The Death of Vivek Oji(27)

“I don’t mind. It’s nice to have them around, you know? The girls are turning into lovely young women.”

“And I’m sure Vivek is enjoying himself with them,” added Kavita. Part of her was hoping that he was like other boys—that he actually was up to something behind closed doors with the girls. She couldn’t contemplate another option.

“You know, sometimes I forget that he’s not one of the girls,” said Maja.

Kavita pressed her lips together and kept the annoyance out of her voice. “Of course. What with that hair. Let me let you go and handle them.”

She put the phone down. She’s only saying that because she’s jealous, she thought. Because her husband is ruining her life. Because she doesn’t have a son.



* * *



—

Meanwhile, up Agbai Road, Chika watched as Eloise scrambled up from her knees in his office, her cheeks flushed and red. She was smiling as she wiped her mouth, a smile that puzzled and annoyed him, as vacantly good-natured as if she’d just passed him the salt at dinner. He tucked himself back into his trousers and zipped them up, watching her adjust her blouse to cover her breasts.

“Do you think Kavita knows?” she asked, cutting a mischievous look at him.

“You’re her friend,” he said pointedly. “What do you think?”

Eloise pulled a brush out of her bag and used her reflection in a glass cabinet door to brush her hair into order. A few minutes ago, his hands had been clenched there, messing it up. “I thought maybe Rhatha said something to her after I ran into her the other day.”

Chika shook his head. “Kavita didn’t say anything.”

Eloise paused. “Well. That’s odd. I’m sure Rhatha would have told her. Why do you think she didn’t bring it up with you?”

“I don’t care,” he said. All he really cared about was getting Eloise out of his office. Of all the Nigerwives, she was the one he disliked the most—for how loud and brash she was at her parties, for the nondescript blandness of her face, for the fact that she even did this with him at all. The others would never. She has no morals, Chika thought; God knows what else she’s been doing under her husband’s nose, with none of her children there to occupy her. He hated himself a little for getting involved with her, but Kavita was so preoccupied with Vivek. He was the only thing she wanted to talk about, day or night. She all but dragged the boy into their bed, running her theories past Chika on what was wrong with him and how he could get better, droning into his ear and waving him away when he tried to touch her. Vivek was his son and he loved him, but Kavita was taking it to another level. Their marriage was suffering, yet their son was all she could see.

And that was how Eloise had entered the story. She’d been doing some consulting for his factory while their company doctor was traveling, so he’d asked her to lunch and she brought him some cake she’d made from home. Next thing Chika knew, he was kissing her thin lips and she was allowing it; then he was bending her over his desk like it was a dream, watching himself sink into her, her large pale buttocks rippling under his advances, his hand covering her mouth to keep her quiet. He’d just needed some relief, he told himself at home that night, his wife chattering away beside him in bed, still as beautiful as the rose garden. Chika reached for her, wanting to wipe away his memory of that afternoon, but she’d swatted his hands away.

“Are you even listening to me?” she said. “I still don’t think the boy is eating enough. He moves the food around his plate as if I’m not going to notice. . . .”

Chika flopped on his back and let her words drain around him. A few days later, when Eloise brought him a bit of shortbread, he closed the office door and did it again.

His coworkers pretended not to notice what was going on. He liked that Eloise didn’t even try to pretend to care about his family life. She never mentioned Vivek. She just brought whatever she’d baked, then unbuttoned her blouse or hiked up her skirt or opened her mouth or all of the above. She didn’t expect tenderness or small talk, and Chika was relieved because he had neither to offer. In fact, he liked being rough with her, seeing the blood rush up under her blued skin when he slapped it, sending her home with small marks and half hoping her husband would find out.

Would Kavita even notice if he came back with lovebites covering his neck? he wondered. The more he thought about it, the angrier he grew. He started asking Eloise to come by, started meeting her in hotels, even once met her at her house when her husband was at work. That one was too much for him, though—seeing the pictures of their sons on the shelves, smelling the man’s cologne. He fucked her in the parlor, wiped himself on her dress, and left.



* * *



—

After Maja got off the phone with Kavita, she fed the children dinner and told Vivek to walk Somto and Olunne to the main road so they could get home before the curfew. They caught an okada and left, turning to wave at him. Vivek waved back, then dropped his arm to his side. The evening was cool and he knew he should go home, but the air was clear so he decided to take a walk.

He stopped at a kiosk near where the okada drivers gathered and spent ten naira on two packets of Speedy biscuits. One he tucked into his pocket and the other he ripped open, crunching them into his mouth. His slippers dragged over the ground as he strolled, and a few people cast quick looks at him. His hair flowed off his head in waves now, past his collar and down his back, but his shorts and T-shirt were clean and untorn, so he looked a little normal at least.