DRUNK

She saw the doctor coming and then she began to hesitate because she wasn’t ready to hear any bad news from him again. She closed her eyes to avoid reading the doctor’s moods because she wasn’t ready to hear anything that afternoon. Tears where already flowing on her checks. “Lady, your daughter is in a critical condition but I can assure you that she will be alright. Don’t worry yourself too much, she will be fine, I promise I’ll do what I can do. Just put her in prayers.” She opened her eyes and then asked with a weak voice.

“Doctor, you mean my daughter is still alive?”

“Madam, there is nothing that will take away your daughter. She is alive and she is going to live for eternities.” This is how it was to hear it from a man she believed perform those rare miracles coated with God’s blessings.

“Can I go in and see her, if you don’t mind? I really need to sing her some songs that my mother composed for her?”

“Well, she is now resting. I advise you give her some time to rest. By the way, where is her father?”

She looked down and then replied, “he is at work.” She gave him a cold reply, which still portrays that she’s hiding something. The doctor tried to look at her and then decided to change the topic.

“Anyway, like I said, please do not interrupt her from her sleep. She needs a long rest.”

“Okay, doctor. I will wait until she wakes.”

“Give me one tequila,” he said. His eyes were dry; his lips cracked like Yokohama Tyres and the whole body still looking weary. He looked like someone who had not slept for the past one year. His suits, though they look new and clean, somehow, can tell that they have never had a taste of the cologne or visited any cheapest dry cleaning service for its due service rights, or any cheap perfume that’s use by the middle class and the humble families in the economic hierarchy. One of his shoes, on the left, had a smear of mud – socks, to be fair enough, must have touched water about a month ago, when his friends visit him and took them for laundry and the same night they had had a foe in a brothel filled to the brim with strippers.

He still quite remembers vividly the day they were chased by the police after drinking and caused havoc in the bar with his friends. How they went down stairs though hurdles – leaving some of them with broken legs. It was one of those days when, at the end of the month, they would receive “salaries” (here, by salaries, I mean, when the bank lose thousands of money) and they would have an evening out. On this particular day, they had ordered about seven kilograms of nyama choma and they preside it over with two crates of beer. The plan didn’t go as expected. The man who prepares nyama choma turned to take the lion share of their order: he would cut like three pieces, ate one, leave the two for them to scavenges on. He did that until the quarter of the roasted meat was almost finishing. After one of them, who were a bit sober, saw the man’s intentions, he motioned one of them and alert him of what was going. Whoever said time wait for no man was the man who was getting impatient to make his cows drink water after grazing and then takes them for milking but the water have not settle.

He woke up, punched the gentleman on the face. Two of his front teeth fall off to the dish that had nyama choma. The fight erupted and the men with authority were involved.

He looked at his phone. It’s a call from his wife. “Why is she even calling me, this old maggot? I am sick and tired of her and she doesn’t seems to realizes it,” he growled. He was scratching his head. This has been his habit, drinking like fish and doesn’t give a hoot to who says what on his drinking habit. After all, they both earn salaries, what matter the most are the zeros behind those figures.

Krrrr! The text message came in. It was from his wife, still. The message was to inform him that Modong was quite sick; she was in a critical condition and his support is needed. He read it with tipsy eyes and before he finishes reading it, someone patted him from behind. It was the hands of his old friend whom they used to share lecture notes at campus. Susan Aman. She works for the revenue authority. She was filthy rich and way single. Just like back at campus, she is still rumored that she has share sheets with politicians than visiting alter to pray for her sins just in the name of prestige.

“Hey! How are you, Mr. Sam?” and then she open her arms like the heaven gates to give her a warm hug.

“Hey! How are you?” he stood up to close the gap. He then went for a stool to sit on after they had given up his to Susan Aman.

The whole point was clear and will forever remains like that: men open doors for women, men pulls seats for women to sit on in restaurants and bars but will consider normal. So he did it because he saw it as his responsibility. She landed her bag with a thud.

“So, how is life treating you? I can see you’re becoming like wine, aging graciously,” she said.

“Well, when you let go off the things that the world throws at your and mind your business, then you will never have any damn reason to stop enjoying life.” he says.

