A Sorority of Angels (17 page)

Shaba’s father forced her into an arranged marriage.

As a young girl in Kinshasa – the capital with a population of 7.5 million in a country of 46.7 million, Shaba had an infatuation for a boy in her class, a hopeless relationship. Her father would choose the proper husband for her deciding that someone in the army with a chance for an illustrious career was appropriate. Her father chose Kintubi. A week after she finished high school, they married – no romance, courting, or feelings of love, a traditional arrangement.

Kintubi was an attractive man, ten years older and a captain in the Army, unromantic and abusive. Her marriage started with pain. On their wedding night, he forced himself on her attacking like a love-craved animal.

The next three months were unbearable. Shaba built a mental wall to keep him at bay. In his presence, she acted chronically ill. He left her alone. Before long, he continued his assaults on her body. After each intercourse, she would do what she could within her limited knowledge to prevent a pregnancy. Her knowledge at the time was to take hot water baths. She thought that procedure helped. Luckily, she missed getting pregnant.

In the fourth month of marriage, she awakened in the middle of the night trembling from unhappiness. She held his gun to his sleeping head. Her hand shook as she begged for strength to kill him. For the next three nights, Shaba placed the gun at his head. Strength and courage never came to pull the trigger. She wept from failure.

Ten months passed before she relaxed during intercourse and another two months before she enjoyed and looked forward to the union. She pretended Kintubi was the boy from school.

As her scorn increased, Kintubi changed – no longer professing the attitude a woman was good only for a man’s pleasure. That new attitude increased with time.

As the years passed and the children born, his sexual attitude changed to please her first. Shaba never respected or loved him, as she should. He never treated or regarded her as an equal.

The children received all her love. Losing them to the war, she lost all she loved and cherished leaving her hollow. Kintubi tried hard to reach her. Shaba refused to allow him to comfort or soothe her. She lost her appetite to continue with Kintubi as she mourned her children with relentless passion.

New York changed her thinking dramatically offering the opportunity to live in an advanced mind stretching society with varying attitudes. She felt confident and objective to face her traditional, deep-rooted responsibilities. She believed it her duty to make the effort to fulfill her marriage obligation. The reason that led to the decision – Kintubi professed he had changed and respected her as an equal.

Even if he changed, could she live with him again?

Kintubi was a general, the top aide to President Busambi. She felt her husband’s influence was decisive, to help in the poverty and hunger programs. The President held the power and dominated the country.

Her Achilles Heart causes were another reason to go back to The Democratic Republic of the Congo, a stimulus.

When Shaba awakened Monday morning, Alise sat on the bed staring at the floor, hands folded in her lap, a depressive posture. Shaba hurried to her and put her arm around Alise’s shoulders.

“Are you sure, Alise?” Alise nodded hard quickly. “Does he know you’re going today? Did you tell him last night?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“To call him when it’s over.”

“I never expected less,” came sarcastic as she headed for the shower. “Get your act together, Alise. I’ll be right out and we can leave.”

When Shaba returned to the bedroom, Alise remained in the same position.

“Come on, Alise.”

She tried to help her up to release her from the suspended state. Alise pulled her arm away.

“I can’t do it.”

Shaba had no reply. She sat next to Alise and embraced her.

Alise cried.

“Animals,” whispered Shaba. “Animals.”

She referred to men.

They tormented together the next week. The night before leaving for Congo, Shaba advised a distressed Alise to remain firm with Ali. Alise said she would try to persuade Ali to change his mind next week then decide on the next stage if he rejected.

Erron Horsford called that night offering to drive Shaba to Kennedy International Airport. She refused claiming convenience for all concerned if she called a car service. Shaba thanked him for the offer. She liked Erron and didn’t want to risk his planting further seeds of doubt about her return to her marriage.

Alise accompanied her to the airport.

When Shaba landed in Kinshasa, she saw her husband, Kintubi, waiting on the tarmac. When the door slid and swung open, thick tropical air felt heavy in her lungs. Her blood thickened in New York making air and heat uncomfortable. She exited to the top step, smiled, and waved to her husband who smiled and waved.

Shaba remained composed descending the steps without desire to rush into his arms. He met and hugged her discreetly in a manner befitting a general in public. He kissed her lips. Shaba hugged and pressed a conservative kiss.

