“Thank you, Doctor! But my husband will not come,” she said as she stood up.
“Wait, take these temperature charts and fill them out each morning for three months. We should be able to find something. If you’re late again by two weeks, come back and see me. We could try to attach the fetus to the uterus with the appropriate treatment. Be careful, too, not to eat poorly, over-exert yourself, or to abuse tobacco or alcohol, because all of those are potentially factors that could lead to secondary sterility.”
After he’d handed her the temperature charts, he scribbled on her appointment chart and handed it to her.
“Go and see this hypnotist and tell him I sent you; he can help you.”
Emilienne froze, stupefied.
“It’s a therapy practiced by means of the laying on of hands and magnetic passes. It’s still new in Africa, but it won’t be for long. I often send certain patients of mine to this man, and he is very discreet. The results are often spectacular. Don’t worry about the things people say; think instead of that baby you want. He will keep me informed about the progress in your sessions. Good luck. I hope to see you back here with a smile.”
SHE STAGGERED out of the office, like a sleepwalker getting out of bed at three in the morning, and went down the long halls of the clinic in the black cloud of her thoughts.
“What does all this mean? What does my unique illness have to do with a hypnotist? And what is he going to cure when there is nothing to cure! Could it be my head? But I feel fine—I feel better than I have in years. And what if I retook all those same tests, since they were all completed before my new state of mind? It’s possible the results would be different. If everything is in my brain, then it won’t be long before I get pregnant.”
She opened the car door, raised her foot to get in, and placed it back on the ground. “No, this can’t be happening; I cannot be cured in a week from an organic disorder that’s been plaguing me for the past fifteen years. Not to mention that it seems that my reproductive organs are normal. Could it be a blockage then that returns at delivery? What, dear God, could have happened that I haven’t thought of?”
Finally, she got into the car and rested her head on the steering wheel. Her teeth began to chatter as her thoughts whirled around in her head.
“What should I do now? I can’t even resort to in vitro fertilization or artificial insemination. I can see him ranting and raving about that. Such a suggestion would to him mean the loss of his virility, a shameful process for having kids when all other men simply have them like they grow corn. Not to mention, how quickly we’d be banished from society, which does not tolerate anything new or different. Though our child would not be the first to be conceived that way.”
A CACOPHONY of honking horns and the blinding headlights of a car coming toward her made her start. She was driving on the left side of the road. In a panic, she steered to the right. The driver behind her barely had enough time to brake as she cut in front of him. Oblivious to the comments ringing out from people on the sidewalks and from other vehicles, Emilienne accelerated.
“Amandine, Antoine, and all the other miracle babies are all healthy. Some of their mothers must suffer from fertility problems like mine. How could I make him accept the idea of us harvesting an egg and putting it in contact with his sperm in an incubator, so that the fertilized egg could then be placed inside my uterus? No, that would never happen! There is even less chance that he would accept a donor, even if he knows she’s had to undergo tests and examinations, or his resorting to a surrogate mother, even if she were African American. Well, there you go, now I am completely mad!”
SHE WONDERED how she had gotten to her sister’s house as she parked in front of it. As soon as her nephews saw her, they ran over. Eva, who came out of the house at the same time, let the trash can she was holding drop to the ground. The garbage scattered around her.
“Emie, what’s wrong?” she cried out as she ran over to her sister. “You look strange.”
Emilienne practically threw herself into her arms and broke into tears.
“Go away, kids, I don’t need you here.”
They all dispersed, disconcerted by the sight of their aunt weeping so openly. Eva took her sister, arm around her waist, and led her into the guest room, then told her to lie down on the bed. Emilienne lay down and closed her eyes.
“Go play outside,” Eva ordered her two younger sons, who were hovering by the door.
From her left breast pocket, she pulled out a tissue and wiped her sister’s face, which was streaming with tears.
“Now, can you tell me what is wrong?”
Emilienne remained mute and continued to cry.
“Calm down, Emie, and tell me what is distressing you so. You know that you can count on me. Please, I beg you, say something.”
She sighed. Emilienne opened her eyes, fixing them on the statuette one of her nephews had carved that was placed on the headboard of the bed. In her desperate state, the statuette appeared sinister to her. The monster’s bulging eyes that she could make out through her tears seemed to be mocking her. And just when she believed she saw the monster pouncing on her, Emilienne trembled and squeezed her eyes shut as if to protect herself.
Alarmed, her sister shook her briskly.
“Emie, my dear, has something happened to you at home or at the office, do you want to talk to me about it?”
“I’m on my way back from Dr. Pascal’s, the gynecologist,” she murmured.
“So . . . ! Can he cure you, yes or no?”
“No, he can’t do anything for me. According to the exams and the X-rays he did, I am fine. I guess I am just sick in the head.”
“What! Speak more clearly.”
Eva got up and sat back down; now she was very worried.
“What does your womb have to do with your head?”
“He advised me to see a hypnotist; I suppose it’s to heal my psyche so that I’ll be able to conceive.” It seems this hypnotist has already cured many women who suffered from sterility.”
