UNSOILED

She locked her eyes on you, flashed a quick wink, smacked her lips and ran a slow finger through her dimple down to the middle of her…

She locked her eyes on you, flashed a quick wink, smacked her lips and ran a slow finger through her dimple down to the middle of her bosom…

Hmm… Such a crazy world, Joe. Nobody believed you, remember? It was doomsday. Everyone said the evidence against you was clear enough. How dare you try to justify such an animalistic act? They dared you to refute what was visible even to the blind. Everyone knew Madam could never lie, they insisted, and even if at all she did, would she lie against you? You, of all better people in the whole wide world? Come off it, they said. You must be crackbrained.

The military guards rained blow after blow on you, showing no mercy. You wondered if they had been craving this all year long, since they seemed intent to disfigure you. And there you were, with nobody to save you.

They animated every question with punches heavier than the former. Would Madam pull off three good buttons by herself? They asked. Oh, and what about her ruffled hair? She did that to herself, yes? And the makeup smear, yes? They laughed in hysteria and drew more blood from you.

Even if they were so dumb to believe all the pieces of evidence were faked in a setup, they proved, what about your jacket in her hands? Did she go to the boys’ quarter to steal it from the line? Senseless joker! They scoffed and kicked you, sliding deeper into a damning mood they pleasured in. You must be brainsick, they affirmed again and again, to even attempt saying any rubbish whatsoever in defence, when with your last breath you should be pleading for mercy.

“For ya info, mercy eye don blind teytey,” one of them said, sneering. “Na only karma eye remain.”

By that time a nosy crowd was already gathering to witness the spectacle. Whatever little esteem you had accumulated over time for being a diligent head servant dissipated in no time. Those who couldn’t spit on you resorted to eye-stoning you. Others reached out to take a pound of your flesh. You were the day’s vilest offender, the favourite scum of the year. In no time, different voices sized you up and sliced you into pieces.

“One more word from that filthy mouth of yours,” someone said from the growing crowd, “and I’ll break your jaw into pieces and — ”

“ — you sef no dey fear o, ah, you get mind o, you wan dey service Oga’s madam? — “

“ — adding lies to your numerous sins?”

“ — what story fits the mouth of a dog? Huh? Chiwawa — ”

“ — we dey outside dey work, you con enter Madam’s bedroom — ”

“ — you should be burnt alive and your ashes spread to the — ”

“ — e be like say ya village people no commot hand for ya matter — ”

“ — jail straightaway, and that’s even if Oga didn’t gun you down.”

Joe dear, remember it all began about six months after you started working in Colonel’s house. You had been put in charge of the other servants and relieved of specific duties. Madam developed the talent of asking you to take on special duties, even ones that a female servant would do better.

“Joe-Joe, the smartest,” she would jokingly hail, then extend a handshake of appreciation. You would refuse it at first, in all politeness. But before she made an offence out of it — and before it became an embarrassment for her — you would accept her handshake. It usually lasted longer than usual, her thumb caressing your fingers as though reading brailles, and then your hand would plunge into a silent battle to release itself from her grasp.

On days like that, she asked the cook to give you extra of whatever you desired to eat. For a moment you ate like a king and forgot you were only a head servant. Sometimes she dipped her bejewelled finger into her purse and tipped you, as though you did more than your job. But none of these raised any special concern. You interpreted it as Madam just being extra kind and benevolent. She was God-sent, and for all you knew, you were grateful for the favour atmosphere activated over you. It was nothing short of answered prayers — who wouldn’t be gladdened by that?

On the day you made the highest profit returns from the supermarket, Oga Colonel commended you well. He even promised you gifts. That evening, just as dusk gave in to the darkness, Oga left the house for an official function. Then Madam invited you over into the penthouse — upper chamber, as you all call it. She wore shades of smiles in her lacy nightie, playing childishly with the little wine left in the glass between the crevices of her fingers. Soft music played in the background and her head swayed to its slow rhythm. Everything about the atmosphere oozed relaxation.

