There was a time when Brother Sam used to have a sound sleep, snoring, saliva all over his rounded mouth, like a snail placed on a heap of hot coals. There was a time when Brother Sam used to wrap himself in his blue blanket, a pink pillow pressed below his thin neck - all he needed to have a glorious night after he had said his bedtime prayers. But last night was different; Sam couldn't close his eyes; he seemed to have lost the padlocks to his eyelids, if there were any.
Brother Sam had only succeeded in quenching the light in the room, but had unsuccessfully quenched the thoughts in his heart - the reason for which he had been restless, the reason for which he could not shut his eyelids. Two nights ago, Sister Stella, dark and dimple-cheeked, had sneaked from the second street to tell Brother Sam that she had missed her period and didn't know what to do.
"Eh," Brother Sam had said, confused. "What?"
"I missed my period," Stella softly whispered again. "I don't know what to do."
"How old are you, Stella?"
"I'll be sixteen by December."
"You are too young to be pregnant," Brother Sam's dimming voice quivered. "You still have a year to spend in college. Please, we have to get rid of this pregnancy because I can't stand the disgrace. Can you?"
"No," Stella looked away.
Brother Sam is the head usher in the same church where Sister Stella is a teen chorister. Stella, wearing skimpy skirts and carrying some exercise books in her handbag, had always come to Sam's apartment to learn Algebra, until about three weeks ago when Sam, for the first and only time, reached for her bra. Stella didn't protest; an incredible miracle it seemed, and the deed was done in five minutes. And now, completely awake in that stark darkness, Sam found it hard to believe that a girl as small as Stella could miss her period just like that.
This night, before Sam went to bed, he had seen Stella to get a feedback on the abortion pills he had given her on the previous day. The fat and oblong-headed pharmacist who sold the drugs to Sam based on trust had assured Sam that the abortion pills would, without complications, flush any pregnancy that was less than a month old; and Sam had earnestly believed the pharmacist while he exchanged a crisp five hundred naira note for the drugs.
"Have you seen your period yet?" Sam, nearly urinating in his trousers, anxiously asked.
Stella hesitated, "No."
"No? Okay," Sam managed to swallow the saliva that was gathering in his throat. "I'll take you somewhere tomorrow morning."
Still lying on his bed in the gloomy room, only the sweet whispers that came from the blades of the ceiling fan convinced Sam that he was awake. In a bid to enjoy what was left of peace, Sam slapped the back of his neck to kill some bloodthirsty mosquitoes that were tormenting him. He felt some blood but couldn't say the number of mosquitoes that had become casualty.
As Sam rubbed the blood on his fingers against the frame of his bed, he wondered whether Stella would survive the D&C that was to be done the next morning, whether Stella would be killed like the unfortunate mosquitoes trapped in his palms. Sam's heart jumped; it would be the biggest risk of his life. Unfortunately, however, he needed to take the risk to save his spotless reputation. Sam had served as the head usher of his church for ten years (Stella was only eight when Sam became the head usher) and there had never been any charge against him. Sam, certainly, couldn't imagine himself, a graduate of Political Science from the prestigious University of Lagos, caught in a pregnancy scandal which involved a sixteen years old college girl. He would rather die than have himself featured in such a disgraceful film. He could not even imagine how Reverend Remi, the general overseer, would react to such an incredible scandal.
Several hours had passed now, and Brother Sam hasn't tasted sleep still. Well, sleep is now needless. The roosters in the streets had sang the morning anthem - just after the horn speakers of the mosques in the neighborhood blared, calling the faithfuls for prayers. Brother Sam used to very passionately hate the noise from the horn speakers, wondering why the Imams in the mosques couldn't devise a more civilized way of calling their peoples for prayers - maybe a daily text message, maybe a daily telegraph, maybe an automated email, maybe anything. But this morning is different, the mere cry of "Allah wa ku bawa" brings overwhelming joy to Sam's soul, because it assures him that a new day, full of promises, has commenced.
Sam sluggishly gets down his bed; he looks at the red rectangular wall clock on his reading table and finds that the time is 6.30am. He dashes to the bathroom, to take his bath. He needs to do it as hurriedly as possible, so that he will keep Dr. Baka's appointment. Dr. Baka, a specialist in D&C and chair of Home of Babies Hospitals, had fixed 7.30am for the operation; and Sam knows, from the way Baka spoke on the day the appointment was fixed, that Baka does not fiddle with time.
It is exactly 7.15am now; Sam and Stella had arrived at the reception hall of Home of Babies Hospitals. The hospital, a bungalow painted white and blue, is not as busy as it was on the day Sam first visited to book the appointment. A nurse, tall and Coconut-skinned, attends to Sam and Stella over the ceramic counter.
"What can we do for you?" the nurse smiles, her teeth resembles the color of a rotten palm Kernel.
"We have an appointment for 7.30am with Dr. Baka," Sam looks away; the nurse's teeth nauseate him.
