As Olisa watched his wife slip into her nightwear, he could not help imagining her slipping out of her clothes in front of another man. He imagined this other man salivating at her hour-glass figure, burying his fingers in her ridiculously long black hair, and sticking his tongue into her mouth. Iheoma was not a woman a man could easily resist. Even his cousin, Obichukwu had once teased him about snatching her from him. And Olisa could vividly remember the way Njide’s chocolate-dark face had tightened in intensity as she told him that there was something he had to know, something about Iheoma. They were on their way to the local airport when she spat the words out. Njide began almost as soon as he sped off from his peach-painted duplex in Ikeja. And though, it was he who insisted she go on with whatever it was she earnestly wanted to tell him, he regretted letting her spew such words.

Olisa visualized the features of the suspected lover; a married man who had a hard time keeping his zippers up or perhaps, a single guy who was so embittered that a woman like Iheoma was already taken. And maybe, just maybe, this man was sating her sexual hunger which he had for three weeks now not bothered to satisfy. Jealousy clutched his heart. No! It could not be. He felt the whole thing tormented him this much because Njide had only just told him about earlier in the day. It was just a matter of time, and this awful feeling would have washed away from his being. 

He ceased sifting through Njide’s words. He suffocated the memory of her worried face at the airport, and tried not to recollect the coldness of his own tone when he asked her to tell Mama and Papa that he would visit them in Enugu soon. But he was not upset at her. How could he be? She was his only sister, and he loved her deeply. And she was always quick to take his side, always quick to trample on anyone she suspected was against him. But Iheoma was too decent to throw her virtue into the gutters. She was even the leader of a women’s prayer group in church. Perhaps, Njide should not have come to spend some time with them. She should not have tried to fish out skeletons that could not exist. 

Olisa got up from the large bed, and walked towards Iheoma; her long fingers massaging cream into her skin. He wrapped his hands around her waist, and worked his tongue on her neck; sliding it towards her right ear. He had always been extravagant when it came to spending his wealth on her. What else could a woman want? He re-assured himself that Iheoma loved him too much. That he gave her more than most men gave their wives. That she could not, and would never spread her legs for another man. In a few minutes they were rumpling the sheets covering the bed. But it was nothing like what he did with Sade—curvy and sexy Sade.

***

Olisa was at Sade’s flat the following afternoon, banging and banging on the iron door. He had woken in the morning expecting to be rid of the adulterous images Njide had planted in his head. But it was still there like a fresh wound, troubling his entire being. All the reassurances he had given himself had done little to crush the maddening feeling.

“What took you so long!” he bellowed as Sade opened the door. He had been knocking for almost five minutes. Her tone was soft, apologetic. He let his eyes feed on the taut nipples jutting through her white crop top, and those wide hips made obvious by her high-waist jean trousers. She held him by his jacket, and drew him to her. It was not that she was prettier than Iheoma. She did not have Iheoma’s beautiful brown eyes or her butter-coloured skin. Sade was just fresh soup. 

By the time he was inside her, he could no longer remember the accusing quality of Njide’s tone; not even the ways her eyes twitched as she said all she had said about Iheoma. He slumped on the other side of the bed as soon as he was done. Sade got up almost immediately, and slid on her pants. 

“I have a class in an hour,” she said. He nodded. He would drop her off at Unilag gate, and would return to his company before returning home to Iheoma and their five-year-old daughter, Mmesoma.

***

Obichukwu came over for lunch on Saturday. He came wearing his infectious smile, and spent almost thirty-minutes asking them about Mmesoma. And then about Mr and Mrs Okeowo, the couple living in the next compound—the same ones whose children Mmesoma played with during the weekends, and the same ones she was playing with now. Obichukwu wasted no time in digging into the mound of pounded yam, and dipping balls of it into the Ede soup.

“Beautiful one,” Obichukwu called Iheoma, “I have told Olisaemeka that whenever he wakes up in the morning, he should bow down and kiss your feet. How many of these our fancy Lagos restaurants can prepare food this delicious with all their exorbitant prices?”

Olisa smiled, and shook his head. Iheoma was no doubt a palatable cook, but Obichukwu enjoyed exaggerating everything about her. Not for once had he ever hidden his likeness for her.

