Entangled: A Little Too Many, A Little Too Close

by Kenneth Igiri

  "Yeah..."

  "Anyway, I just thought about you and decided to call. How have you been? Hope you are not doing anything I would not do?"

  Philip laughed again.

  "What would you not do?"

  "Gi onwe go ma[9]!"

  "How is Naija?"

  "We are fine o"

  "And your family?"

  "We are fine. When can I start asking you the same question?"

  Philip roared with laughter. He paced in the living room as he spoke on the phone. The television was on, but he had turned the volume almost to the very bottom. He heard the shower stop as his laughter ground to a halt. Zainab was done. He was distracted a bit then spoke again.

  "If you hadn't talked about marriage then I would have wondered whether it was really you."

  "That is not the answer to the question, Brother."

  "Don't worry I will invite you soon."

  Zainab flashed in Philip's mind. Could she fill this gap? Even if she could, it was not supposed to happen this way? That was not the way he imagined it. How would he give the testimony to his Christian friends? Zainab came to live in his house for a month and then he found out that she was his wife? Was it providence that had led her here? What if they ended up having sex? How would his testimony go? Would he even marry her? What would happen to Abena? Helen? All the others? He was simply not ready for commitment, but he was hungry for sexual expression.

  Zainab stepped in the living room. She looked clean, no makeup and no film of sweat. She wore a short nightie and had her hair bound in a scarf. She threw herself on the couch and turned her head towards the television muttering, "You are still on the phone". Philip glanced at her.

  "OK o," Amara concluded, "I just thought to say hello sha. Take care of yourself. Have a good night's rest alone in your big house..."

  "Alright. Thanks a lot"

  Was that a lie? Not telling her that he was not alone? Was he supposed to correct her and say he was not alone? Philip was not so sure about that, but his own conscience and the Silent Whisper told him something was wrong with this night. Amara's call was a wakeup call.

  "Come and sit with me" called Zainab.

  Philip hesitated. "Let me have a bath"

  "OK"

  He recognized this variant of Zainab's voice. The soft, mellow variant. It was like cold water wetting his heart, a song inviting him closer, a silver cord that connected them both. She wanted him and he wanted her but neither would speak about it. The body language was enough said.

  The bathroom was turbulent. The turbulence was not in the water rushing from his shower. It was not in the gentle breeze troubling the grass behind his bathroom window. The turbulence was inside him. Thoughts rushed through his mind, restlessness raged in his soul, he was in a hurry to finish his bath yet nervous about all the things that could possibly happen when he got out of the bathroom and stepped into his living room where Zainab was waiting, anticipating, wondering what he would do when he finally came to sit beside her. Anticipation. Uncertainty. Guilt!

  Even Yosef knew that once hormones were in motion it was almost impossible to stop the train especially when none of the parties involved was willing to forfeit thrill. He knew that he could have lost the position of the vizier if he had slept with his master's wife. As vain as the entire experience is, it abruptly ends at orgasm then reality sets back in and everyone counts the cost of something that cannot be reversed. Philip simply was not that strong. There was nowhere to run to, he was home, and the battle had met him there.

  There were touches on the forearms, caresses on the belly, tickles and laughter. There was cuddling and squeezing, moans upon moans. Ecstasy beyond expectation as if the night would last forever. Clothes went off. Kisses were planted leaving the intoxicating taste of another gender's breath. The endless rush of hormones lasted for hours on end, six hours or more and Zainab could not take it anymore. She pulled away from, utterly worn out. More exhausted from unsatisfied desire than the exertion all over the house - from the living room to her room and even to the washroom.... Why would Philip not go through with it. Why did he stop on the edge of such a boisterous river? Was something wrong with him? How could he hold back so much?

  They had moved from the sofa to the floor. Rolled on the floor for hours. He had carried her to the bedroom, raising her expectation. Her top found its way far away from her, leaving her nipples exposed. Yet his manhood was intact. Erect but intact. How is it possible? How could he survive this attack? Did this make the sin any lighter for him? Was he trying not to sin too much. Was he afraid she might have a disease? He had even ventured to touch her in unspeakable places but only with his hands!

