What Shall We Do.
“Do you know what the tortoise said to the mother hen?” Teleayo asks, tracing lazy circles on Efuru’s back with his fingers.
“What?” Efuru murmurs, eyes closed.
“He told the mother hen that her long-lost rooster would return soon, probably in a fortnight.”
“And how did the mother hen respond?” Efuru says with a smile, eyes now open.
“Well, she asked the tortoise how he knew. But he only smiled and said, ‘The answer is not mine to give.’”
“And she believed?” Efuru chuckled.
“Yes! She had long yearned for the return of her lost love. But the tortoise, ever so wily, had another plan in mind, a plan to steal her hatchlings, feast on some, and sell the rest for coin.”
“And then what happened?” Efuru asks, now sitting upright.
“He knew her vision was poor after dusk. So, in the nights to come, he crept to her coop, his body carefully covered in soft feathers.”
“‘Is it really you?’ the mother hen whispered as he entered. ‘Of course, my love,’ the tortoise responded.”
“And with that, they embraced, cuddling through the night. But while her chest rose and fell in sleep, the tortoise quietly slid each hatchling into a bag hidden beneath his shell and slipped away into the darkness.”
******
This is their morning ritual, Teleayo telling Efuru stories before the crow of the chickens. Stories passed down from his father, grandfather, and the fathers before them. Stories he once used, and still uses, to capture Efuru’s heart.
“You can take a bath first today,” he says, walking to the wardrobe to choose something for her to wear.
“Maybe your pink bubu, Obim?” he calls out, staring into the wardrobe.
A wardrobe filled with dresses of every color, pattern, and length. Dresses the tailor at Festus Market spent hours sewing to perfection. Dresses Efuru tries on when they are newly made, a smile on her face as she does a playful catwalk like Naomi Campbell. A catwalk that makes Teleayo sing her praises, “My very own Agbani Darego,” as he covers her forehead in kisses. And if her plump face hints at dissatisfaction, he cheers her up, reminding her she is as alluring as ever.
When she comes out of the bathroom, he follows after her, singing the love songs they cherish while she oils her skin and hair, her scent filling the whole room. Then she heads to the kitchen to make breakfast, and Teleayo is left with his thoughts.
Soon, he joins her at the dining table, where bowls of yam porridge await, his favorite. Yam porridge, Efuru often says, is too heavy for breakfast. Yam porridge she still makes, just the way he likes it. They sit, hold hands in prayer, and Teleayo ends it with, “And may the Lord Almighty bless the beautiful woman and the delicate hands that prepared it,” while secretly opening one eye to catch her gentle smile as they both say amen. As he savors the porridge, he reminds her of how they met, by the well behind her grandmother’s house. A well he often fetched water from, until one day, he found a girl, probably new to the area, struggling to draw from it.
He reminds her of how he tried to help, but she refused until she tired from wrestling with his grip on the rope. He reminds her of how he fetched the water for her and even carried it up the stairs again and again until the big blue drum was full.
“Are you the new help?” he asked.
“It’s my grandmother’s house!” she shouted, before slamming the door in his face.
And the next day, he returned with a bag full of bole and groundnuts, and an apology he had rehearsed too many times. He stammered, and she laughed, letting him know he was forgiven. He reminds her of how, after that, they sat by the well, sharing the bole as she talked and talked, and he listened endlessly.
And as night fell, he asked, “What’s your name?”
“Efuru,” she replied.
And with that, he smiled and told her it was the most beautiful name he had ever heard.
******
By noon, they settle in to watch the news, absorbing stories from across the country and beyond. And as he explains something to her, he notices her slowly dozing off on the couch. Gently, he drapes her favorite wrapper over her so she can be comfortable. While she sleeps, he misses her and busies himself tending to the tomato and bell pepper garden she loves so much. The garden she works so hard on.
He waters the plants, making mental notes of supplies she might need, just to spare her the effort. Then he plants seeds of cucumber, because Efuru can eat a whole house of cucumber if you let her. He plants them because they remind her of her late mother, and because they’ve also become too expensive at the market. But mostly, he plants them because Efuru deserves the best. Because he loves the look on her face when she’s surprised, the look that reminds him she is his everything, his Nwanyi Oma. Later, she wakes and joins him.
“Daalu,” she says.
But he waves his hand to signal it’s nothing and asks if she slept well. He brings out a chair for her to sit, then one for himself, and they talk like they used to by the well while playing Ludo. Ludo, a game she is very good at, winning almost every time. But every now and then, allowing him win, just to spares his pride. That is who she is, always making sure they are both winners. And as they play, her firm fingers shaking the dice in the cup, he reminds her of their wedding day.
“Are you sure it’s me you want to marry?” he asked.
“If I don’t, who will? Besides, you won’t survive in my absence.”
They laughed, and he sighed, comforted by the truth in her words. He also reminds her of their honeymoon at the resort in America, the one he saved for diligently, just to see her happy. He speaks of how childlike she was then, wide-eyed and fascinated by the lifestyle of the foreigners. They talk about the values they admired and adopted, and once again spit on the ground at the ones they don’t, the ones they find absurd or sinful.
******
And as the day cools, a gentle breeze stirring the air, Teleayo goes in to prepare dinner, just as he always does on Saturday evenings. Efuru asks him a thousand times if he needs help, and a thousand times, he looks into her eyes and says no. Defeated, she collects her phone and calls Aunty Ngozi, her favorite person after him, and guffaws until tears fill her eyes. Teleayo never complains, for her laughter is his favorite genre of music, one he knows he cannot live without.
After dinner, they share their favorite snack of bole and groundnuts. She complains, just like the first time at the well, saying it makes no sense to eat roasted plantain with groundnuts but with something stewy. Yet she eats every last bite, with nothing to spare. Teleayo laughs and shakes his head, reminding her yet again that she will never change.
Later, when the moon and stars litter the sky, they shower together, scrubbing and kissing under the warm fall of water, their lips mouthing, A hụrụ m gị n’anya. And in bed, with her head resting on his chest, he whispers,
“What shall we do tomorrow?”
But Efuru doesn’t answer, because she died five years ago, trying to bring their gift from God into the world.