Sapphic Voices General Fiction

20 Words

This Story contains depictions of violence.

Umbala and her husband, Ibo, had an understanding. They were in America now. They took on American ways. Principally they saw other people. Not in a carnal way, but he would go out with other women and she with men, to the movies, to dinner, to clubs where they danced the night away.

It was all very innocent, all completely platonic. They would never, they agreed, sleep with anyone but each other. At the end of every "date" they went home to their marriage.

Still, such behavior would have been frowned upon - no - condemned in the small African village from which they hailed, where, when they were born, it was decided by their chief and agreed by parents that they would marry each other when they came of age. They were trained for it, groomed from the time they were very young. Marriage was sacred in their tribe, and far too important to be left to the whims of impetuous and lustful youth. Any breaking of those vows was dealt with severely.

The unfortunate fact was, they were not terribly attracted to each other. Ibo, as a young man, was encouraged to sow his wild oats so that he could get other women out of his system and make a good marriage. He did his share, preferring the long-legged, gazelle-like daughters of the Mbino family to the short, thick and round women of Kalu, Umbala's clan. But the elders knew what they were doing, for the Mbino and Simbu, Ibo's family, were closer genetically and therefore not well suited for mating with each other.

Umbala also had an eye for the Mbinos, although as a girl she was not encouraged to sow oats, wild or otherwise. Female Mbinos were talented artisans, makers of the finest baskets and cloths. So fine was their craft, that they were always called upon to provide furnishings for the chief's hut. The men were successful hunters, but even when the hunt was not good, they always brought something back on which the village could survive. They were good people, desired by all in marriage, but very selective in their choice of mates.

None of that mattered now, because, like many of his generation, Ibo had decided to take his young bride to America, where they would work to make a better life for themselves -- and for their tribe back home.

Ibo had heard that in America everyone got to go to school. But when he arrived in this wondrous land, both he and Umbala quickly grew fond of its materialism and its hedonism, and thoughts of working for the greater tribal good succumbed to pursuit of greater personal pleasure. They each devoured everything American, from hamburgers, to movies, to spirits, with a voracity of which they did not know themselves capable.

Ibo felt like he was in heaven. Free from the pressure and strictures of tribal tradition and duty, the harsh jungle life, and marriage to a woman who was none too comely, he blossomed into a manhood unseen in his village. He walked with the swagger of a man whose next meal is assured, confident that his woman would be home to cook it for him. For here, where people chose their own mates, what man would settle for only one woman, especially one as thick, slow and heavy handed as Umbala. She hadn't even the sense to be grateful to him for sparing her the fate of many African wives whose husbands traveled to America or Europe without them, never to return. He had brought her with him, as was, really, the only right thing to do, so that they could build something sturdy, if not terribly romantic. Dating other women had been the perfect solution to that problem, he thought. He could find romance elsewhere, even if sex outside the marriage was forbidden.

It was not until Ibo went into a bar after work one day, where he witnessed his wife kissing, not another man, but another woman, that he thought this new life they were living was questionable. Ibo left the bar and started running like he hadn't done since he left Africa. He ran through the streets of Manhattan, he ran in circles, he ran over the bridge, finally stopping at his Brooklyn home, his heart thunder in his chest, his shirt drenched in sweat.

Umbala, having taken a taxi home, was waiting for him. She hadn't seen Ibo at the bar, so she didn't know why he was so hostile toward her. She knew only that he slammed the door and glared at her as she stood in the kitchen preparing dinner.

What's wrong, Ibo?" she asked in their native tongue.

What's wrong?" he yelled. "You ask me what's wrong? My wife is a pervert. That's what's wrong."

Umbala knew immediately that Ibo had somehow found out about Celeste, the woman with whom she had broken all the rules, their marriage vows, their tribal traditions; even their understanding.

She hadn't meant to. Celeste was a friend from work. She made Umbala laugh. She made her think. She made her feel pretty - something Ibo never even tried to do. Ibo made her feel like an obligation. Celeste made her feel like a woman.

