monica had loved and cherished Richard. She had dreamed of marrying him. She had picked him up from the dirt and cleaned him up; she gave him his present genteel air. Now Richard had the nerve to play around and cheat on her beloved daughter. Breaking her heart and calling her a Paperback.            Helen gave a short sigh and went over to the chair and sat with Monica, fondling her shoulder soothingly.            ‘It is okay, my daughter,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t deserve you. Men are often too narrow-minded to see what’s deep in a woman. They only see what’s shallow. They only look at what’s in front of them. It’s why they miss the big picture, the right woman, and end up with the bad ones. You must let him go. Richard is a pig and pigs do what they always do. Clean them up, and they’re right back to where they came from. You shall find a real man; your own man; the one who’ll never call you a paperback.’ When Monica picked Richard up from the gutters, and his life of squalor, he was too blind to see she did not look African. He did not see that Monica was far from being a goddess. Now it was amazing he could see so brilliantly, Helen thought inwardly, as she pressed Monica’s face to her chest. Just as she hoped that after she had cried out her heart, she would feel better and find the courage to move on and learn from the many ups and downs of life, that would in the end make her a wiser and stronger woman.