“Obi, I wonder if you will be praising my cooking like this when you finally get married,” she said, and smiled accusingly at him.

“Ha! Umu nwanyi! Women have too much wahala oh. I will control my mouth when that happens.”  

“You and all these your statements Obi,” Olisa said, and poured himself some drinking water.

“Maybe you should have become a lawyer instead of doing this your creative writing thing,” Iheoma said.

“Maybe, beautiful one.”  Obichukwu smiled.  “But the law court has never been in my vision.”

They all burst out laughing.

Later in the day, when the sun had faded into darkness, when Obichukwu was already gone, Olisa received a phone call from Njide.

“Brother are you all right?” she said. Her tone was laced with worry.

“Yes, I am,” he replied, trying to suppress the sudden surge of feelings caused by hearing her voice.

“Mmesoma kwanu?” she asked. “Has she asked about me since I left?”

“Yes.” Olisa was fighting the memory of their drive to the airport. He did not want to remember how Njide had began to lay out her suspicions or the way he had stopped her from going forward with it because he had not wanted to hear her reasons nor believe the accusation.

“How is sister Iheoma?” she asked finally.

“O di mma,” he said. “She is preparing dinner.” He slowly walked out of the sitting room, and into his bedroom while Njide talked about Mama thinking of expanding her tailoring shop, and Papa almost slipping and breaking his head in the bathtub the other night.

“And brother, I’m sorry about the other day,” she said in Igbo. “I did not mean to…”

“O zugo,” he interrupted. “I am not upset at you. I know you have my best interest at heart.”

He took a deep breath. After his last delicious night with Sade, he had thought that he had crippled the thought of Iheoma sleeping with another man. But now, he was uneasy again. Why had Njide called? The mere imagination of Iheoma with another man was an eyesore to him. Though he had not chastised her for accusing Iheoma of adultery, he recollected his cold reply, “I have heard you. I know you love me very much, but Oma cannot be cheating on me.”             

He got dressed. He would go to Sade and free his mind again. But first, he went to meet Iheoma in the kitchen. She was frying plantains to a fine yellow; the way she liked them.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To see a friend.”

She turned over three slices of plantain in the pan. “So, you won’t be around for dinner?” She looked at him.

“Yes,” he said. She had never given him any reason to doubt her fidelity to him. She had never challenged any of his decisions nor his spending the nights outside.

“I won’t return until it’s very late,” he said, turning away.

***

Olisa returned home to a sleeping Iheoma. She was beautiful even asleep.  He heard the wind sweeping through the streets, and watched the rains come down almost immediately. He shut the windows, and the images of Sade’s naked body crawled into his mind. They had had a good time together, and he would have stayed the night with her to endure the weather. But he had to wake up early for church tomorrow.  

He stared at Iheoma again—her naked body lay visible in her lace nightwear. He thought of how it was with her. How their intimacy lacked the flavour he enjoyed with Sade. And he would have gone to bed. But his mind was betraying him again, and he imagined Iheoma, giving herself to another man. He imagined her moaning in the atmosphere of forbidden pleasure. Then a thought crept into his mind. He picked up her phone, took it to the bathroom and switched it on. He ran through her messages, her call log. There was nothing fishy. He hissed at himself. Would a cheating wife actually leave the messages of her lover on her phone?

god! Why couldn’t he just let go of all these rubbish thoughts? What was actually wrong with him? His life was running smooth. Why did he have to punish himself with pondering over an accusation that had a million chances of never being true? He decided to switch the phone off and head back to sleep, but then, there were the messages from Obichukwu. And wasn’t Iheoma special to Obichukwu? He might even have married her if Olisa had not. god! How could he think such a thing? There was no way! Obichukwu would never betray him so. He would not open the messages.

“Olisa!” Iheoma was banging at the toilet door. He collected himself, switched off the phone and turned open the door.

“When did you get back?”

He reckoned it was the sound of the rain that had prevented him from hearing her footsteps. He hid the phone as he led her back to bed. He could call Njide to ask her why she was suspicious of Iheoma. But no! If he did, he would be breathing life into her words. He would be accepting that he was not man enough to keep his wife faithful to him. No! He would not call Njide.

