She had so much happiness in her eyes. The longing stare was enough for me to know she would say yes. Clearly, she was aflame with joy, and was only restraining herself, for I could see her rapture letting out through the corners of her eyes. Here was a man she loved, a man who in all estimates she cared for, had proven himself worthy of her; the man who had won her heart. The moment was exhilarating as it was beautiful. She felt ready, and at peace making the choice to let him into her life, a life that hitherto had not been content to entertain any thoughts of romance. She seemed very much aware how an early relationship in medical school would only turn out to be much a burden than an emancipation, and though she might really have wanted to fall in love then, she had, with a kind of rarefied clarity, disallowed herself into such expediencies. She was an angel, that much she knew, and it did not surprise her that she had ended up capturing the heart of a cynic. Not that his heartlessness was deliberate, but his standoffishness had been enough to keep many ladies at bay. Yet she, had softened this heart.
There was an ill in medical school christian union that she did not especially like, but nonetheless, she soon made peace with. It was a strange obsession with romance and relationships among the members of the union. Every joke had allusions of love to it, and every discussion ultimately slid into some protracted talks on romance. Love wasn’t something that was on her mind as it appeared to be on most of her colleagues’. She had goals to achieve, aspirations she hoped to attain, and she felt there was so much growth ahead of her, and giving her heart to a man wasn’t something she was willing to do, at least not yet. For one thing, she never seemed to put much effort to get herself noticed as did other ladies. She, in fact, seemed a little unconcerned about her looks, and it was in the shadow of that innocence and insouciance that she looked prettier than ever. When her colleagues resorted to ostentatious adorning that was meant for nothing other than to attract the gazes and glances of many a simpleton, who the union was clearly not in short supply of, hers was never anything beyond a simple frock or a calmly skirt that always went below her knees. Her preoccupation with decency had at first felt unseemly, but soon, it exuded an undertow of sublimity. Most of the time, she had her hair covered, and I had never seen her with any kind of meticulous braiding. She stood out, and her simplicity became enamoring.
We occasionally had light-hearted conversations with my brothers and colleagues, whose intentions, although tacit for the most part, was to win the heart of a lady, or two. Wasn’t this the most favorable time to start a relationship with the hope that it would lead to marriage, surely that was what Christian dating was all about, wasn’t it? Marriage was the end game. By then, we had had bits of our lives figured out, and thanks to a thorough and witty program on romance and relationships scheduled to run every February, we had had enough guidance of how to wade in these murky waters, so the boys were out hunting as they facetiously liked to call it, and just like a lioness only hunts a promising deer, one that she knows the chase will very much exhaust her, yet she’s sure that the catch would be every bit worth it, for there will be much meat to spare. Likewise, we were careful to only work towards winning ladies we felt would in the end, both in physique and in conduct, prove to be worth the chase. Once, Levi had exclaimed: ‘Daniel, I am waiting to see the lady you’ll date.’ I smiled. ‘She’ll be an angel,’ I whispered silently in my mind. I just did not expect that I would meet the angel so soon.
We never seem to think much of what’s before us, but I think soon enough, some kind of lightning awakens our consciousness and we then get to see the gold that had been sitting right before our eyes yet we had been chipping doggedly at the rocks by our side. ‘If I wanted a girlfriend, I would already have had one,’ I had once told my baddies, trying to assure them that my being single was more a matter of choice than it was circumstance. Maybe they believed me because no one refuted, and even if someone disagreed, they never brought it up. I noticed that for the most part, they were unwilling to challenge my word or any of my claims. After all, was I quite knowledgeable in matters life and spirituality, and love. Yet most of it was knowledge gained from books rather from experience, something that made it all the more fickle and inconsequential, but I guess because they respected, or probably admired my discipline when it came to reading all those books they also wanted to read but could never bring themselves to, and maybe because they were a little awed by my ability to remember very long passages and the authors of so many books I could comfortably quote from regarding relationships, my friends probably thought me a little too wise, and every bit capable of winning any lady, just like I had claimed.
