A Short Story - Conjured While I Watched Events The suns rays bounced off the road surface like rubber balls, the type we called flying carpet as toddlers. The road in the estate where Nda Isiguzo lived was so smooth that he felt like begging the cars running on it not to hurt it with their tires. It was the type the been-tos in his age grade called lailon tar. Nda Isiguzo had insisted he went with him to the city. At 39 Nda Isiguzo was still unmarried. Mum, a devout Catholic and the President of the Christian Women Organization of their church always said three decades of the Rosary for him every morning. What irked him was why she always forced him to join her in the prayers. What angered him a few months ago was when she had arranged for Nda Isiguzo to marry Agbonma; the most beautiful maiden in the village, a girl whose words were softer than the hairs beneath the feathers of a newborn chick. A girl he longed to express his feelings to. At 18 Chukwudi had never been to Lagos. Nda Isiguzos house was in V.I. The inflection in his voice whenever he called it - Vee-Ai - was melodious to his ears. Many of the houses were unfenced, and one could walk up to the door of a neighbour, just like the houses in the village. The lushness of the flowers was a beauty to behold. Well trimmed, they sort of formed gates for the houses. Chukwudi loved what he saw. Nda Isiguzo lifted the brass knocker at the door. Within a minute soft footfalls were heard within. The door flung open. Hey Guz, welcome boo. He wore a half tee-shirt, slit into tatters at the hem, hanging above his bare torso. His chin was clean shaven while his moustache was carved into a pencil line. On his ear was a shiny stud and Chukwudi wondered if it was pio gold. Nda Isiguzo hugged him and they kissed, the guy squeezing his butt lightly. Looking at them in warm embrace, Chukwudi remembered Mamas prayers every morning. He also remembered Agbonma.
Posted on: Tue, 21 Oct 2014 11:37:05 +0000
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