But why had she called you?

She said nothing for the first few moments, and you stood in wait before her. She was in the best of moods, no doubt. In the height of her ecstasy, she stood from the sofa, dropped the wine glass and hugged you. It happened so fast that your feet froze. You became a pillar snaked-wrapped by a soft body. Soon you noticed the same lingering hold that went into her handshakes. One second, two seconds, three, five, and the hug could not get any tighter. The same momentary forgetfulness washed upon her — had she forgotten she was still Oga’s wife? It was a quick dream of rushed reality. Until you realised the clock kept ticking in her embrace, and then gently unwrapped yourself from her tangle.

“What’s that for?” she queried, visibly pained yet comporting herself. “Can’t I appreciate you anymore?”

“Ehm… actually, Madam… Ehm… I’m sorry.”

She turned to sit, making her disappointment in you so obvious. A few times when it crossed your mind, you had thought of how Madam was privileged to be built just in the right proportion. She may not be the perfect hourglass type, but she was close. Darn close. And for a middle-aged woman of her class, graceful and fair, tender and full of life, she was the right type for Oga’s status. But you never thought about it beyond that.

To close the lingering chapter, you thanked Madam for her usual kindness and promised to work even harder. As you made to go, she halted you and offered some cash. Instead of declining and risking her annoyance, you thanked her again and asked if she could please keep it for you. “I’m saving up for something,” you said. “If I collect it now, I’ll just waste it.”

“So, you want to buy something and you didn’t tell me? Can’t I buy you as many things as you want?” She rolled her eyes. “For God’s sake, why do you keep comparing yourself with the other useless servants?”

“I just didn’t want to bother you. Thank you, Madam.”

Instant prayers went on inside you — may she not demand that you mention the exact thing you wanted. Of a truth, you were not saving up for anything. You just wanted an escape from the choky scene. “And I’m sorry for everything,” you quickly added, hoping it would be enough of a Band-Aid.

She locked her eyes on you, flashed a quick wink, smacked her lips and ran a slow finger through her dimple down to the middle of her bosom. She wore a coy smile, stood from the sofa and drew closer to you. Then she whispered slowly, “You are not a small boy, Joe-Joe… only you have what can give me more joy… you know.” She winked and smacked her lips again.

At that instant, before you could think of what was next, someone knocked on the door. It became your escape route. And throughout that evening, those two phrases set your head on wildfire: You are not a small boy, Joe-Joe… only you have what can give me more joy. What could that mean? What could give her more joy that only you possessed? You thought it far and wide and hoped it was not what you were thinking.

But it couldn’t be, could it?

From that evening onward, Madam became bolder with her advances. She pestered you day after day. She would call you at odd times, wearing low-cut tops and flaunting her cleavages. Until one day she came out of the shadows. “Joe-Joe,” she called, looking directly into your eyes. “I’ve been dying to have you inside me. Yes, deep inside me. Let’s — ”

“No, no,” you interrupted. There was a loud thumping in your heart, an instant fright overwhelming you. So, this? Really? This is it? “I can’t, Madam.” You stammered as you mentioned how Oga had favoured you in this house, holding nothing back from you except her. It was a line you wouldn’t cross, a great sin you wouldn’t commit to both God and your Oga. “I don’t want to become a living dead,” you concluded. It was the breaking point, you knew, and nothing but dread would follow.

Not a word of your panicky unsolicited sermon entered her ears. She leaned dangerously close to you and faked a fall. You saw through her ploy and swerved in no time. She caught herself mid-air — the fall could have been fatal. “I’m so sorry,” you said, rushing out. “I have to run an errand for Oga now.”

But that was just the start of her brazenness. As much as you avoided being alone in the same place with her, she still found the means to bring you around. One day she called you into her bedroom and you couldn’t decline. Just as you opened the door, you met her standing beside the bed, a small towel wrapped about her oiled body, just long enough to half-cover her red zones. You tried looking away and in the next moment, the towel slipped off as she took a step toward you. You dashed out without looking back, fear gripping you. She called you back with an authoritative voice but you already descended the stairs.