***    

“Daddy, I came first.” Mmesoma came at Olisa with a hug. Iheoma had just brought her back from school. He put his laptop aside, and took her report card from her. Slowly, he rustled its pages. 

“Odogwu!” he cheered. “Like father, like daughter.” 

“Yes oh!” Iheoma said. 

His phone vibrated. It was a message from Sade. He was supposed to spend the night with her.

“Daddy you promised me a treat if I came first.”

“That will have to be tomorrow baby.” He lifted his head, and caught Iheoma smiling at both of them. He smiled back. 

He did take Mmesoma out two days later. And after he was done spoiling her with ice-cream and cookies, he took her to Mr and Mrs Okeowo to play with their kids. Obichukwu was to join him and Iheoma for lunch.

“You guys won’t believe my latest miracle,” Obichukwu was saying. He shoved some of the coconut rice down his throat.

“What new miracle?” Iheoma raised an eyebrow. “Have you found yourself a wife, Obi?”

Olisa threw his gaze at her. Obichukwu laughed.

“Far from it, beautiful one. Be expecting me on more Saturdays to come.” He scooped some pepper soup into his mouth.

“Are you praying for my cousin not to find a wife eh, Oma?”

Obichukwu and Iheoma laughed. But Olisa had not meant it as a joke.

“Your wife enjoys the way I compliment her cooking. Try sounding more like me.”

Olisa managed to let out a smile.

“So, what is this miracle?” Iheoma said.

“I just signed a contract with Narrative Landscape for my new book.”

“That’s great Obi. Congrats.” Iheoma insisted he stand up. She wanted to give him a hug. But as their bodies met, Olisa’s appetite melted into irritation. And for the first time, he did not approve of their kind of relationship.

“Congrats Obi,” he said, extending his hand for a shake. How could he not see that Obichukwu was in love with his wife? And it was obvious that she too felt something deep for him. Something he never thought would irritate him.

“Olisaemeka if you will not finish that coconut rice and that pepper soup let me

know. My stomach is still rumbling,” Obichukwu said.

Olisa went out with Sade after Obichukwu left. He returned later in the night feeling better than he had felt during lunch. Iheoma was taking a shower. He unbuckled his belt, and began pulling down his trouser. He had scolded his mind for its earlier conception about Obichukwu. This was someone who was like a brother to him. Someone who had always had his back. He began to pull off his shirt when he heard Iheoma’s phone ringing. The call cut before he could pick it up. He made to see the caller, but she had changed her password. He thought for a moment. He could easily unlock a phone without its password.

“How was your meeting?” Iheoma said as she came out of the bathroom. He studied her face. She seemed as happy as she always did. She gave him a hug before letting him off to take his bath.

As they both lay down to sleep, he began to wonder why she had done it. Did she know he had gone through her phone the other day? And if she did, what could she be hiding? He knew she would not confront him about such a thing. She never faulted his decisions. He heard the rains come down in a violent rush as he shut his eyes.

When he was certain that Iheoma was deep in sleep, he took her phone into the toilet.  He switched it on, unlocked it, and tapped on the call log. He decided to tap on the number that had called, but he lost his grip of the phone as he heard the toilet door push open. The phone let out a flump as it met the marble floor. Iheoma was staring at him goggle-eyed. He swallowed hard, and woke up to the sound of the heavy rain. He threw his eyes around the room. It was thirty minutes past midnight. So, it was a dream? He thought.      

He stared at Iheoma; the rise and fall of her breath soft in his ears. But what if it were real? What could have happened next? His eyes lingered on her face before he decided to lay back on the bed. He extended his hand to her waist, and pulled her close. He had to rid himself of these thoughts or he would lose his mind—he was sure.

Obianuju Chisom Bartholomew is a 500 level law student of the University of Nigeria, Nsukka. I madly love God, and enjoy reading and writing prose, especially fiction. My works have appeared in Lionspot and the Kalahari Review. Also, I work as a nonfiction writer and currently serve as the Deputy Editor-in-Chief of Barrister Magazine, the foremost student magazine of the Faculty of Law, UNN. When people ask me why I write, I say that I believe that telling enthralling stories can touch the deepest parts of the human soul, and change the world for the better.