Ewepu-Ihe--Anaso--'If certain things did not restrain me'-- --I would have-: A short story

BRIDGEPORT, Conn. - March 9, 2018 - PRLog -- When his fifteen-minute rendezvous ended, JD emerged from the thick sugarcane bush behind the two-story family house. It was well past midnight and the moon had only a glimmer of light left. Looking around, JD wondered why he had so many thoughts in his head. Nobody in their right mind would be awake, watching the backyard gate and waiting for him to return home.

Uncle Foreman was the one person to avoid at all cost. Foreman, he knew, owned a gun and wouldn't hesitate to use it should he mistake him for a bandit. Why old men did not appreciate the romantic needs of young men baffled JD.

Confident in the shield darkness provided, he was free from fear and even quickened his pace towards home. The faster he could get across the intervening grass lawn between the bush and the backyard wrought iron fence, the harder it would be for anyone to wake and confront him.

With one outstretched hand the young man pushed on the gate and the chains behind it clattered.  'These Obanshis [children who still defecate in their pants] never forget to lock the gate at eight o'clock, the exact time ordered by Foreman. What do they know?  May dysentery dwell on them!'

If nobody had stopped him two nights in a row, nobody saw him and nobody was looking for him.

With his right hand still on the gate, he deliberated. 'Why am I hesitant tonight and not last night or the night before?'  It dawned on him -- the phenomenon of the third attempt. There is something frightening about third attempts; streaks of good or bad luck always reverse the third time around.

Uncle Foreman liked to sleep on his right side with his right ear over the bed. Because of that, he said, he was able to pick out all footsteps, including those made by ghosts.  For some days now he had asked himself the same question over and over again: 'When will this young man, JD, have a change of heart, and stop going around at night?

As JD shifted from the gate and began to study the part of the fence to climb, an idea flew into his head; to hurry back into the sugarcane bush, find a strong fallen stem, and use it to vault over the fence. Thinking more about the plan, he sighed.

Left with no other option, he decided to take a chance with his third entry. He grabbed a vertical rail next to him, but hesitated before releasing it.

He studied the wrought iron fence again. He clutched hold of a vertically placed iron bar and hauled his body up.

He found a footrest on the lower rail and placed the right foot. Holding the iron part with both hands he lifted the left leg to join the right leg. Only two more rails to climb, he nodded with satisfaction.

From an upstairs back room overlooking the backyard, a hand had cracked a narrow gap in the window curtain. Two unblinking eyes followed the silhouette of a shadowy figure as it emerged from the sugarcane bush.

As JD cleared the first rail on his way up the wrought iron fence, the observer fastened the ties of his pajamas, covered his hairy chest with a brown towel which he hung around his neck, and then opened a cupboard in a side wall and retrieved a gun.

Three steps out of his bedroom he veered left to use the steep corner stairs that led down directly into the backyard. With the moon out of any glimmer the observer walked unseen until he got behind the gate, from where he watched JD astride the wrought iron fence.

Though a fast climber, JD was stiff tonight. Two long minutes to get on the last rail of the fence. What was left? He only needed to get his right leg over the fence, and then his entire body. A job well done, he wanted to say, but instead felt the presence of someone holding a short metallic object, and then heard a voice.

'Ewepu-ihe-anso,' [If it wasn't for something restraining me] stated the gravelly voice, 'I would have shot the brain out of your skull. Get off the gate forthwith.'

JD released his grip on the rails, hopped down and froze.

Though frozen, JD was occupied with thoughts. What would be restraining Uncle Foreman from pulling the trigger? When action is needed lions know no restraint. Foreman was a lion.

'Do you drink ekpeteshi [home brewed gin]?' interrupted the captor.

'No sir,' said the captive.

'Then what made a breastfed baby like you an uncontainable night beast?'

'I don't know, sir' responded the captive.

'Nwokem, my young man,' his captor continued, 'your end has come. Every night I have watched you scale' (he pointed with his chin) 'over this wrought iron fence, like a bandit.'

Then there was an instant of silence, during which the captor did a soul search. What separates strength from weakness is the ability for strength to follow up with a threat made.  With that in mind he moved a few happy fingers over the trigger.

Staring at the body of JD, Foreman regretted he had not brought his whip with him. Several lashes with the whip would have been just right for the sin of lust. Was his failure to act a sign of overpowering strength or the beginning of weakness that happens over time.

Unsure , he lowered the hand carrying the gun, and JD lived to tell the story.

End
Please donate to a nonprofit organization helping elders live out their lives in dignity. Website: http://www.eldershelpinghands.org