  It was almost 3:00 AM. Zainab was away from him. She supported herself with her hands and knees on the carpet in her room, topless. He was on the bed, shirtless, stretching out towards here, hungry for more but guilt-ridden. The weakness of the flesh overwhelmed him. He wanted more but she had had enough. If he was not going to satisfy her, he had better stop arousing her. It was unbearable.

  She reached for her top and pulled it over herself then she sat with her back against the wall. She was exhausted.

  "Go and shower", Zainab whispered.

  "Huh?" questioned Philip.

  "it will make you feel better."

  Philip paused, wondering to himself how many times she had done this sort of thing. It was his first, not counting those that had happened in his mind. It hurt him a bit the way she showed experience in sexual expression. He did not need experience, it was inbuilt, yet he felt inferior to her. She knew something about this new feeling that he did not know: it could be quenched with a simple cold shower. How pathetic! Why did he not quench it before it started?

  In a few hours daylight would break, and life would be back to normal. He most likely would arrive at the office late. What would he say if someone asked what had kept him? Traffic. A lot of traffic.

  The Day After

  “Beloved, if our heart does not condemn us, we have confidence toward God.” I John 3:21

  It was such an awkward morning. Philip had never felt so unworthy. He had dressed up and sat on the couch in his chinos trousers and checkered shirt. He was not sure whether he was worthy of touching the Bible to have his morning devotion. As if Zainab heard his thoughts she came and sat beside him, brazen as far as he was concerned. She handed him a copy of the devotional and held the large Bible expecting him to read the day's portion. He was stunned but tried not to show it. She had her shorts on and a yellow vest that displayed her belly button. He read the devotion and she read the Bible passage. His prayer was shallow, unsure whether He was being heard.

  Zainab had made him an omelet, she managed to wake up before he did. He woke up with her sitting by his bed, in his room. It seemed intrusive but pleasant on the one hand. Did she imagine herself his wife? Something was happening that he had little control over. He had opened a door he could not close quite easily.

  "Are you OK"

  "Yeah..." He answered without looking at her.

  Silence.

  "Thanks. I have to go. I am even late..."

  He was explaining himself to her. The feeling of closeness between them was intoxicating but the heaviness on his soul was crippling. He had failed woefully, and he could not bring himself to turn around and ask for forgiveness. Some part of him wanted this to continue. How long could it possibly continue. His day at work was weird. There was a meeting later that morning and everyone smiled at him, but they seemed to be asking him what he had done the previous night. It was unbearable.

  Helen had begun warming up to him again. She noticed the change in his disposition and wanted to know what was wrong. He obviously could not tell her. She pressed hard, hoping that being there for him in a time of need would be a good opportunity to regain his attention.

  "Maybe he had broken up with that banker" she thought to herself.

  "What are friends for? Let's talk now. We can talk over dinner or..."


  She stared, waiting for an answer. Philip managed a smile. It did not mean what she thought it meant. He was wondering whether she would make such an offer if he really told her what he had been up to. She smiled back:

  "So? Dinner?"

  "Zainab... I mean Helen. Maybe another time. Don't worry about me. I will be OK. "

  Helen froze. She was not fighting Abena. She was now fighting Zainab, probably a Nigerian. She didn't have a chance.

  "Zainab," Helen signed, "I see. OK. I will let you be. But I am available anytime you would like to talk OK?"

  "OK"

  "Philip, I just want you to know that you need to think carefully about the people that really care about you. You need to know that relationships are really valuable. You are a full-grown man. You should know what is good for you!"

  "OK Helen. I appreciate that."

  Philip looked up from the computer screen he had been staring at and gave her a weak smile. She came close and rubbed his triceps. She looked straight into his eyes.

  "You can call me anytime, OK?"