Umbala knew there was no use in explaining this to Ibo. In their tribe, men and women who lay with their own were publicly executed, each member of the tribe hitting them with a heavy tree limb until the offending party was dead. Even the children were encouraged to participate. The dead body was then hung upside down at the edge of the village until it became rancid, so that the unforgettable smell would serve as a warning to others. The victim's parents were then relegated to cleaning the body waste for the tribe for the rest of their lives. The siblings were traded as slaves for goods from other tribes. It was a ritual not often repeated.

Umbala knew she had brought unbearable shame upon Ibo, so she offered the only thing she could.

"I will leave now. Tell our people I proved a poor wife and you divorced me. I will not fight it."

Ibo stared at her as though he did not understand. Umbala tried to leave the kitchen to pack her things, but Ibo angled himself in the doorway to block her.

"Let me pass, Ibo. I will not shame you further."

Instead, he balled up his fist and brought it down hard against her jaw. Umbala reeled, but did not cry out. She had hoped that in America she would escape this punishment. They lived a western life now. They watched endless TV and ate junk food. But from the moment she first kissed Celeste, she knew her life was in peril. She knew, but she kissed her anyway... and more.

She remembered the stench of the rotting bodies as Ibo brought his fist down again, sending Umbala to her knees.

"You disgusting animal! You lay down with a woman like you lay down with me, your husband? It's bad enough to find you kissing anyone, but another woman!" Ibo punctuated his speech by hitting Umbala at the end of every sentence. When she was on the floor and he tired of bending over to hit her, he kicked her. "You are an African woman. You are not American. You are not French. And neither am I. We do not do these things and I will not tolerate it.

"Does this woman have man's equipment?" In his mind, Ibo pictured what his co-workers on the dock had told him about women strapping on rubber man-parts. "Can she give you babies? What can she do that I can't? Nothing!"

And with that Umbala realized that Ibo's anger was not based upon tribal tradition or moral objection, but on male ego. That knowledge gave her the will to fight.

She had taken a lot from Ibo over the course of their marriage. He was always reminding her that she was an African woman and what her duties were as such, and about tribal traditions. But it was his idea that they date - and not really an idea, at that. He just started doing it and she followed suit. Eventually they talked about it and set up boundaries. Since he considered her unattractive, he didn't worry about her overstepping those boundaries. He didn't think she'd have an opportunity.

Umbala, for her part, was ready to follow tradition and let her husband's lead. In that respect, she was resigned to accept tribal punishment for her sins. But if Ibo thought for one minute that she was going to be beaten to death to assuage his bruised ego, he must be certifiable. She would not.

She pulled Ibo's leg hard and because he was not expecting it, he toppled over backwards, hitting his head on the door frame on the way down. Umbala struggled to her feet and stood over him.

"She can do things you can't, Ibo. She makes me feel wanted and needed. She makes me feel attractive. She makes me feel loved."

He got up to fight her and she fought back - hard. They raised a terrible ruckus. It was the contractors working late in the apartment next door who called the police. They arrived to find a couple defeated by tradition - a marriage that should never have been ruined by what had to be.

By then, they had gone beyond fighting and were actually talking. Neither chose to press charges. Ibo said he would leave for the night and they would talk again in the morning. Umbala offered to be the one to go, since she could go to Celeste's.

"Please," Ibo asked, "do not go to her tonight. Give me this much and I will ask no more of you. Please."

So she did.

"After Ibo left, Umbala called Celeste and told her everything. She was, of course, very sympathetic. Celeste always had a way of making Umbala feel special.

"You know what this means, don't you?" she asked.

"What?"

"You are the first in your tribe to be found out and survive."

"Ibo won't tell and I won't either. It would be too much shame for him and to painful for me. No, this is my American secret."

"And what makes you think he will not try to hurt you again?"

"Because, when he left he gave me twenty words."

"Twenty words?"

"Yes, twenty words like he had never said to me before, and the first and last words were please."

If you have enjoyed M. Alicia Scott's "20 Words", then please be certain to e-mail her at  mswildi[at]hotmail.com  and thank her for posting this Story.

Click here for a list of all of M. Alicia Scott's Stories and Poetry at  Sapphic Voices Authoresses.

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