Two Worlds - Season 1 - Episode 21

Episode 4 years ago

Two Worlds - Season 1 - Episode 21

They rode without having to drag the car through floods. The few potholes did not hoard the waters, but allowed a fairly smooth flow into the drainages. The natives keened on duplexes, and maybe they had deliberately cut off the trees, but certainly the grasses.
“My house is few drives away. It’s an estate. The government always makes sure it’s in good condition,” he said, after a prolonged quiet and bobbed head to a “13th avenue” signboard that had its arrow pointed to the right.

At the avenue, the rains made huge blusters as they poured from the high roofs to the cemented ground. Few bungalows hid between the fenced storey buildings. There were still no trees. Fragments of velvety lawns were sprinkled on some front yards, especially the scarce bungalows’. He stopped at the front of a duplex, and a gateman opened the gate. Sunflowers lived in a mini garden at the heart of the compound, opening their yellow heads to the falling waters.

They stepped out of the car, and the rain’s blustering increased. A jeep and another car like the Honda sat on the tiled ground, but he drove only the Honda. Was he living with someone else?

They left the bags in the boot so the rain wouldn’t touch them and trailed the veranda until they got to the door. He pressed the doorbell and a voice came forth, a non-masculine voice. The door squeaked and opened. A woman. He never mentioned he had a woman. The woman’s eyes brightened and reverted to normal. She welcomed Richard and turned to Ivie. “And who do we have here?” She asked with same tone used in welcoming Richard.
Ivie greeted with the best smile she could achieve.

“She’s the one I was telling you about,” Richard said.

“Welcome to the house.” She smiled and offered a hand, which Ivie received.
The scent that raided the hospital ward when Richard visited filled the large sitting room. Photographs dominated the walls. No paintings. A framed photograph of him was hung at the wall’s top, side to the woman’s. They were like couples—beautiful couples. He once said he did not have a wife. The wordings still rang clear in her head. Ivie twisted head for a short look of the woman. Her coffee skin glittered, the parts her embroidered caftan couldn’t cover. Her weave-on seemed to be the most fitting cover for her head, the way it flowed down her back like the ripples of a calm ocean.

The woman shifted a curtain and they walked out of the sitting room. “What’s the name?” Her smile showed a stretch of her upper teeth.

“Ivie Oboh.”
The spiral stairs wound like those of the psychiatric hospital. The woman did not lead up the stairs.

“I’m Ezinne,” she said. “Richard told me you’re suffering from a disorder. What’s its state?”

“There are some improvements.”
“Good to hear.” She pushed open a room door. “You can stay here.”
“Thanks. Nice place.”
“I should go give Rick something to eat. Call me when you need anything.” She walked away.

Scents of new leathers and electronic sets welcomed Ivie into the room, and the tiled floor absorbed the whole heat from the arches of her soles. The mattress, hard as one no skin had ever touched.
Closing eyes became easy. She closed eyes and gave her whole self to the bed.