Chapter V (Do us part)

Then one day they bring in a temporary secretary when Beatrice is out having her baby. As temporary secretaries are, by destiny’s decree, Elizabeth is young, shapely and pretty. She is fresh out of university, giggles like a girl but fills her clothes like a woman.

It is not the legs that roll out of her short skirts, it is not the bosom that bursts out of her blouse that throw Joe off balance– he is married has a wife. He has conditioned himself to resist the lure of tits and ass.

It is other things, things he didn’t know he needed to guard against. The non-obvious. The nape of her neck, which whispers tenderness to him, so silently that even ears do not hear. The lushness of her eyelashes, the curl of her lip when she gives him that half-smile in the morning. It is the subservient way she folds her fingers within themselves when he gives her instructions that he finds so mesmerising. It crept up on him, slowly, one by one, finger by finger. The light from the great office window- that six o’clock sunlight of Kampala will work magic, weave enchantment on you if you are not careful- falling upon her cheek.

One day he is admitting to himself, despite himself, that it is cute the way she lowers her voice and looks away when some flirting friend calls her on the office phone. It happens over and over and grows, to the point when he finds a pleasant feeling in him when he hears it. It does not stop growing, it continues, until one day he finds he is jealous and he hates it. No more personal calls! he barks at Elizabeth. Tell your boyfriends to call you some other time not during office hours. She twines her fingers as he bellows, and inside himself, he turns to dust.

She changes, gets bigger too until she is his size and larger. No longer just a girl, she is a burning hot thing, which sets him aflame. He tries, tries to keep his cool, but he is not sure she cannot see the blaze radiating off his skin and does not know that it is a reflection of what she is sending out.

The half-smile grows to fullness, taking him over. She insisted on calling him Sir when she first came and was uneasy when he insisted that she call him Joe. In this office, it is first name basis, he told her, but she was obviously having a hard time getting used to that. Conditioning. And when she did say Joe, it was still Sir, thinly disguised.

But now, Joe is Joe. When she looks up at him from her desk, peering perfect white eyes through the curtain of lashes, it is not coy any more. There is a happiness there that disturbs him.

He cannot make it out. Is she happy to see him? “Good morning Joe?”

Does she like him?

Or is it that she knows that she has him has him wrapped round her inflammatorily-desired little finger and that is what she likes.

When is Beatrice coming back he often asked himself. He did not enjoy this situation he was in and wanted it to end. He was in something confusing and enweakening, love perhaps, and he hated it.

But soon Elizabeth was leaning over him at his desk to reach for a pen, and he could catch a whiff of her perfume and the back of his mind was saying how divine how divine, I wish I could make her mine. He was wanting and not wanting, he was sweating and panting, he was lost and so anxious for escape

…but not too much anymore.

Beatrice emailed him asking for an extension of her maternity leave. Joe granted it.

He clicked send just as she walked in to the office. He found himself smiling at her and didn’t know why. And didn’t know if it was as obvious why.

When Alice found that Elizabeth was staying longer she was unnerved. She called him one day and Elizabeth picked up the phone.

“Beatrice, munagne welcome back,” Alice said. Before she could ask, how is the little one, the voice on the other end told her.

“Sorry Beatrice is not here. She is on leave. Can I help you”

“Elizabeth?”

“Alice? How are you? Joe has stepped out. He will be back in about half an hour. I tell him to call you?”

“No.” Pause. “It’s okay. I will see him at home.” Click.

Alice tells me, as we stand above the bed of her sleeping son, that she is worried. “I don’t think he is being unfaithful, but with you men, you never know. Ate Joe, Joe is Joe. What will stop him? Me?”

“What does he tell you?” I ask.

“He doesn’t tell me anything. I haven’t asked him. Of course not. He will laugh at me and say I am being paranoid. But I see the way he looks at her. And the way he talks about her.  It is different from the way he used to talk about Beatrice, I can tell you that.”

I don’t know what to say now, and am beginning to think perhaps I shouldn’t have brought it up. I say the stupid obvious thing. “You should talk about it. He is your husband.”

“It won’t do any good. He will say I am being jealous and possessive and he will make it look as if I am the one to blame. He won’t even admit it to himself that he loves her.”

Strong word.  Delivered with no hesitation, no eupemisation. Just like that. He loves her.

“It’s just a crush. It will go away,” I try again.

“It is taking too long. By the time it goes away, who know what will have taken place? I know Joe. I know how far I can trust him.  He pretends to himself that he is strong, but that man… he is not that strong. I know him.” She looks at her sleeping son. “I don’t know that woman. I don’t trust her.” She sighs. “When the time comes and Joe cannot think of me and stop, I hope he at least thinks of this little one. He will not do this to his son.”

Once again, I did not know what to say. If I had to put money on it, I would bet on the worst. I may be only a distant cousin, but I know Joe well enough too. He will not back off from getting what he wants. He will deem that a failure, a weakness. He fears weakness. Maybe that is what will drive him to her. He might think that by conquering her, by quenching his desire, he will have snuffed that which makes him feel small in her presence, banish the weakness in his knees.

“As long as he doesn’t know, doesn’t admit to himself, he will do nothing,” I say.

“But her. I don’t know her. She might do something. To push him.”
       
As the driver drove me away I looked out of the back window of the Pajero and saw the two of them waving goodbye. The distance between them was palpable and hard.