The Inheritance

At last, Sarabella sighted the rooftop of the old house, as she climbed up the dense foliage of the mound behind the little village. She had taken the old path to avoid contact with the village folks. She steeled her heart against the bile welling up in her stomach, threatening to relive her pains in this shithole she once called home. Clearing the mound's climb, she slung her duffel bag over her right shoulder and walked steadily towards the house standing in lonesome abandonment in the middle of the four acres that was her father's farmland. It looked more like just land than farm. Thick overgrown grass and shrubs overwhelmed the crops. Here and there, one could see parts of broken farm equipment jut out over the weeds. Halfway between the edge of the farm and the house, Sarabella paused to take in the view of the storey-ed farmhouse, where she spent the first thirteen years of her life. There weren't many pleasant memories to pick from. She tightened her hold on her rather light bag as she made her way to the house. Hers was going to be a very short visit.

She groped for the key under the cracked flowerpot on the patio. Sure as hell, old habits die hard! Pa must have forgotten the key was there while he died. It's been only thirty-eight days since Pa died, but the old house looked well-kept, if ghostly, with dusty grey drapes covering the furniture. The flowers in the vase weren't dying, so she knew someone was tending them. Upstairs, what used to be her room was now storage for broken furniture. She went into the neatly-kept master bedroom, dropped her bag on the bed, and opened the shower faucet. The water was still running. She needed the shower after the long trek from the highway. Taking off her sweat-soaked, field-green t-shirt and bra in one motion, she walked to the bathroom as she unbuckled her belt and unzipped her jeggings, while Shaking off her dusty boots and shimmying out of her cream-colored lace panties in what seemed like one effortless gesture. After the shower, Sarabella laid naked and dripping on the bed, savouring the coolness of water drops on her taut, muscular body, and reminiscing on village life before her abscondment. But, she quickly drifted asleep.

It was dark when she was startled into wakefulness. The coldness of the harmattan night gave her slight shivers. She extricated her bra from her t-shirt and hurriedly wore the t-shirt. The time on her cell phone was minutes past eleven o'clock. Too late to head into town for something to eat. She rummaged in her bag for her nutrition bars and tore a wrapper, stuffing the content in her mouth. Then, she laid her black dress and scarf neatly on the wooden chair by the dresser. Looking into its mirror, she could almost see the little girl that ran away twelve years ago. Suddenly, her eyes were misty, and she quickly wiped a teardrop off her cheek. She had no use for mushiness or self-pity. She wasn't wired that way.

There wasn't much else to do. She curled back into bed, and once more embraced the darkness of slumber.

The interment was a short one, preceded by a shorter graveside service. Funerals in the small village were everyone's affair - not because they cared, but there would be free food and drinks. Immediately Amelia saw her younger half-sister, her surprise gave way to elation, and she half-ran to embrace her. Sarabella wasn't sure how to respond to someone she hadn't seen or heard from since she absconded, safe for the little note sent to her base, "Dear Sara, your father died. His last wish is for you to attend his funeral and see his lawyer. We bury him in 2 weeks. Regards, Amelia". She took a quick look at the gaunt figure of her only sister, swaying listlessly in her overhanging black dress, as she held her by the hand and led her to the front row of arranged chairs, all the while, saying to all and none: "this is my sister, Sarabella. Do you remember her?" Throughout the funeral Amelia held almost too tightly to Sarabella's arms, as if to prevent her from running away again. It felt awkward, not only because of the chasm of time, history, unfamiliarity and distance between them, but also because Amelia's three children and husband weren't looking too pleased.

Mercifully, the burial was quick. The village was always in a hurry to do away with its dead and carry on with its life! Back in the house, the solemn merriment and whispered conversations were in full swing, interrupted by short cacophonies of intermittent laughter, as if they loathed disturbing the dead. Amelia finally had opportunity to pull Sarabella into a room.

"Sara, I'm glad you came!" She said earnestly. "My son helped search for you on the Internet, but I wasn't sure you would get my letter".

Amelia's expression betrayed anxiety and what Sarabella thought was terror.

"Sara, your father left you everything, but you can't stay! This place will kill you! It is killing me and destroying my children! You were right not to stay. I should’ve followed you." Amelia spoke with trembling rapidity, and looked furtively about, as one that feared being watched. Sarabella was speechless.

"Sara, please take us with you. Me and my children! Please!"

