Martina returned on a Sunday evening when the rains had stopped and there was a rainbow in the sky.
I watched Martina play with little Junior in front of the veranda. My head burnt.
Martina wore her usual white gown and Junior touched the ends and ran away. Martina ran after him. They played, but my head still burnt.
Martina was too guilty to be with Junior. She had left Junior with me and ran to a man who was not her husband. Now she is back to her senses, and she is playing with our son.
My eyes were tired of watching. I had pressed my face to the burglary proofing, from the room where I watched.
They are still running. Then Junior stained her white gown and she had slapped him.
Junior broke down in tears and rushed into the house, coming to me. He placed his face, hot with tears on my laps. I touched his head and he did not cry again. We were silent in the room for awhile.
Martina shuffled in with her bathroom slippers along the corridor.
She pushed the door open and stood there, her eyes fixed to mine, her hands parked behind her back, She did not move.
‘I know I’ve been the devil,’ she said, scratching her weave-on.’ Please forgive me.’
I did not say a word. Silence stood between us, our lips sealed. All of us, even Junior, who was now sitting on the tiled floor, staring at me and Martina, his mother and his father. He was no longer shedding tears.
Martina broke down in tears and I covered my face. Junior’s face has told us what to do.
Martina stepped closer to me and I stood from the bed. My arms wrapped her body, and her jaw relaxed on my shoulder. I felt her warmth. I looked down on the floor, and Junior still sat, watching us, smiling.
I believed our hearts are mended; I believed that things have come to stay as they used to. I believed that Martina won’t be leaving me and Junior again.
We were smiling again.
(Chimee is Creative director, Blackboy)