  "OK"

  At this point all Philip wanted was for her to go away. The following hour was quiet. the next intrusion was a phone call from Zainab. She had come to a restaurant near his office and wanted to have a chat with him. He obliged. It was a two-minute drive. There was hardly anyone at the place but the music from the radio made it hard to have a conversation in hushed tones.

  Philip's first thoughts were "What is it that could not wait till he got home?". He underestimated the yearning of a woman for a lasting relationship. Intimacy to a woman is a perpetual experience. A woman could not experience one sexual encounter and not want another if she loved her man. As far as Zainab was concerned, Philip was her man, and nothing was going to change that. He let it go and sat down ready to listen. Even sitting with her in a restaurant felt awkward. He made up his mind that he was going to make sure the events of the previous night would never be repeated again.

  "Hi!" Zainab started, smiling broadly.

  "How are you?" Philip responded, trying to not get carried away.

  "Are you OK?"

  "OK as in?"

  "I mean after last night?"

  "What do you mean by OK?"

  Zainab adjusted herself and her smile faded. She was not getting the kind of responses she had anticipated.

  "I mean ..."

  "If you mean is it going to happen again I can assure you it's not!"

  The tone of Philip's voice was unwelcoming. Zainab wondered whether she had made a mistake in coming to him.

  "Philip that's not what I mean. What do you take me for?"

  "Zainab," Philip started. She leaned towards him and answered. "What we did was sinful, and we cannot afford to do it again. Do you realize that?"

  "OK. I know. So, what does that mean? Do you want me to leave your house?"

  "That's not the issue."

  "I can leave your house and stay in a hotel until my house is ready. If that is what you want." She stared at him as if trying to read his true desires.

  "I know we have sinned and all that, but I wish it doesn't change anything. I hope that we can still be as we were before all this happened..."

  "As we were..."

  "You know I think this happened because of all these feelings you have bottled up inside you. Sometimes you have to let it out. Let out how you really feel"

  There was always something unsavory about Zainab's theology. Philip had lost touch with the Scriptures in recent years, but he still knew that feelings were not a good way to determine what was right. Feelings are transient, feelings are not to be trusted. Feelings can be used to justify one's failings, but they do not hold water in the face of eternal judgment. Philip knew this, and he so desperately wanted Zainab to get it if she really was the Christian she claimed to be. It was completely confusing. Did she even believe in the existence of a God to whom she would be accountable? It was unfathomably puzzling.

  The rest of lunch was particularly quiet. Then she left and then the silence spread through the rest of the day. There was a very queer aura around Philip at the office. He felt uneasy, not sad, not burdened with guilt to the point of mourning. He sometimes felt everyone knew what he had done because everyone seemed to look at him in a certain way. But how could they know, they better not know! He would lose all the respect he had in their eyes. He wished he could reverse the arms of the clock because it did not feel like this new passion of his would die out soon.

  Just before close of business he decided he would speak to Gregory. Gregory Allotey was a very cheerful fellow from another department. He was very vocal about his faith and enthusiastic about sharing his faith with people in the office. He often told Philip about his evangelistic encounters whenever they chanced upon each other. Philip always felt challenged about sharing his faith more with friends and colleagues. Everyone knew he was a Christian, but he hardly ever directly urged colleagues to repent and be converted. They knew because he would not participate in certain discussions or attend the night clubs everyone was talking about or tell little lies to protect himself like his superiors expected. Philip however did do some apologetics, defending the Bible when those debates got heated, or defending his church when the journalists got naughty and features his pastor in the front page for talking too much about money.

  Philip and Gregory sat in the small lounge where everyone received visitors on the first floor. There were comfortable upholstery chairs there and the television drowned their voices, making the conversation somewhat private just as Philip would have it.