The first day they ever met, Sam was summiting in his assignment when he made a U turn in the corridor and then he collides with Susan Aman. The books were splashed all over the floor as she struggles not to touch the mud when she has a white dress on. Sam, as usual, before the world could venture in to teach him things in bold caps, he was shy of girls and never wished to ever drink anything beyond eight glasses of water. He apologizes. He was too innocent. She accepted. On their second meeting, they met again in the library. The university student association had invited local musicians to come and perform in their event and Susan was among the organizing committee; she approached him, and she knew that she was going to buy the ticket. Finally, he persuaded him and then he bought the ticket. From that show, he came to know that there is a world beyond his hostel. He looked for the company. He was invited. He joined and then got introduced to the game. It was the drinking, then hacking through the lectures computers and leak the exam questions, and then, the petty theft graduates to hoodlums. The gang got holds in the balls by the men in the authority; the few vanished like the wind in the sky and then things back to the normal. If money can’t brings sanity, humility creep in to teach missing lectures. Sam first came to meet with Kiden those days when he w as recovering from his traumas.

She then looked at him, from then, he knew that things have changed, maybe so fast.

“Hey, look at you. You have really changed,” he says.

“Well, when life serves you with two spoons, don’t take it for granted. I’m a go getter and you know that, don’t you?”

“Absolutely, ma’am,” he replies.

They talk for hours, drink after drink until he realizes that his pocket was sharply draining off!

“It is quite late, I think I should go now,” he said.

“Come on! The party has just started. Why for Christ’s sake would you leave now?”

“Well, I have to go,” he insisted.

But that didn’t help. “Waiter, another bottle of Jameson, please!” And then she stood up to dance.

“Come on. Come and dance with me.”

“I’m too drunk to dance with the beautiful lady like you,” he shouted in order to compete with the noisy background of the club.

“I don’t care! I have my own money and I will drink it with whoever I want.” she replied.

“But I’m a father.” In the process, Susan has won his interest.

They danced and after the dance, they drove home to Susan’s lavish apartment. The type he only sees on the movies and newspapers being advertise. That what real money can do to people who work for it.

On the third day, he showed up home. Held the key of the car like they were the great enemies to his pocket.

Krrrrrr! The belt hoots.

For the second time and third before his wife showed up at the door. She opened it and then didn’t tell him a single word. She walked up to her daughter was sleeping. “Good morning?”

There was no sheer of response. He decided to go back to the main room, showered and then left the car’s keys on the table.

“Where are you going?” his wife asks as he was about to reach for the door.

“And since when did it become your business to ask where I’m going?” he roared.

“Look, you have a sick daughter and here you’re; shouldering everything on me. When will you ever grow up and act like a man with a daughter and a family that look up to him? I am not asking you for money.” she screamed.

“Look here, I’ve no time for your dramas. If you don’t know what to do with her, throw her to the bush.” and then he walks away, slamming the door behind him harder. Kiden didn’t believe what she heard.

Susan and Sam met that Sunday evening and then he was allured in to take more drinks and just to rescue him from the previous night hangovers. Money over power: especially when it’s in bulks and being manages by a chicken-brain individual. It can come and go just like the wind blows.

Sam had spent months without visiting his wife and kids. He got a soul provider that in Susan. He got introduced in the new group.

One evening, Susan came from her hoax type of a job she claims she does for living though Sam knew quite well that she’s dirty.

“Look, the policemen are everywhere looking for our men.”

Sam was reading a magazine on the table. He seems to have not worry or hurry to see what type of a stupid statement that she was making.

“What is wrong? I thought your men work in the revenue authority, not on the street?” he asked him without looking.

“Baby, sometimes we go extra miles to do what we can to fill our pockets.

Sam, you know you can help me deliver this note. Please don’t let me down, will.”

He turned and looked at her as if he has just seen her for the first time in his life. “Can you help me drop the orders, please? These clients are breaking my eardrums with phone calls.” she went to him, gave him a slight kiss and then handed him brown envelop.

He was startled; he didn’t know what to do. If he refuses, then he has disappointed the old lady, and if he accepts, he has the feeling that the repercussions that lie ahead are way bulky and he will solely shoulder the consequences alone. He took the idea though reluctance and after more serial of persuasions.

