All Shades of Iberibe by Kasimma Kasimma

Author:Kasimma Kasimma
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sandorf Passage
Published: 2021-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Kandudi opened her eyes to a man sitting on her bed, rubbing the back of her swollen arm. His eyes were deep brown and his skin was the color of unripe plantain chips. His hair was wooly, black, and low-cut. Neat facial hair covered half of his cheeks, his entire jaw, and the top of his lips. He smiled. His left canine was unaccounted for. She was infected by his smile. He smelled like a lathered rose. He was certainly not medical staff or he would’ve been wearing scrubs like the rest of them. So who was he? She closed her eyes, scuttling through the disorienting sandstorm of her memory. She was an only child. She loathed her uncles: a feeling that was mutual. Her father was dead. So who was this fine man? She felt his soft, pink lips on her forehead, his beard pricking her. She winced.

“I am so happy to have you back, sweetheart.”

When you place a plastic bowl upside down on a hard floor and hit the top with your finger, the sound you would hear was exactly his voice. His eyes had begun to look watery. He avoided her gaze and rubbed her arm.

“The doctor told me you lost a part of your memory. That’s where you would have found me, your husband.”

He looked at her and smiled. He was so fine. His teeth were the same shape and size, except for the missing one, which made him even more handsome. She did not catch the happiness in his voice. It made her remember sepia-toned pictures. He made to touch her, but she moved away from his hand and sat up on her own. She picked up the bottle of water from the table. He got off the bed, dragged a plastic seat closer, and sat.

“I don’t know who you are. Stay away from me.”

“I am your husband.” He struck his chest. “We are married. I …”

“I want my mother. Stay away from me.”

“I have proof!” he said, clasping his hands. “Please, I beg you, sweetheart, let me show you the proof, and then I will leave you to rest. I promise.”

Before she could object, he grabbed a white, worn-out, polythene bag off the end of the bed and fished out a stack of photographs. One by one, he fed her the pictures. She saw herself looking beautiful in an off-shoulder, white-floral lace dress. Her mother stood to her left, smiling all her teeth to the camera; and he was at her right, looking fine in a black suit. She looked at him. He was the same person in the picture. He showed her gazillions of their wedding pictures, talking and talking: this is my aunt; that is my uncle; this is Uche, you remember? There was a picture of the two of them in front of a black car he said was theirs. There was another one where she was pregnant, smiling and posing in a house with red cushions. She picked out the furniture, he said.

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