You could tell no one about this all-round torment. A fierce battle raged in your mind as the scene replayed over and over in your head. The littlest glance you had of her fair and sleek body — in the split second between realising her plot and turning your back — sparked something feral within you. It was unimaginable, almost feverish.

In the dead of the night, there were whispers in your head. Your mind became a hub of contradictory voices. On a side was a voice of seduction, red and ripe, urging you to consider the gains of succumbing to Madam’s advances. How it may be the life-changing privilege you have always hoped for — opportunity comes but once. How her sumptuous body would be the paradise that Oga’s top friends could only wish they tasted — persin wey get head no get cap, the one wey get plenty cap, head e no get. How you were a lucky chap, the juiciest stuff thrown at your feet so cheaply — an orange that sees beauty and falls not, would be drunk by wild animals. How fortunate you were to be the object of her attraction, a chance many would almost kill to get — when the food is cooked, there is no need to wait before eating it.

On the other side of the shadows was a low and gentle voice, less enticing but consequential. It reminded you of what the repercussion of succumbing may be — friendship with the world is enmity against God. It asked how you would explain the compromise to the God you communed with daily — lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. It emphasized how you would lose your soul in the strange union — there is a way that seems right to man…. What if you are caught? What if Oga gets to know? What if — no more what ifs, you concluded. No goodies from Madam could ever be proportional to the cost of your soul.

Never.

So you added a new prayer point to your list, that your feet may not shake.

But the pressure worsened daily. From within and without. The struggle kept getting more real. Lust was calling for you so badly. Whenever the faint image of her naked body popped into your head, you would sing out an instant song until it faded off. Such a struggle.

On the morning of the doomsday, you whispered heavy words in prayer as usual. You recited the Lord’s prayer in all solemnity and lingered on the phrase: Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Something in your spirit held to that line even as the day’s work began in earnest. As usual, you moved between the house and the supermarket located at the far edge of the compound, monitoring other servants and ensuring things were put in order. It was another business day until the sun began to sink in the late afternoon sky and trouble started with just a call.

Madam called the work line and asked to see you. Why? She didn’t mention and you couldn’t ask. The setting sun was on your face as you exited the supermarket and walked into the house. Everywhere was silent and all the servants were into one thing or another in the compound.

At the upper chamber, you met Madam making a call. After the call, she asked about your day. “Any problem at the store?”

“Not at all, Madam.”

“Good. This TV won’t come on, and I don’t know why.” She wore an instant worrisome look, pointing to the TV. “Can you fix me, Joe?” A pause. “Oh, I mean can you fix it?”

“Let me check.” You walked towards the shelf and checked the connections. In the next moment, your back bumped into something. A body. You turned to see Madam standing before you, her top unbuttoned halfway down. Her hand was swift to grab you by the sleeve, demanding, “Sleep with me, now.”

Your heart thundered with fear. This was the moment you realised you had been cornered. Could you ever escape this? Her lips were drawing closer for a kiss when you tore yourself away with all strength. But as you did, your jacket slipped off and she was left holding it as you dashed off.

By the time you descended the stairs, you were out of breath, and sweating. In the halt to regain your breath, came the screaming that drew in other servants. The screaming that incriminated you. It was unimaginable to you, how in a couple of seconds you switched from being a victim to a culprit, from prey to predator. Just like that, and nobody would believe you.

It was only fair when you thought of how it was the price you had to pay instead of losing your soul to immorality.

Many years have passed since the doomsday but the incidents that followed were still alive in your head. How you were arrested and sentenced. How in jail you were comforted by God’s favour still over you. How one thing led to another with your fellow inmates, and another thing led to yet another until you were released before the sentence finished. How you now sit at the top and even hold a position higher than Colonel, your former Oga. How now you can look back and wear a grateful smile, that even though the road was rough and littered with shards, you pulled through nonetheless.

And the best of all? Your soul remained intact through it all.

Unsoiled.