by Kwei Quartey
“I’ve been thinking about it,” Ransford said. “What about setting up a meeting between our two families?”
“It’s a good thought,” Nana said, “but I’m afraid any discussion will deteriorate into bickering. You know Ghanaians.”
“You’re right,” he agreed, “but a good mediator between the parties might prevent that situation from developing.”
“A lawyer?” Nana asked.
“Good gracious, no. Solomon is a lawyer, so that won’t go down well at all. I was thinking more of a minister.”
“Yes,” Nana said, snapping her fingers. “What about Bishop Howard-Mills? He married Kate and Solomon, after all.”
“He’s well respected,” Ransford agreed, “and everyone will be on his or her best behavior. But do you think the bishop can do it? He’s always busy.”
“I’ll ask him,” Nana said. “If he’s not going out of town, I know he will be willing to step in. He’s always cared a lot about Katherine. If he agrees, we can coordinate the meeting with John—assuming of course, that Maude acquiesces to it. She can be difficult.”
Working in the antechamber of Clem Howard-Mills’s office, John acted as the bishop’s gatekeeper, fielding calls, greeting guests, setting up appointments, and organizing events.
He hugged Nana when she came in. “Please have a seat, Madam Nana,” he said. “Bishop should be done in a few minutes.”
While she waited to see Howard-Mills, Nana made pleasant conversation with John as he went about his work. She could hear the bishop chatting on the phone from behind the closed door of his office. He emerged about ten minutes later in his custom-made outfit of a thigh-length embroidered tunic with matching trousers.
“My dear Madam Nana,” he said, holding his arms apart. “How have you been?” He embraced her. “It’s such a long time since the wedding. Look at how marvelous you look. How is it you never age, eh? What is your secret?”
Nana laughed, pleased. “Thank you, Bishop. You always know how to make a lady feel good.”
He laughed. “Please, come in. Tell me all about yourself and the family.”
Howard-Mills showed her in, closing the door behind them. Chilled by the air conditioner, the office could have been in the Arctic Circle. The bishop and Nana sat across from each other in comfortable leather armchairs. He was a tall, handsome man in his early forties, with copper-colored skin as smooth as an infant’s. His hair was wavy and neat as if someone had spun it to perfection on a loom. His female congregants must lust after him the way the Chinese want Ghana gold, Nana thought. But Howard-Mills was married—happily, it was reported—with three gorgeous children.
They chitchatted for a while. Nana segued to Katherine’s woes. The bishop expressed regret that the blissful marriage had turned into something so hurtful and toxic “Of course,” he said. “I would be only too glad to help bring peace between Katherine and Solomon, and between the families.”
“Thank you so much, Bishop.”
“One other thing I might suggest,” Howard-Mills said. “Every Sunday afternoon, I hold private counseling for married couples.”
Nana was thrilled. “That’s an excellent idea, Bishop. I’ll suggest it to Katherine.”
“Good,” Howard-Mills said. “I know she participates in the bussell network with Reverend Atiemo, but she and Solomon are also welcome to my regular services on Tuesday and Thursday evenings.”
Nana felt tremendous relief, like a kayaye girl getting rid of the punishing load on her head. She left the bishop’s office with her heart singing.
Three weeks later, after much discussion, the meeting of the Yeboah and Vanderpuye families took place. By that time, Nana’s patience with Maude was at breaking point. Whereas Ezekiel had agreed to the get-together as soon as Ransford had called him, Maude kept inventing complicated reasons why the meeting could not take place on this or that day. She also wanted some impossible preconditions in place beforehand.
Finally, on a Thursday evening, Nana, Ransford, Maude, Ezekiel, Katherine, Solomon, and Georgina met with the bishop in his office. John brought in soft drinks and biscuits, which helped relieve some of the tension in the room.
Howard-Mills made it clear he didn’t expect them to solve everything in one session, but he got everyone to agree to some basic ground rules.
All name-calling had to stop, including referring to Katherine as a witch.
The in-laws would keep lines of cordial communication open.
Solomon would move back into the house with Kate, and they would try again to conceive. Solomon, who had up till now been unwilling to get his sperm tested, must have it done.
Kate and Solomon would meet with the bishop at least once a week for counseling, discussion, and prayers.
At the end of the meeting, the bishop asked everyone to bow heads. “Let us pray. Our Father . . .”
They joined in the Lord’s Prayer.
Chapter Seven
Katherine and Solomon met with Bishop Howard-Mills several times over the next two months. Solomon was mostly silent and brooding during the sessions. When the bishop tried to engage him, he shrank away like a snail pulling into its shell. Katherine cried several times, expressing her angst over her inability to get pregnant. She blamed herself and repeated how sorry she was. Now that the lab had tested Solomon’s semen and found his spermatozoa more than adequate in quality and quantity, it was pretty certain the deficiency, whatever it was, lay with Katherine.