  “…I could not believe I was capable of this… but I am”

  Gregory smiled when he finished. Philip did not expect that. What did he expect? Maybe someone who would scold him strongly about what he had done: living with a lady in the same house alone for weeks, almost sleeping with the lady, failing to take any actions to prevent a reoccurrence. Maybe some scolding would have made him feel better, but Gregory did not scold. He simply said, “Just pray, just speak in tongues…” That did not sound quite right. It first of all sounded very shallow, as if Gregory was not surprised about the Philip, a dear Christian brother, had done and just confessed to him. As Philip thought about it more it then seemed like Gregory himself must have been in the same or similar situation, as if it was something normal. His response did not seem like he was as horrified as a believer would have been ten or twenty years earlier. Maybe it was a Ghanaian phenomenon. Maybe every young Ghanaian Christian regularly had sexual encounters and simply ‘spoke in tongues’ for a few minutes to get rid of the guilt. Philip wasn’t satisfied! He had to look for someone who would scold him about the issue. He decided he would call Amarachi or Emem. They certainly would have something strong to say about all this, they were women.

  When Philip got home, dinner was ready. Zainab had proved herself to be a great cook. She had made White Rice and Goat meat pepper soup. Philip felt as if he was in Lagos. It was ecstatic, the meal. Then she brought the wine.

  “Where did this come from?” Philip asked.

  “Why? Do you have forbidden sources?” Zainab retorted without looking at him as she sat down on the floor leaning against the sofa. She filled two glasses and raised one towards him. He held on to it, a tinge of discomfort flooding his soul. She sipped hers, eyes on the television. The eight O’clock news was airing. Philip stared at her, smelling mischief. He also smelled something unhealthy in his glass: alcohol. He didn’t know what it was, but he could tell if a glass contained alcohol by simply smelling it. Maybe everyone could do that, but Philip felt it was some spiritual gift God had bestowed on him with utter benevolence.

  “Can I see the bottle, Zainab?”

  “Why?”

  “I want to know the contents, Ma!”

  Zainab giggle and then answered softly:

  “It contains wine…. Red wine.”

  “Do you realize you are grossly incorrigible? Why did you bring alcohol into my house? What is your plan? T
o get me drunk and have sex?”

  “Philip!!! How can your mind be so dirty?” She sprang up feigning shock, “Is it five percent that you are describing as alcohol. So, five percent alcohol will get you drunk? Oh, puh leeezzz. This self-righteousness of yours is just unbearable!”

  Philip stood up gently still holding the glass and walked to the kitchen. He poured the wine directly into the sink hole and opened the tap’s faucet to clean it all up.

  “Philip what are you doing? That’s my wine! If you don’t want it you don’t have to pour it away. Just give it back”

  Zain had left her wrapper in the living room and was clad in her shorts and a purple vest. Her hair was wrapped in a hair net. She stood in the kitchen door, defiant, still carrying her own glass.

  “Zainab please do not bring alcohol into my house! Please!”

  “So, it is also a sin, right? Educate me”

  “Just don’t bring alcohol here. I do not want it”

  “What is wrong with wine? Which Bible are you reading? Did Jesus not turn water to wine in your own Bible? Did the disciples not drink wine at the eucharist? Philip Ezeani, you are just trying to be more righteous than everyone else and killing yourself”

  “What is your business with that? The point is I do not take alcohol and I do not want it in my house. I am not having a theological debate about it with you!”

  Philip had dropped his cup and faced her, leaning against the kitchen sink, exasperated. What in all of God’s green earth gave this young lady such boldness. Philip was beginning to see he had opened a huge can of worms with the excessive familiarity he had allowed with Zainab. She was gaining more and more control, almost manipulating him. He also realized he could hardly resist her. Her legs were again apparent. Her cleavage. Her eyes. Even her defiance held an attraction for him. Then he felt the erection starting. Everything changed. Zainab could tell. Women can tell. He recalled an incident which made it obvious to him that they had some kind of sixth sense on these matters of the heart. Katherine Ehize was a very smart and pretty Nigerian-born Caucasian who had worked with him in Nigeria. He was attracted to her and was looking for all possible ways to express himself. On one of those days she made a statement to the hearing of everyone in the room: