Читать книгу SOUTH B'S FINEST - MAKENA MAGANJO - Страница 9

There were only four unexpected guests at the intimate wedding.

Mr. Mathai’s sisters arrived just as the reception was winding up. Beatrice saw them before they saw her. After Mr. Mathai went missing, they went missing in action too, as if they too had been snuffed out of existence.

‘Can you believe them?’ Mrs. Mutiso was at Beatrice’s side the moment she saw the sisters too. ‘Wait, did you invite them?’ she asked Beatrice. Beatrice shook her head. She hadn’t spoken to them in so long, she couldn’t remember which one of the sisters she’d spoken to last. ‘So then what are they doing here? And then these guards! Nkt! What are they here for if it’s not to check that everyone coming in has an invite? They think this food is being paid for by money that fell from a tree?’ Beatrice hesitated to remind Mrs. Mutiso that the main reason they were spending a fortune on the menu was because she insisted on expensive caterers.

‘It’s fine. They are here now. Let’s go and welcome them,’ she said, resolving to be polite.

‘What, with me? No! I don’t have patience for stupidity and those four are stupid.’ Mrs. Mutiso swayed away before Beatrice could convince her otherwise.

~

‘Mama Kanono, Bwana asifiwe.’ The oldest of Mr. Mathai’s sisters took Beatrice’s hands into her much smaller ones. She leaned in and kissed the air around Beatrice. The Mathai sisters were delicate creatures. If Beatrice was thin, she was a sturdy thin, muscles taut against her skin. The Mathai sisters were an unhappy thin, the kind of thin that suggests years of bitterness and strife. If you looked at them quickly, you’d be forgiven for assuming they were quadruplets. They had the same pinched face, the same large forehead, the same flared nose, the same decided frown.

I must have forgotten to add, they were Mr. Mathai’s step-sisters from his father’s first marriage. Mr. Mathai’s father raised all his children within the same homestead. Food was not apportioned depending on the superiority of a wife but on the number of mouths each wife had to feed. This system saw great harmony between all the families except the first wife and her children. But then, can you imagine being duped into believing your husband will never marry again because he has gone twenty years without showing any inclination to add to his home then waking up one morning to find a new hut next to yours for your new mũiru and then two more similar huts within the short and exhausting space of two years?

‘What a surprise!’ Beatrice bristled at being called Mama Kanono. ‘It has been many years.’

‘Eema, biũ biũ, you can get married and not ask your family for permission?’ another of the sisters said as she arched a thin, overly plucked, overly pencilled eyebrow.

‘Sorry?’ Beatrice couldn’t help noticing the chalkiness of her complexion. Powder. In the wrong shade.

‘Ati sorry? Sorry ni nani? Did you forget you are ours? When you married our brother we paid for you. Since it seems you have forgotten your traditions and culture, we came to remind you.’ This was spoken by the third of the sisters. Beatrice was beginning to think they sounded rehearsed, down to who got to say what. She idly wondered if they had fought over who got to deliver that line.

‘And me personally––’ the elder Mathai sister placed her hand across her chest. The other sisters looked at her sternly. It appeared she’d broken off from the script. ‘––I don’t remember anyone coming to request for our sister’s hand in marriage.’ She looked around at her sisters, seeking their nods of agreement.

They stared back wearily. The Mathai sisters could only focus and stay in harmony for short amounts of time before remembering just how annoying they found each other. They’d never managed to launch a sustained attack on anyone long enough to yield results. This did not mean they ever forgot the people they were squabbling with. The sisters kept an up to date list of relatives and friends who’d wronged them, remembering to add to it regularly. Inevitably they would regroup and attack again.

‘Do you remember how much we paid for you?’ The sister who hadn’t spoken yet recovered the script after a snippy whispered argument between them. Beatrice watched the performance, knowing better than to interrupt them.

‘It is the height––’ she stretched the word with her tone and pulled at it with her fingers, ‘––the height of disrespect to your family. You didn’t invite us and we took you in and when Mathai, God rest him, di––’

One of the sisters caught sight of Nyambura in the distance, looking around as if she’d lost sight of someone.