“Hello, Kintubi.”

“You look wonderful, Shaba. Hope you are well.”

“Yes. You look good yourself. I see you acquired a few more medals.”

“Give me your baggage tickets. My men will get your luggage from here. I already cleared Customs and Security.”

She handed the tickets to him. He passed them to a second lieutenant. The lieutenant and a sergeant left for the luggage.

Heat felt blanket thick and Kintubi noticed her discomfort.

“Get in the car and air conditioning. Your system will acclimate to the heat once again, thinning your blood.”

The staff car with general’s flags and insignia was a blue Ford Explorer. They sat in the back. Kintubi held her hand.

“Where is home now, Kintubi?”

“I’ll surprise you.”

“Do you still have our furniture?”

“No. I got rid of what we salvaged after the bombing.”

“Do you live in a hotel? A military base?”

“You’ll see.”

“Do you have anything left from the children?”

“Only pictures.”

“You might have kept some things.”

He squeezed her hand. “Don’t make me seem coldhearted. Don’t forget I loved them too. When they died, a large part of me died as well. You ran from a problem. I had to stay and live with it. I hurt as much. I will never forget them. Cruel as it may sound, they’re the past now. A new future awaits us.”

Shaba changed the subject. “Did you miss me, Kintubi? You don’t seem happy to see me.”

“I did miss you and pleased you’re back. Did you miss me?”

“No, I didn’t. You gave me no reason to miss you.”

“I hoped for more than that.”

“I was distracted trying to overcome the loss and to forget how miserable you treated me.”

“Have you achieved that? Overcoming?”

“I can face life again.”

The lieutenant and sergeant loaded the luggage in the second car. The lieutenant slid behind the wheel and drove off.

Shaba craned her neck looking at her country as a tourist.

“Shaba, do you think we can go on together?”

The question surprised her. “Why do you ask?”

“You don’t look pleased to be here.”

“I must admit to doubts.”

“When you were away, I had the chance to look upon our marriage these past ten years objectively. I could have been a better husband.”

“You were a bastard.”

“I regret how I treated you in our early years.”

“Forget it. That was a long time ago, no longer important.”

“How can you say that? It ruined our marriage.”

“Are you having guilt feelings and should we have this discussion in front of the lieutenant?”

“The lieutenant is a confidant. You can say anything in front of him. It’s all right.”

“Let’s change the conversation anyway until we get to your residence.”

“Our residence. It’s about two miles from the old apartment in a nicer section fitting for a general. How long do you plan to stay? You never mentioned how long.”

Shaba was convinced she returned to make the marriage work, but didn’t want him to know so soon to leave her options open.

“I have a month’s leave from the ambassador.”

“That’s a long time. Many decisions can be made during that time.”

“Many have to be made.”

“I don’t know how they’ll turn out. Yet, we owe it to each other to talk before negative decisions are made.”

“You’ve come a long way, Kintubi. Consideration never lived in your character.”

“Guilty. It does now. Are you happy in New York?”

“It’s been a good hiatus. I have a marvelous roommate and that’s important. I wrote to you about Alise. Have you maintained the children’s graves?”

He nodded. “Every week. Fresh flowers.”

“That’s good. That’s a point on the positive side for you.”

“Do you want to stop by there first?”

“No. No. I’m not ready today. Some other time.”

The car turned into a hidden driveway bordered with lush plant growth. The driveway ended by a two-story mansion.

Shaba’s eyes widened with surprise.

“Is this it?”

“This is it.” He laughed. “How do you like it?”

“How can you afford this?”

“Ask me no questions. Come on. I’ll give you a tour.”

The structure was a magnificent home, opulence in all rooms.

“Where did you get this house?”

They climbed a winding marble staircase leading to the second floor and bedrooms.

“It belonged to some people from Belgium. They left the country and the President gifted it to me.”

“You own the mortgage?”

“I own it outright by default.”

“How can you afford to maintain it?”

“Easy, no taxes and the Army runs it for me, expenses are nominal.”

“That’s what I call instant wealth.”

“This is the beginning, Shaba. The poverty years are over. Wait until you see the bedroom.”