“He advised you to go see a hypnotist so you can have children? I didn’t think there were any in this country. And how can a doctor ask a patient to go see a hypnotist! It’s like asking you to go see a witch doctor!”
The two sisters held one another’s hands.
After a long silence, Eva continued:
“What a story! Listen, I think you should go see him. Your gynecologist knows what he’s talking about, unless you prefer going to see the healer Mama was talking about.”
“I’m sick and tired of it, you know. I’m sick of not being like everyone else. How long can such treatment last? Is it going to work? Have you thought about what people are going to say?”
Eva jumped up and lost it.
“What is happening to you? You aren’t the same little girl I grew up with who feared nothing. Since when are you afraid of public opinion! Are you going to stop living for others! You know as well as I do that criticism doesn’t kill. And our mentalities are not going to change. For instance, for a relatively well-off person, simply hailing a taxi on the street leads to criticism and mockery, as if man hadn’t been made to walk. People immediately come to the conclusion that this new pedestrian has financial problems, and some are delighted about it. No, that is bogus. Get a grip on yourself. My advice is that you go see this hypnotist right away. Let him tell you clearly what he can cure, your womb, your head, I don’t know! That way you’ll have information and can make a decision. If he seems convincing, start the treatment immediately. In three months, you will know. As for me, I am ready to bring you to see a healer when you’re ready. Tell me, do you think by any chance your Joseph has given you some kind of shameful disease? After all, he’s the one who sleeps with anyone. I even wonder if he picks up some of his night conquests in the streets.”
Emilienne dismissed her sister’s suppositions with a wave of her hand.
“Oh! Please, don’t try to defend him,” Eva went on. “There are rumors fly
ing about him, and if I haven’t said anything to you until now, it’s been to keep from upsetting you further. And I told him right out what I thought the day we got together at Jean’s colleagues’ place. According to my husband, there are more and more sterile men. A lot of them are responsible for the ailments of the womb afflicting their partners. It’s sad that our society doesn’t want to admit their responsibility.”
“I am convinced that Joseph has already been to see a gynecologist to find out whether he’s fine in that respect. I think his wish to see me cured proves it.”
“How can you be so sure? Your miscarriages seem bizarre to me . . . Listen, go see that hypnotist.”
“I hope the treatment isn’t as long as the psychoanalysts’; theirs can last several years.”
“Don’t be so fatalistic. Why wouldn’t you be cured in no time? Remember what our father used to say to us when we were kids? I’ll adapt it a little for you: ‘Success belongs to those who resolutely turn their backs on fate. The world is made of two types of men: the stragglers and the soldiers on the front lines. The latter work at giving meaning to their life. You see, children, such a choice demands faith, will, and great sacrifices when chance has not privileged you at birth. The fruits of so much effort and sacrifice bring great moral strength, of course, as long as you’ve stayed on the right path.’ Have you forgotten that speech, repeated over and over again, that we used to find so annoying?” Eva went on. “You followed through with your studies, kept yourself safe, and stayed away from the pleasures of girls your age. That behavior has served you well. Who knows what battles tomorrow will bring? Today, you’re fighting another one: trying to give children to your husband and at the same time to bring him back home. Yes, I know, as everyone does, that he spends his nights at his mistress’s. Don’t you believe that battle is worth fighting? Although I understand your discouragement and your pessimism, I beg you not to allow those states of mind to become second nature. You risk creating other problems for yourself. You see, I didn’t succeed as well in my studies, but I believe I’ve learned a lot by observing, reading, and analyzing each event in my life as well as the experiences of others.”
“It’s true, you’ve also gone through some difficult times,” Emilienne admitted. “What is happening to me, Eva? I am so lost. What have I become!”
The two sisters hugged each other.
EMILIENNE LEFT her sister’s slightly buoyed. She would have gone to her office if it weren’t already dark. She hadn’t been there all afternoon.
She had been missing work regularly for several months now. From time to time, she would let her general manager know that she would be out for an hour or two. Unfortunately, her problems had taken precedence over her professional life and as long as her love life wasn’t in order, her work would suffer.
She turned the radio dial mechanically in order to lose herself for a moment. Because she was so absorbed by her problems, she no longer thought that others existed.
The newscaster delivered the evening news. The reports she heard didn’t bring her any joy: a father who threw his six-month-old baby from the fifth floor of his building so he would no longer hear her cries, the market crash worried the leaders of industrialized countries, the Burkinabé students in Côte d’Ivoire condemned the killing of President Thomas Sankara.
Emilienne turned off the radio and was surprised to find herself crying, not about her woes, but about the disappearance of a young head of state who, despite his extravagances, had managed within a few years to awaken his people and teach them the notion of work and sacrifice. She cried, because in her eyes the dream of many Africans—to truly acknowledge the weaknesses of their states and carry out their responsibility toward history—had just vanished.
“Why must there always be a brutal halt to new momentum on this continent, which brings its people back to a state of intellectual and physical misery? What will become of Africa, incapable of self-governance, victim of natural disasters, and attacked from within by economic and financial crisis? The least one can say is that the future seems frightful. Africa’s belly will soon be as sterile as mine.” She blew her nose loudly.