So when I fell in love, I secretly felt deserving to be loved back, to be adored, cherished, and said yes to, without me having to whine, or without being subjected to a protracted ‘wait’ that did nothing other than get you bitter, and disappointed. Yes, we wanted our yeses, or nos. What did wait even mean? Should I wait for you? What if you find another man while I am still waiting? Nor do I want to be accosted by you when I fall in love with another lady, and you see us strolling together, with her hand in mine. We hoped for yeses, and we were okay with nos, but wait? That was a dreaded word we hoped we would never hear. I would soon realize, furthermore, that when it came to matters romance, books teach one thing, but experience teaches wholly different lessons, lessons that are scratched on your heart, and if you were not ready to bear them you may bleed to death. That’s probably why good men end up marrying women they never thought they would, because for all their high-mindedness, they fumble all the great relationships they could have, and foolishly, they push the right ladies away in the name of standards they hope the ladies will meet, but by the time they realize no human being on earth is perfect, they have no choice but to settle down with any woman who comes their way.
I hadn’t yet understood how love worked, or how a man was to behave around a lady that he liked, so I went along with my antics. I wasn’t the guy who gave endearments so freely, nor did I enjoy all the affectation that went into speaking with a lady, but suddenly, here was a lady I championed for the chance to talk to. Several times, however, my mouth and my confidence betrayed me, and most times, I was content to take in and observe her grace from a far; how she smiled with her lady friends, and how calmly and composedly she spoke. I was much for reading and when I found out that she wrote a great deal herself, I hunted down her blog and took to reading it word by word. Unlike my own writing that for the most part recounted romantic disappointments, and never seemed to have any happy endings, her work was entirely Christian, so full of hope and serene arguments that succinctly and clearly expounded Scriptures. I would read the words slowly, savoring the beauty of each one as if they had all been written for the day when I would read them. I wanted to see if I could pick out any hints that she also felt something for me, because I had come to know that you can always tell if a writer is in love, or if they have had their heart broken by the way they write, by the the sentences they use, by the words they choose, and if their work is handwritten, by the way they shape their letter ‘e’. The heartbroken ones, suddenly, seem to be so preoccupied with the morbid and the macabre, and you can always clearly sniff the smell of hopelessness and suicide that their work reeks. And soon enough, they commit that suicide they have all the while romanticized in their writing. So it was that I looked for slips I knew would be a message to me, and I saw many of them, or at least I thought I did.
And as anyone who knew me would have expected, I bungled things up even before I stood before her and asked to be given a chance. When we met that evening, it was that I explain whatever was going on with me. As it turns out, I had been acting out a lot, yet I had been unwilling to put a name to my performances. I had all the while, a little naively, thought I had been particularly discreet about my feelings, feelings I never wanted her to know of, but also still wanted her to. Not only had she finally put one and two together, but also had every other person who had had their eyes on me. I, clearly, had forgotten that when a man is in love, the world would, sooner or later, come to know, and sometimes it did even before you did. ‘You know I am not ready for a relationship, right?’ I should have said I did, but I only stared silently into those dove eyes I had so much come to love. Nor did I ever expect her response to command so much in me. As we sat there, and as I did my best to answer every question as courteously, and as poetically and poignantly as I could, I could feel how with every word I uttered, the ice I had been clasping in my fist was slowly melting away. I was slipping deeper and deeper into an abyss as it were. Was I saying the wrong things? I had gotten ready for this conversation and I had prayed that much would come from it, but with every question from her, and every response from me, I could slowly, but clearly, see my end come into focus. ‘Maybe later on we can have this conversation again.’ She finally said in that kind kind of way that was meant to take the sting off her words, only that it made them hurt the more. It was such a sublime way to say, well, wait. But there was something about this wait that made it unlike all the others my friend had told me about. It was a no spelled as wait. Why did she not have just tell me no and be done with it? Hadn’t it been better that way? Even easier?