The deal went on through and he was congratulated through texts and phone calls. One evening, after they had gone on what they termed as successive retreats, they had just minted black pounds like a night before and, he kept his money under the pillow, back in his hotel room, a place where he thought no one could ever trace him.

“Hey Silencer.” He had someone greeting him in a very noisy bar. He was never that common in those places and he never knew, for any mere chance, that someone would ever notice and call him with barbaric baptismal names.

He was stung like a bee. It was like he has missed one trip of the heartbeat from. He first reached for his gun, just to confirm that it’s still there. He then turned.

“Hello.” He said with a growling voice, which depict irritations.

“Don’t be surprised, I know you and you will know me one of these days.” he pats him on the shoulder. As he was about to go, he came back to him and said, “…and by the way, you don’t need to check your gun, when we need it, we will come for it in a broad day light.” And then he left the bar. He did not wait for the bar to close. He waits for the storm to clear before he made his way out.

He did not take him long enough before he was in the hands of the authorities where he served jail term of seventeen years in prison – leaving behind two kids, with the same surnames and different mothers. Seventeen years, for the kids flew like a wind. He was released and came home as a different man. He tried to look for his other woman but he couldn’t get her. One of his old friends told him that she was now an international worker who now rarely uses manual cars for her work activities. He tried to go back to his old emails that they used to write to each other but nothing ever work: he concluded that she has changed her email.

One day, he received an email from her. Requesting him to come to the house on Saturday – that there was something very important they should discuss. This was due to the pressure that she received from her daughter, who, by now an independent woman following her dreams and just missing the father security, and someone who will stand in her father’s shoes on her wedding day.

Sam came home, being driven by his son, the supposed to be the future husband of his daughter. Sarah, their unified daughter was still in the market, when Sam entered with Samson. Kiden thought he was maybe his business associates, since these days, the technocrats can employ their fathers or grandfathers to work under their directives. By his look, he was slightly younger than her daughter; maybe, some months or a year than him.

“You’re welcome,” said Kiden.

“Thank you!” they both said it in unison.

Within no time, Sarah came in with her friends. First, they noticed the car at the parking yard; the plate number and the color, and then they thought maybe one of his friends have come home to deliver something to her: they did not mind until they saw him comfortably in her mother’s favorite couch.

“Kuot, what are you doing?” she placed the shopping bags with care like it carries a plague inside it and it could explode before it’s used on a victim.

Everyone stood up and looked confuse and had questions all written on their faces. Kiden intervened from across the room where she had just brought the water.

“Sarah, you have to sit and we clear this storm.”

And then she turns to Sam.

“Who is this young man?”

Sam looked around as if there were two other unlucky Sams around that the question was being directed to.

“He is my son.”

“What!!” they all respond.

“Yes, he is my son, and I thought I should come over so that he knows the other part of the world that he doesn’t know.”

“You must be kidding, Sir. Who are you?”

“Sarah, don’t go there.” Kiden intervened.

The tension was high, and it was only through the hand of a woman that saved the entire family to sink in to the trash. Kiden acted like a leader and then Sam backs her up to solve the intriguing event – these two that were about to commit or have committed incest.

When he finished the case, all normalizes; he went to the bar to drink off his mood.

“Give me tequila, please,” he told the waitress.

He hadn’t look at her face when he was ordering.

“Here is your drink, Mr. Silencer,” said the lady.

It’s like an engine start in him. It has been years since he gave up on the crime life and now starts focusing on major issues like his daughter and son: both from different mothers practicing incest without knowing.

He looked at her, and then start flashing back, it’s one of those vivid events where he was forced to shoot to kill just to avoid the trace and this little girl was hiding behind sofas, watching them at a distance but he refused to kill her and the mother. He still remembers how he broke the gang’s code and then spared their lives.

He looked at her in the face and then he couldn’t believe he would one day find her – more especially, in such places like this where pocket distinguishes class and happiness. Where riches are seen on the bottle of beers or shots of tequila one takes. He took a mouthful of his drink and then exits the bar.

“Thank you for sparing my life and the life of my mother. If it wasn’t you, during your hoodlum foes, we would be dead right now.” she said. He looked back one more time and then he didn’t respond. It was almost seven in the evening and the raindrops were still drizzling on his leather code. She was still standing, watching over her until he got lost in the darkness.