"Oh, I see. D&C, I guess."
Sam manages to nod his head. "Yes."
"Okay, you may have your seat over there. I'll call you when he's ready."
"Alright."
Sam and Stella sits down. The environment is strange to Sam; he can rarely bear the strong concoction of drugs floating in the air. He looks at Stella disgustingly, and wonders how stupid he was to have allowed five minutes of fleeting pleasure to put him in such a horrible mess. Sam stares at the white celling above him, sweat dripping down his face, and whispers to himself, "Lord, let this cup pass over me."
"Stella," the nurse with the burnt teeth calls out, "Dr. Baka needs your attention now."
"Okay," Stella answered, panicking.
Stella stands up and follows the nurse. Stella is not sure where the nurse is leading her to, but she hopes to return a virgin, to return alive. The nurse leads Stella to roomy room, where Dr. Baka and two other nurses, white gloves in hands, are already waiting.
"Hello, Stella," Dr. Baka says, as soon as Stella walks into the room,
"Have no fears; this is the tenth case I'll handle in 24hours.
It will be a bit painful but you have to be strong. Since you are merely few weeks pregnant, I can assure you that I will get it done snappily. Now, may I have you on the stretcher?"
"Okay, sir." Stella felt a lump in her tiny throat.
Stella is on the stretcher now, lying exactly the way she was given birth to. Baka is holding a large pair of silvery scissors. The two nurses are bearing a tray each, a tray of tools, of injections and other nameless instruments. Baka reaches for a tool, and tells Stella to open her legs wide apart. Stella, blinking her eyes and biting her lips in anticipation of the unimaginable pains she will soon undergo, obeys Baka's commands.
Baka expertly inserts the tool into the appropriate places, and soon begins to bring out rubbery substances, all clothe in blood, which look like the intestine of a slaughtered chicken. One of the nurses in the room, as experienced as the moon, reaches for a small blue bucket on the floor, and Baka begins to drop the substances into the bucket. As Baka inserts and removes each tool, Stella whimpers and jerks on the stretcher, bitting her lips in pain.
Sam sits on the sofa, worried. He does not know what is happening to Stella. He is just hoping that Stella will come out alive, so that he will not rot in jail (Sam knows very well that abortion is illegal in Nigeria). Sam vows that if Stella comes out alive, never again will he see the panties of any woman until his wedding night.
"Sam, please come with me, Dr. Baka urgently needs your attention in the theatre." one of the nurses who had been in the theatre walks up to Sam.
"Eh," Sam answers, he is too confused to compose a sentence. Sam has watched countless Nollywood movies, and knows that, though not always, a doctor's summon during surgery means that someone is dead. Sam, not sure whether Stella is dead or alive, struggles to keep his eyes dry and follows the nurse into the theatre, while his legs dance beneath him.
Sam finds Stella lying on the stretcher; he admires her slim lap and his hope is restored. He is now sure that Stella is alive but still unsure of why Baka needs his attention.
"Sam," Baka started, "I have called you here because I have just made a strange discovery. Stella's pregnancy is over three months old, and you know that our charge depends on the maturity of the pregnancy. I have only charged you #5,000, which covers only pregnancies less than a month old." Baka points at the small blue bucket on the floor, and goes on. "I have evacuated more than two buckets from her already; it should not be more than a bucket if the pregnancy is about a month old or less. Now, I want you to pay me additional #10,000. If you refuse to pay, I'll not complete this abortion. And if that happens, consider Stella dead in 24 hours."
"Jeez," Sam cried out, rather stunned. It is not the additional money that stuns Sam; it is the fact that Stella's pregnancy is over three months old, a clear indication that he is not the man responsible; for the first and only time Sam saw Stella's bra was three weeks ago. Who then is responsible? The Holy Spirit?
"Stella, you are a bastard!" Sam roars, "So you have been messing around right? And you want to make my whole life miserable because I spent five minutes between your legs? Listen, I'll pay the bills but you have to tell everyone here who is responsible for this half bastard in your belly. Now, speak."
"Speak," Baka adds, shaking his head.
"Speak," the two nurses say simultaneously, as if they are radio presenters.
"Reverend Remi," Stella answers, covering her face in sheer shame. "Reverend started sleeping with me since the beginning of this year. Brother Sam, please forgive me."
"What?" Sam answers in disbelief. Reverend Remi, to clock sixty-five next year, is the General Overseer of the church Sam and Stella attend. Sam shakes his head, dips his hands into his pockets and settles the bill. He walks out of the theatre, walks out of the hospital, wishing he had walked out Stella those days when she wore skimpy skirts to his apartment. Sam leaves the hospital, awed; he does not even care whether Stella will walk out of the hospital alive or dead.
Story by Gandhi Green.
Editor’s remark; Kindly vote for this writer to win the Etisalat flash fiction award.
The voting process is tortuous, I admit. But please do it for a brother, for an aspiring young man. I count on you. Together, we will go far.
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