‘Oh! Is that Kanono? My God! Ebu mwangalie! She is even bigger now. I told you her body is one of those ones that likes weight. But someone needs to tell her she can’t––’

‘Alice, Alice, my God Alice is that you?’ Mrs. Karanja came up to the little gathering, hands held out in joyful greeting. Her presence so entranced the Mathai sisters, their jaws went slack and their mouths curved into an O. In the time they’d been away, Mrs. Karanja’s church ministry had grown into one of the largest churches in Kenya. Her face graced their TV screens every Sunday afternoon. The sisters forgot their mission and began vying for Mrs. Karanja’s attention with stories about what miracles God had performed recently in their lives, what they were praying for, how they’d always known her church would be successful, how no man could come against God’s calling.

Mrs. Karanja winked at Beatrice. She was free now.

Beatrice smiled a terse thank you as she stepped back from them. She looked around feeling lost and unmoored, she blamed the sisters for this but she didn’t quite believe they were the reason for the feeling. No, they were a reminder of something far worse, something she’d tried to impeach and then bargain with, and then when none of that worked, live with.

Mr. Mathai was the antithesis of everything Beatrice stood for, this much we know, but that didn’t mean he was any worse or better than the next person, he was just––Beatrice shut her eyes. It was unfair, she’d walked into a marriage with a man she could barely stand just to tick off a checkbox in life and (no surprises), it had turned out so badly that when he went missing, above all the emotions she’d felt, there was one that broke free from the maelstrom to reign above the others, one that scared her so much she’d hated herself for it: relief.

Beatrice felt a wave of heat creep up and engulf her in her wedding dress. Mrs. Mutiso had insisted she buy a proper wedding dress, ‘second chances are precious,’ she’d reminded her.

~

Mrs. Karanja navigated the Mathai sisters towards a table that was neither too far from the gathering nor too near. She offered them refreshments and ensured they were comfortable and at ease (as far as these women could relax), before moving on.

‘For a pastor, she’s really nice,’ Mrs. Mutiso observed. She was once again at Beatrice’s side, the caterer next to her.

‘She’s always been like that.’

‘I don’t know, I always got the sense she didn’t like me,’ Mrs. Mutiso tilted her head. The caterer tried to interrupt their conversation with a question but Mrs. Mutiso waved him away. ‘There’s no point hiring all these service providers when they keep asking you questions, you end up doing all the work and they get paid for it. I’m not going to use them for the next wedding.’

‘You got another customer?’ Beatrice turned around in surprise and joy.

‘Yes. One, though I am waiting for them to confirm. They will, but people like to keep you on your toes,’ Mrs. Mutiso said in a firm voice.

‘When is that wedding for?’

‘I don’t know yet, we are still talking but I’ve given them a good offer. It will probably be a Christmas wedding. Those are beautiful. They’re very wealthy as well.’ Mrs. Mutiso nodded vigorously as she spoke, her eyes widening with each word. This unsettled Beatrice who prodded further:

‘Oh? Do I know them?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know, maybe. Nairobi is small.’ Mrs. Mutiso appeared to be losing interest in the conversation, her eyes were on Mrs. Karanja who was now speaking with Steven and his parents who laughed generously at whatever she was saying. ‘When did you stop going to church?’ Mrs. Mutiso asked. Beatrice was surprised by the question.

‘I didn’t, I still go, when I’m not busy.’ Beatrice steered the conversation back to Mrs. Mutiso’s business. ‘So the wedding you’re planning…’

‘Hmm…I don’t go anymore.’ Mrs. Mutiso continued to watch Mrs. Karanja. Beatrice watched Mrs. Mutiso.

‘Why?’

‘I think God has seasons.’ Mrs. Mutiso finally turned and gave her attention to Beatrice. She kicked up her mouth into a half-smile. ‘I’m waiting for my season to begin, again.’

Beatrice opened her mouth. She closed it.

‘Sometimes, I think He likes these games He plays,’ Mrs. Mutiso continued.

‘What games?’ Beatrice couldn’t shake off a feeling––she knew this feeling––she couldn’t name it either but she knew this shadowy thing.

‘So now you’re going into the wedding planning business full time?’ Beatrice asked again.

‘Full time?’ Mrs. Mutiso repeated. ‘Full time––yes full time. Business is good. Lots of customers. People like my work. You know Mr. Mutiso always said I had an eye for design.’ Mrs. Mutiso spotted the beleaguered caterer packing up the buffet table and stalked off to stop him.

Beatrice wanted to follow after her friend, to ask her, ‘But I thought you said you don’t have customers yet?’ but then, as it happens in these things, she was, once more, accosted by a guest, eager to congratulate the second-time-around bride.