At home, the relationship between the two became more strained by the day. At first, they tried to sleep in the same bed, but they didn’t get close to each other, let alone have sex. The night she reached out to touch his arm, he flinched, went rigid, and held his breath like a kid trying to be invisible. Then he rose and went to the sitting room to watch TV for a while. Katherine hoped he would return to bed, but he never did. In the morning, she pretended to be asleep as she heard him dressing. He left without a word.
That week in early April, Solomon didn’t show up for the session with the bishop.
“How are you feeling?” Howard-Mills asked Katherine.
She sat still, head down and hands crossed in her lap. “Numb,” she said.
“Things are no better at home?”
She shook her head. “Worse.”
“Take strength from the Lord.”
Katherine began to weep. Howard-Mills scooted his chair over to hers and put his arms around her. She cried into his chest.
“Has God forgotten about me?” she asked, looking up at him.
“No, no,” Howard-Mills murmured, smoothing her tears away. “Remember Psalm twenty-three? The Lord is your Shepherd, Kate. When Jesus, God’s only begotten son, was upon the cross, he cried out, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ It was Jesus’s worst hour. He was in terrible pain, and he was dying. He thought all was lost. But after death, he rose again. And you too shall rise.”
“Thank you, Bishop.” She moved out of his arms, and he offered her a box of tissues. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose.
“There, you see?” Howard-Mills said with a gentle smile. “Psalm thirty says, ‘Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning.’”
“Amen.”
“I’ve made you a list of Bible passages on which you can meditate and draw strength,” the Bishop said, giving her a thick manila envelope. She thanked him and smiled anew, like the sun coming out from behind dark clouds. She felt a thousand times better. The bishop was her rock at the moment, and she could not overexpress how grateful she was to him.
“Now,” he said, “let’s pray.”
She bowed her head, closed her eyes and put her hands together with her fingers interlaced. The bishop prayed that Katherine and Solomon would reunite in Jesus’s name, and he asked God to bless the couple with a child.
“Why didn’t you join
me for counseling with the bishop today?” Katherine asked Solomon. On the sofa with his feet up on the center table, he was clicking through TV channels, which irritated Katherine more than the repetitive plop of a leaking tap.
He didn’t answer for a few moments. “Because he’s taking your side, that’s why.”
“What do you mean, ‘my side?’ This isn’t a boxing match.”
“The counseling is not helping us,” he said. “The only reason you go is that you like him.”
“Oh, please,” Katherine said, sucking her teeth. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Okay, say it’s ridiculous and keep on going to him. You’ll see.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Are you threatening me?”
“I’m not threatening anyone,” he replied with a grim smile. “I’m just letting you know.”
The following day, Solomon didn’t come home from work. Katherine called and texted him multiple times, but he never responded. Finally, she called Maude.
“Is Solo with you?” Katherine asked her.
“Yes, he is,” Maude replied. “What do you want?”
“Please, may I speak to Solo?”
“He’s busy right now.”
“Why won’t he speak to me?”
“I’ll give him the message you called,” Maude said. “He’ll return the call if he sees fit.”
“It’s you who’s scaring him, isn’t it, Maude? Brainwashing him against me?”
“That’s your imagination,” she replied. “Sorry, I have to go now.”
It was after midnight, and Katherine was unable to sleep. She lay staring at the ceiling in the dark; then she rolled from side to side, trying to find a position of comfort. Her phone rang, and she snatched it from the side table. The screen showed an unknown number, and Katherine’s first thought was Solomon could be calling her with a different sim card.
“Hello?” she said.
Silence, except for the sound of someone breathing.
“Solo, is that you?”
Silence.
“Please, talk to me, Solo,” she said. “I know what we’ve been going through has been tough, but we can get through it together.”
“Witch!” a voice said.
Katherine stiffened. “Who is this? Hello? Who is this?”
The caller hung up. Katherine called back immediately, but no one answered. A chill ran through her. Who could it have been? It had been a harsh whisper, like the rustle of parched brush in the dry season, and Katherine could not tell whether the voice had been male or female.
In the next few days, she didn’t hear from Solomon. At first, she called and texted him multiple times, but like a candle dying out, her energy waned, and she made fewer and fewer attempts to reach him. Nana, Christine, and Aunty Gifty called Katherine almost every day, sometimes conversing for an hour or more.
Vowing that this would be the last time, Katherine tried to text Solomon again one evening. She was no longer in begging mode. She had begun to get angry. Standing at the kitchen counter, she wrote, “Don’t I deserve at least an explanation for your silence?” Then, less confrontational and more persuasive, “I’ve kept your clothes and everything just the way you left them.”
Her heart surged as she saw Solomon was typing a message. Dear Lord, let it be that he wants to come back home.
But no. “All my things can wait until you’ve left,” he wrote. “Please pack up all your belongings and vacate the house by next Sunday.”
With a gasp of disbelief, Katherine sat down on the barstool in front of the wine cabinet. “I’m calling you right now,” she texted. “Please pick up.”
He did. “Hello.”
“Solo, what are you talking about, I should leave the house?”