ROXANNE, SNOOZING in front of the gate, jumped to her paws as soon as she heard the far-off noise of her mistress’s car. Wagging her tail, she patiently waited for the gate to open.
Except for the dog, the house was empty. Eyang had taken her grandchildren to her cousin Germaine’s, several miles from Olamba, to spend their school vacation.
Emilienne got some ground meat for her dog and prepared a steak and a tomato salad for herself. Then she served herself a wedge of Camembert and took an orange from the fruit basket for her dessert. After she’d scarfed down her piece of meat on the terrace, Roxanne went over and stretched out at her mistress’s feet under the table.
Through the bay window, Emilienne’s gaze lingered on the lit-up garden. Everything seemed frozen, like her thoughts at that moment. Even the plants that bordered the numerous alleys were immobilized in the night. And this house, which had been chosen for the many children they had hoped to have, how gloomy it seemed! Under the table, Roxanne licked her feet. Emilienne pet her and gave her a smile.
Her love for dogs and particularly for Roxanne had developed progressively without her even realizing it. Today, the loss of this animal would destroy her, she knew.
This attachment to her dog frightened her. Would she have loved her as much if she had had several children? In any case, she’d learned one thing from this animal: however egotistical a man could be, he could not live without the affection and tenderness of others, even if they were pets. He could only be fulfilled when he could give love and give himself to love.
Less hazy now, the young woman’s gaze turned toward the starry sky. She got up to turn on the air conditioner. The weather was drier, and it had been unbearably hot for a month now. The change of season had never been so distinct. Was it a sign there was a drought coming? But there had been no other indications. The forest was still just as dense. It would be disastrous if the Saharan landscape were to extend across the entire continent. But that wind that continued yesterday had to be blowing at about 50 mph, rolling sheets of dust. It made one think of the harmattan. With the desert advancing at 15 mph each year in the Sahel region, we, too, would be affected by the drought.
The sound of a key opening the lock brought Emilienne back to herself. “Now, why is he coming home tonight? What did they do during all that time they spent together, and what is he thinking about our future?”
Walking briskly, his face radiant, Joseph came over to his wife with open arms. He pulled her to him and kissed her on the lips. He took a step back, laughed, then came back toward her and hugged her more tightly.
“I must be dreaming. What good news has he come to share with me? He obviously wants to tell me about the purchase of the new suit he’s wearing and ask me my opinion of his new cologne.”
“Now,” he began almost out of breath, “we’re going to celebrate an important event tonight. I am going to prove to you that I am not wasting my time.”
Emilienne shot him a hateful look.
“Yes, my darling, you may not have noticed, but I’ve been planning my future.”
“Well what do you know! He has already written me out of his life.” Emilienne clenched her teeth. “He talks about this future as if I’ll be no part of it.”
“What do you say to a sumptuous dinner in the best restaurant in the city? So, I have to call and reserve a table, I hope it isn’t too late. Ah, my darling, you will never guess what has happened to me.”
He headed toward the telephone and came back toward his wife, grabbing her by the waist.
“Get up, come with me to call Fredo—he’ll find a table for us.”
He led his wife, who was trying to gather the thoughts in her head. And as he dialed the number, the young woman came back to clear the table.
“We will not be alone; there will be two other couples whom you’ll meet in
a little while. I want you to make yourself beautiful. You may find me secretive, but I didn’t want to talk to you about this business before I was sure the deal was going to go through. Come sit down, I’ll explain.”
“I can hear you from here,” Emilienne answered from the kitchen.
“Fine, as you wish. I set up a construction company with two friends not long ago. Not one of those little companies with a bunch of hired hands. We put out a call for experts in the field; there are Africans and two French guys. And this morning we signed our first big contracts. The first is a construction project for the African Development Bank, and the second is Deputy Yabi’s clinic, you know, the doctor. With those two deals, we are off to a good start to get rich and make ourselves known across the entire country. If everything goes well, in a year from now I’ll give my letter of resignation to my minister. So, what do you have to say about that?”
“That’s great, Joseph! But I can’t eat twice in one evening.”
“I know, make a little effort anyway; the others won’t understand if you’re not with me to mark this occasion.”
“Are you mocking me, Joseph? Why didn’t you invite your mistress? It wouldn’t be the first time that you included her in your business. Let me be, please. I am tired.”
“No, I will not leave you be. You are my wife; don’t forget it—my joys are also yours: this evening you’ll come with me to dinner, otherwise I’m cancelling. You know, I try, but I still don’t understand you. Another woman would have been happy about her husband’s social success. Mine leaves you cold. Whatever life I lead, there are some joys I can share only with you.”
Emilienne left the kitchen where her husband had joined her and headed into the bedroom. Joseph followed behind her, his endless flow of words wearing her down.
“You know, in retrospect, I don’t regret all the time I’ve spent at the ministry. It has allowed me to establish very good connections, without which I would have missed out on the two most important deals of the year. For now I’ll spare you all the details of how we landed them, as your sense of morality would take a bit of a bashing. Thanks to my relationships and my colleagues, I’ve learned that in order to succeed, anything goes, and, believe me, I will use all means necessary.”
The Fury and Cries of Women Page 15