The elegantly furnished bedroom was the largest bedroom she’d ever seen. Her apartment in New York could fit in it with room to spare. A circular king size bed dominated the middle of the room beneath a light blue silk canopy bordering an eight-foot circular mirror.

“Well, do you like?”

“I’ll love it if it’s yours.”

“The house is ours.” He closed the door then kissed her. “Welcome home.” She returned a friendly kiss. “Now that we’re alone,” he coaxed, “shall we try the bed?”

She chuckled. “You haven’t changed. Along with inconsideration, you also lacked romance.”

“You’ve been gone a long time and you are my wife.”

Shaba grinned. “You’re still impossible and barely bearable. I’ve had a long trip. I need to take a bath, unpack, have a tall drink then we’ll talk and see.”

Kintubi shrugged. “Deal. And I did miss you.”

She glanced at the bulge in his pants. “I’m sure you did. Prepare the drinks then come back. In the meantime, I’ll slip into the bath.”

He left. She looked around the room absorbing its possessions before entering the marble bathroom. She sighed as the water covered her body before the knock on the door.

“Yes?”

“It’s me.” Kintubi opened the door. “I have your drink.”

She almost covered her breasts with her arms and realized the instinctive gesture was absurd. “Bring it in.”

He came in eyes absorbing. She accepted her drink.

“Sit and let’s talk before your eyes fall out.”

“Am I that obvious?”

He lowered the toilet bowl cover and sat. Shaba raised her glass.

“Cheers. It’s not so bad seeing you again.”

“I am pleased to see you.”

“This house will spoil you.”

“It already has, Shaba. It’s a new world here. I have power and authority. And we’re rich.”

Silence.

“Rich? Did you say rich? What do you mean? You or you and me?”

“Rich. R-I-C-H like you never dreamed having. The money is in the Bahamas, an offshore tax haven, in a secret account.”

“What are you talking about – why the Bahamas?”

“It’s never safe to keep money in this country. You can’t get it out.”

“You diverted it to a bank in the Bahamas?”

“Yes. Nassau. I bypassed the law.”

Shaba circled her glass to stir the ice, a gesture to control rising enthusiasm.

“You remembered I love rum and Coke. How much money do you have in Nassau?”

She cocked her ear quizzically and sipped her drink.

“Six million.”

“Six million what?”

“Six million American dollars.”

“Aaarghh…” she gasped choking on the drink. “What!” Half the rum and Coke spilled into the tub.

“Six million American dollars.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m serious. Wait a minute. I’ll be right back.”

He dashed out and dashed back in twenty seconds. Shaba waited with an anesthetized mind.

“Do you remember the papers you signed before you left?” Shaba nodded blankly although she didn’t remember. “Well, those papers opened a joint account for us. If you remember, I sent one hundred dollars to start the account. Here. Here’s the passbook.”

She reached for a towel, dried her hands, and opened the passbook. The savings account in the Nassau Bahamas Bank was in both their names as joint tenants or to the survivor. The deposits numbed her, three deposits in the past nine months plus interest.

“But…but how did you get all this money?”

“A gift from the President. He already has twenty million banked. I’m his favorite. He’s taking care of me. I told you. We are rich.”

“Six million!” It boggled her. “Good God! How can you get the money?”

“Since it’s in both our names and both signatures are on file, we can go there and get it. Shaba, I don’t know if you still love me. I suspect you don’t. But whether you do or don’t is unimportant. What’s important is that I trust you. I’m giving you the bankbook to hold. When and if you ever get back to America go to the bank, and wire one million dollars and put it in a safe deposit box for me in New York. Then wire two million for me to a bank in Switzerland. You never know when I may have to leave here fast.”

“I’m speechless. But…but…but let me understand this. The other three million dollars are mine?”

“That’s what I said. The account is in both names. It’s yours. That’s the least you deserve from me.”

She slapped the water. “Lordylord and amen!”

“In the meantime I’ll put the book in your purse. So, what do you think?”

“You never looked better. I’m overjoyed to see you again.”

Kintubi laughed then left.

Shaba was dumbfounded. She stood and started drying. She turned her back to the open door, raised her leg to the tub’s edge, and dried. She felt Kintubi press, his hands coming around to hug her breasts.