By Pius Nyondo
The Landlord's daughter came back. She did not knock this
time. She just entered unceremoniously – with no attention getters – like a
harmless snake.
"It wasn't them."
I heaved with a sigh of relief. Before she entered
actually, in a space of three minutes, I had already made plans on where I
would go in case I got evicted; which I was ninety-five percent very sure about
had it been that we were really caught red-handed.
"So who was it?"
"The mail-man," she said, softly rolling her
hand on my naked back. "He said he couldn't make it on time during the
day."
I sighed. Again. Aimed my gaze at her. Smiled. She smiled back. She provoked me. She waged
war on him – cleverly, affectionately– leading him into temptations.
And; through our fault–our most grievous fault–the
Landlord’s daughter and I sinned.
***
While on commercial break – waiting for the next service –
I reminisced how I had first hoped for and; then, dangerously fallen in love
with her. She was beautiful, of course, with a not-so-daunting height, round
face, light skin and squinting big-lazy eyes.
Esther, for that was the Landlord’s daughter’s name, was
not the kind that attracts lusty manly eyes because of their well-oiled skins
and painted lips. She was just fine. Gentle. Self-effacing. Charming.
The day–the day when this whole madness started – had
been a splendid one with a clear sky and a soothing land breeze. And; Luwinga
University was serene. Graveyard quite. As if it was not a university at all.
Universities were renowned for their notorious lot. Students who stoned
innocent passersby. Cursed. Sexcapaded–ungrudgingly, condomlessly–as if their
names were already on the Creator’s list.
A fresh student of the university, I was unaware on how I
would get myself lodging before nightfall. It baffled me when the university
warden – a pint-sized old man with a tonsured head – told me that there was no
accommodation for me on campus.
“Didn’t you get your admission letter?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“You’re an off-campus student,” the university warden
explained. “It means you’ll not stay on campus due to limited space.”
“I’m a government sponsored student!” I retaliated. “My
name was called on the radio. Government is responsible for my tuition, food
and accommodation.”
Chortles!
“Everybody’s name was called on the radio, buddy!” some
loudmouth shouted from the group that was now watching the ‘freshman-university
warden’ drama.
“Yearo!” another loudmouth shouted – a female voice this
time.
Jeers!
Later, as the university warden led me by hand to his
office, I learnt that ‘Year0’ actually referred to all first year students who
were apparently in year zero.
It took me over thirty minutes to understand what the
university warden was talking about. When he was done, I left without a word
and headed towards the main gate. There were some cheers again – of course.
But I did not mind this time. I had to get accommodation –
before nightfall.
Just as I walked out of the main gate I met Esther –
dressed in a miniskirt that exposed her spotless sighs. I did not mind. She
looked very young – very young for me to gather courage and talk business. I
mean, doing so would have given the unruly fellow university students a warrant
to report the matter to the police for defilement or such related cases.
But I was mistaken. Esther was no child. She stopped as
soon as she met me, offered her hand and asked me what I was up to. Being the
desperate student that I was, I emptied my problem to her. I had no
accommodation.
She smiled – and told me that she would help me get
accommodation. They had a boys-quarter.
When we arrived at their house I learnt that she was not
only the only daughter of a very influential family but also very beloved.
Esther’s father was a renowned financial magnate and her mother a senior
surgeon at Luwinga Central Hospital.
Esther convinced her parents that I was the best person
to occupy the boys-quarter. She told her parents that I was 34. And, her
parents agreed. Of course, I was 34.
But my freedom was not for long. It all started one night
when Esther sneaked out of her father’s house and came to my room. She dressed
to kill and, I really died. Died for her. Died for young Esther. Died for the
13 year old.
With no contour of shyness drawn on her face, Esther told
me to sleep with her – if I wanted to continue staying at their place. I could
not take it. I swore by my father’s grave that it was not possible. That she
was young. That she was only 13.
She could not take it. She threatened me further. She was
going to shout and her parents were going to storm my room. She was going to
tell her parents that I wanted to rape her.
I froze. I was very afraid. Her parents would get me
arrested for sure. She was their one and only. Esther was their beloved. So we
made love that night. She amazed me, I must confess – with her antics.
“Where did you learn all that?”
“My friends give me movies and I watch them on my phone.”
She let me have a look at one of the movies. God! Sins, I
tell you. Sins. In my village Kapenda, the movies were very scarce. We watched
them, of course, but at a lumbering cost. Here was a little child, watching a
movie that was supposed to be watched by us – those of us who knew what the
nectar of matrimony was all about.
“Do your parents know about this?”
“Why should they? It is my phone and if I want them I can
just download on the internet and watch. I will show you more.”
I did not say an extra word as she left. I had enjoyed
her, of course. She sounded like she was 24 throughout.
And that had been the beginning of more love-makings.
More sins.
***
Sound of a car.
We both jumped. Esther started crying. I was confused. I
was still putting on my clothes when her mother knocked at my door and waited
not for a reply to enter.
“Ma,” Esther told her mother. “He has impregnated me but
is refusing the responsibility.”
I was dumbfounded. It could not be. I was sterile.
Nyakaira and I had failed to have children of our own for years.
Esther’s mother eyed me – with a dangerous look – and
left. I knew she was going to come back shortly. I left the room, jumped over
the fence and ran away.
I had run only a short distance when I met a couple of
boys talking. They were talking about Esther. The same Esther I knew. No
coincidence.
“Esther,” said one of the boys, “is really a small girl.
How can she dump me when she knows that I have impregnated her?”
“Does she know that you have given her HIV too?” another
boy chipped in. “She has been taught a lesson. No one messes up with this university
gang man.”
As I walked past them, readying myself for more running,
I cried. Not for the landlord’s daughter though.
I was going to die of AIDS.