As I walked back to Kenyatta National Hospital that evening for my meeting, I knew that my world had been shattered. My studies, all my reading, all my writing, and all my philosophizing had not gotten me anywhere, and had helped me in nothing. I wanted to look back to Scriptures, there I could be assured of a much greater hope, but I could not bear to regard it. My mind had been set on the path of damnation, as it were, and no reason would prevail against it. I didn’t have to get Jesus involved in this one, this was my own trouble to handle. Was it because it was my first no? ‘But she didn’t say no,’ I reminded myself. ‘Yes she did,’ I thought after a while. I stayed quiet through the meeting, and counted the minutes as they ticked away, never has two hours took ages. Even in the car we ubered home with Mokale and Teddy, I was very few of words. Mokale probably had an inkling of my woes, for I had mentioned it to him that that day I was to have a crucial conversation I should have had ages ago, but I think he was only patiently waiting for me to be the one to broach the subject, and tell him of all that had transpired.
When I got home, it was few minutes to midnight and Jacob had gone to bed already. I went into the kitchen, and I saw that he had bought the pressure cooker we had deliberated getting, it would help us,— no, him— with the cereals. I looked at the dirty utensils piled up in the sink, four men in the house, we had always had trouble agreeing on how smoothly we would work on cleaning the utensils. We had made a duty rota several times but the enthusiasm soon petered out and we were back to piling all the dirty plates and cups in the sink. The hungry person who wanted to do some cooking, would also have to do the washing. What were we to do? None of us had been cut out for that kind of work after all. I stared at the knife for a while. We had three knives, and all of them were blunt. ‘You need to sharpen these knives, Daniel!’Anita had once complained during our Wednesday bible study while she was cutting oranges to prepare the dessert. ’You never cook beef, do you?’ She asked mischievously. ‘Of course we do!’ Jacob had retorted. ‘The meat is usually chopped up in the butchery,’ I added in our defense. I didn’t like the thought that had come into my mind, but at the end of that path I saw my salvation. It would be sad thing, the most imprudent thing I ever thought to do, but it was the only option that bore the promise of taking the burden off my back, or heart? ‘Don’t do it Daniel,’ a heard a calm sane thought nag at me, trying to get me off that path, but my mind had been made up already. What did my life mean when I knew that the lady I loved wanted nothing to do with me? ‘Nine stabs will do,’ I thought, and I would spell out each letter of her name as I forced the cold piece of metal into my belly.
Right now, as I look at her, and see all that happiness in her eyes, happiness that I wanted for myself but never had, I think that I made a mistake. It is even more depressing to think that I am able to see her, but she cannot see me. One evening, while she was coming out of the surgery clinic, I stood right in her way, hoping she would bump into me, but she just walked through me, unhindered, nor did I feel a thing, not even a brush. I helplessly watched her as she walked away, and I felt tears come to my eyes. Was she ever broken by the news that I had ended my life? She was, for a while, but she was soon repulsed by the thought. ‘Which man ends his life because a lady tells him no?’ I suspect she had once asked herself silently. ‘She never said no,’ I reminded myself again. What if I had waited? What if I had waited till morning, and told Jacob of all the pain I felt in my heart? What if I had whispered a prayer and asked the Lord for help in that moment when I felt overtaken and wrapped up in all that darkness that came with losing someone I now adored all the more with every passing day? What if I waited? What if I met another lady who would be indulgent, and loving enough, to let me into her life? What if I had never seen that knife? What if? What if? ‘Yes I will marry you!’ I heard her exclaim as she embraced the man tightly, a hug I doubt they would get out of alive. Maybe I might have been the one receiving that hug. Maybe. If only I had not seen that knife. She did not say no. But does it matter anymore?
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Daniel
As I sutured up the heart, I must have pricked a tiny blood vessel, as I saw blood begin to slowly trickle a few inches from the suture line. I wasn’t the person to slide into oblivion while I was in the OR, and during one of my past surgeries, I had, once, furiously retorted at a nurse who, clearly, was absent-minded. I later apologized for being so ra…
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