Mr. and Mrs. Doctor by Julie Iromuanya

Author:Julie Iromuanya [Iromuanya, Julie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781566893985
Publisher: Coffee House Press

By the time Job arrived at home that morning, his anger was a tight kernel in the pit of his stomach. His mind tumbled through a list of reasons for the assembled crib. If not Emeka, then Gladys. If not Gladys, then who? A curl of steam rose from a pot on the stove, an onion-smelling yam pottage. Instead of the scent calming him, it only infuriated him. Emeka and his haughtiness, the nurses on his station, and Captain, an old, imbecile man with nothing left.

Job flung the bedroom door open, finding Ifi curled on her side with a blanket wrapped around her swollen ankles. Dark lumps encircled her eyes. Her braids were clumped against the pillow in a frizzy halo. A ball at her side, the boy’s hands gripped the loose tails of her wrapper. Job turned away from the two, finding the domesticity of the scene a distraction from the immediacy of his anger. His eyes met the crib. An ugly, imposing wooden thing, balanced against his back wall, squeezed in the only bit of space available to them. Does the child even need a crib? he thought. I can purchase a bassinet, just as useful, a quarter of the size, at Wal-Mart. He could purchase a better contraption with his MasterCard.

Rigid lines scored into his forehead, Job nodded silently and stood squarely in front of the crib. An ugly thing! Examining the length of the wood, he ran his fingers over each smooth, shiny piece of the frame where the railing met two sturdy pillars along the side. An ugly thing, he thought once more. He scoffed at the word Emeka had used to describe it, antique. What a silly way of appraising a piece of junk they needed to rid themselves of. He jiggled the handles, pulled the lever, and the rail promptly lowered. A fit of rage overtook him. Then he kicked it in the middle, hard.

Ifi jolted from sleep, indentations from the braids along the sides of her face. She clutched their son to her body, wildness in her eyes. The boy threw his head back and let out a wail, the beginning sound of his furor. But Job wouldn’t be deterred. He kicked the crib again, as hard as he could. Ifi shrieked. The boy vomited. Job’s foot caught in the bars, but the shiny, dark wood remained unscathed. For a moment, Job dangled precariously at an angle before he untangled his leg and crashed to the floor, howling in rage and pain. At first Ifi gasped, watching Job bellow in rage. Then she laughed.

“Fucky, fuck that, fucker, motherfucker,” Job sputtered.

And she laughed harder. His features were a mixture of confusion, surprise, and pain. It seemed, for a second, that he might join in with her laughter. But once more rage surged through him. “Help me up! What are you laughing at? Stupid woman!”

Ifi tried, unsuccessfully, to bite back her laughter. She set the boy down on the bed and helped Job up.

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