A long silence before he spoke again. “You’re barren. You’re a bad omen for my family and me—a curse. You are saturating the house with evil, and so you have to go.”
“You can’t make me do that,” Katherine said. “The house belongs to both of us.”
“No, it doesn’t,” he responded. “Not anymore. Your name is no longer on the house deed.”
“What? I signed the loan documents with you, remember?”
“The names have been changed.”
“Changed,” she repeated. “What do you mean?’”
“The only two signatories now are my mother and me.”
Katherine was perplexed. “But who changed it?”
“I had it changed,” he said.
Katherine’s reaction was turning from alarm to anger. “How can you do that? That’s not even lawful.”
“It’s legal,” Solomon said. “And it’s been done.”
“I need to see proof,” Katherine challenged.
“I’ll take a photo of the signature pages and text it to you.”
“Why are you doing this?” Katherine cried, her voice shaking. “It’s your mother feeding you nonsense about me being a curse and a witch, isn’t it?”
“Keep her out of this.”
“How can I, when she’s already so involved?”
“I have to go,” he said.
“Wait!”
But he had ended the call. Katherine almost dashed her phone to the floor in fury. She stood up and emitted an anguished, guttural scream.
In the morning she called Nana from work to relate what Solomon had said to her.
“This is insanity,” Nana said.
“I’m not moving from this house,” Katherine said. “He can’t kick me out.”
“Kate,” Nana said, her voice reflecting anxiety, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why?”
“I’m not saying Solomon is a violent man, but it’s not safe to be in that house all by yourself. Stay with me for the time being, and meanwhile get a lawyer.”
“I don’t want a legal battle with Solomon, Mama.”
“How can you avoid it? Solomon is a lawyer himself.”
Katherine felt she was losing control and her mother was driving the agenda. “Mama, I have to go,” she said. “I have a meeting.”
But Nana didn’t let it go at that. She called Katherine back soon after lunch. “I don’t want to be a pest, sweetie,” she said, “but you have to get a lawyer to protect your rights, and I know just the one.”
“Who?”
“James Bentsi-Enchill.”
“Mama! James is an old flame. To go to him would be a flagrant conflict of interest.”
“You’re adults now,” Nana said. “The two of you were an item, but that was a long time ago, and both of you realize that.”
It was the last sentence that alerted Katherine. “Mama, have you already called James?”
Nana cleared her throat. “I might have.”
Katherine was angry. “In other words, you have. Why did you do that?”
“Kate, I only want the best for you, and James is a superb lawyer. He told me he’d be able to take the case and discount his regular fee for us. Come on, Kate. Do this for yourself. You’ve suffered enough.”
Katherine felt frustrated and trapped. Whereas she wanted to avoid the conflict of interest, James was indeed a good lawyer, and he would understand the case because he knew the players well. “All right,” Katherine said. “I’ll call him.”
“Em, will you be able leave work by five?” Nana asked.
“Yes, why?”
“Well, James said he’d be available by six.”
“I should have known,” Katherine said with resignation. “You made me an appointment as well.”
“While I had him on the phone, I thought I might as well. So you can go this evening?”
“Yes, yes,” Katherine said irritably, and then in a more accommodating tone, “I will, thanks.”
Chapter Eight
James had changed quite a bit from the good old days of senior high school. He had a belly now, and his salt-and-pepper hairline was receding like a depleted forest. If you looked beyond those deficits, however, you could discern the ghost of the handsomeness.
“Kate!” he exclaimed as she came through the door of his office. “Great to see you!” He came to her with arms open wide, and they embraced.
“And you as well,” she said, smiling.
“You look as lovely as ever, I must say.”
“Well, thank you.”
“Listen, I want us to talk, but I’m so famished I’d like to do it over dinner. What do you think?”
“Oh, why not?” Katherine said. She was quite hungry herself.
“Excellent. I had Il Cavaliere at the Polo Club in mind. Have you ever been there?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Then it will be my treat.”
Katherine had forgotten how funny and entertaining James could be, and although they had talked about the case while dining, they had discussed other matters—everything except the James-Katherine-Solomon love triangle. At the end of the evening, Katherine felt confident James had grasped the facts. “No, of course not!” he had said. “Solomon cannot erase your name from the house deed without your permission and without going through the appropriate legal channels.”
When Katherine told the bishop about engaging James’s services, she didn’t mention he had taken her to a sumptuous dinner at Il Cavaliere. The bishop seemed concerned. “I don’t want to pry,” he said, “but I hope there’ll be no issues dealing with James? Given your past with him, I mean.”
“Yes, I understand,” Katherine said, feeling uncomfortable. “But he is okay, Bishop. We will be professional with each other.”
“All right,” he said. He gazed at Katherine and then smiled. “Please, call me Clem. We’ve known each other long enough, don’t you think?”
“Thank you. That will feel a little strange, but I suppose I could get used to it. But only when we’re together alone. Not out in public.”
“Yes, of course,” he agreed, looking at her with an inviting, engulfing softness. “Like now.”