Amelia was gripping her sister's arms so tight Sarabella winced. She remembered how vulnerable Amelia had always been. Three years older than her, and born to a father that drank himself to death, Amelia had to endure the ruthless punishments and sexual harassments from her step-father. The sisters grew up loving each other despite their differences. The older was obsequiously servile and malleable, but the younger was easily the rebellious, rascally imp that wouldn't stay knocked down. Sarabella knew her father was raping her half-sister since Amelia was nine years old, and when their mother knew of it, she did nothing to stop it. She was probably too scared of her violent husband. Amelia tried her best to stand up for her older sister - against village boys that would pick on her; against their mother's docile indifference; against her father's violent abuses. But, one day, shortly after her thirteenth birthday, she couldn't take it anymore. She told her sister to run away with her, but Amelia was too scared to even think of it. Sarabella never looked back. She disdained her sister for her weakness, but looking at the frail, scared woman before her now, she remembered how she had loved and fought for her. Sarabella hugged her tight as they both wept.

They held hands and laughed as they traded stories about each other’s pasts, until the twelve years apart vanished in a few hours that seemed like blissful eternity. Thankfully, nobody interrupted them. Then, a stout, bespectacled, balding man tapped lightly on the door, and peeped in to introduce himself. “I’m Barrister Obong. Can I come in?”

Amelia waved him in. The man stood awkwardly by the door, looking around shiftily.

“I have your father’s final will. Is it okay if I come over by noon tomorrow, to read it?”

“Yes please”, Sarabella said calmly, and the lawyer slunk out the door.

The ensuing silence was thick and awkward. Sarabella had to think of something flippant to break it.

"Anyway, what happened to Pa's old Peugeot? Did he eventually sell it?"

The car was the first in the village. Her father treated it better than he cared for his family!

"No, he could never bring himself to part with it. It's in there", Amelia pointed out the room's window to the only other building on the farm. The old red barn. It was a large structure, usually hidden from a visitor's view by the farmhouse, but it was massive in its own right. Now, the red paint was faded, and a few planks were loose here and there.

As Sarabella walked towards it, she almost had wistful goosebumps. The old red barn! It served at different times as poultry, pigsty, tool-shed, garage, playground and hideout for her and Amelia. It was here she brought Akunna, the grocer's jaunty, handsome but freckled son, for her first romp on the evening of her thirteenth birthday. That didn't end too well, but Sarabella liked the boy enough to give him another try... then, the schmuck went boasting to his friends, and everyone in school, how he conquered the crazy, proud tomboy! Now, Akunna was a successful businessman married to her half-sister.

She opened the big, creaky doors of the barn and some sunlight stole into its darkness. One of the headlamps of the rickety Peugeot reflected the light. The car was half-covered by a tarpaulin, buried in dusts and cobwebs. The ambience was creepily eerie, and broken or disused tools were scattered about. As Sarabella took the view in, she heard the crackling of a twig some distance behind her, and half-turned to see Akunna walking towards her.

"Hi there" he waved. "I never thought I would ever see you again". The thought was mutual.

“I see you have had the time to speak with my wife. What did you find to talk about?” He stopped a few inches away from her, a glass of whiskey in one hand, and striking what he might have thought to himself was a manly pose. “Did you compare notes about which one of you I fucked better?”

Sarabella’s face betrayed no emotion as she told herself Akunna was still a jerk. “Why’re you here?” she asked him. “Everyone’s already left”.

“Well, I’m the doting step-son-in-law, aren’t I?” He paused for a swig of whiskey.

“Look Sara. It’s no secret that Pa left everything to you, but I have more invested in this damned farmland than you can care to know. I’m a reasonable businessman. Once you take possession, I’ll make you a fair offer that will more than set you up for a better pension than the Army can pay you. I expect you to be reasonable, too”. He took a look at his glass cup and poured the rest of its content in an exaggerated mockery of libation. “To the fucking dead!” he said and then walked away into the foggy sunset.

Was I just threatened? Sarabella thought to herself, as she walked into the house through the kitchen door. As she walked into the sitting room, littered with plates and cups, and leftover food, she saw the five men standing at different corners of the room. One leaned against the front window, keeping an eye on the lone road that led to the farmhouse. The oldest-looking one – a tall, muscly, ruffian – said gruffly as he stepped menacingly towards her “Hello our sister. You shouldn’t have come”.

“Do I know you?”

“No. Not until now” the burly man moved closer to her, reeking of alcohol “You see that old bastard you call your father went about raping and sleeping with our mothers, and had the guts to deny that we and our sisters were his children”.

Sarabella was wide-eyed.

“We know he left everything to you, but since you already have a good life elsewhere, we have come to let you know that we will not share this place with you”. He circled round Sarabella threateningly, showering her generously with foul-smelling breath. He probably thought he was doing a great job at intimidating her. Finally, he stepped back and addressed the other thugs.

“Boys, let’s go. I’m sure she won’t be here when we return tomorrow evening!” The five men sauntered out the front door, jumped into the car and SUV they came in, and sped off.

Was I just threatened? Sarabella thought to herself, as an impish smile slowly snaked across her otherwise blank face. In the Liberian campaign, where she earned three medals, her squad hated seeing that smile. Nothing safe ever came out of it!