The Knife Spoke To Her

Mima Sulay slowly made her way to the bedroom. The carpet muted her determined steps. As she walked she wrapped her braided hair into a tight bun, away from her face.

She could hear him snoring through the wooden door. Heart racing, she reached for the door handle, turned it counter-clockwise and pushed the door slowly. It creaked a little as she did so and she felt herself go cold, fearing she had woken him. She froze in place and listened for the sound of regular breathing. The knife felt heavy, yet comforting in her right hand.

Ironically, he had bought the knife from one of his numerous mistresses. It had come in a set. She loved the knife, it cut thick slabs of meat efficiently.

The woman who sold it to her came calling a few weeks ago. She giggled a lot. Copious amounts of bright makeup caked her face-just the way Jethro liked his women. He had invited her to come peddle her kitchenware to Mima.

Afterwards, Jethro had left with the woman, saying he was going back to his construction site. Mima knew he was lying. She’d curled up on the floor of the room that night crying. She knew the father of her three children was out cavorting with the kitchenware woman. Tonight, it seemed fitting that the made-in-China chef knife she had bought from his mistress was going to help her do the deed ahead.

She pushed the door open slowly and was about to step into the room when she heard a voice say, “Don’t do it. There will be blood all over the sheets.” Shocked, Mima looked over her shoulder, but there was no one there. The children were sound asleep in their room, she had checked on them earlier before tiptoeing barefoot to the bedroom door.

No one else was in the house. She must have imagined the voice. As she waited for her heart to regain its normal tempo, she looked down at the knife. It was new and shiny. The hilt was made of dark, heavy wood. She had remembered it as she lay on the living room floor an hour earlier, blood oozing from different spots on her body. Jethro liked to bite. He liked to bite when they had sex, and he liked to bite when he beat her.

It wasn’t the blood from the bites that had driven her into a mad rage. No, it was the wetness that trickled down her thighs when she pulled herself up. As she felt the blood make its way down both her thighs, she knew that she had lost her twins.

It had all happened so quickly. He had come home, his face a mask of anger. He had ordered the children to their room, locked them in and stormed back to the living room.

“What did you tell Pastor Wale?” he had demanded. Mima stood riveted, too scared to say a word as a feeling of unfettered dread stole all over her. She’d had a quick premonition the night would end in blood. Like a rat held under the piercing gaze of a hungry cat, she was overwhelmed by terror. She couldn't find her voice, it was buried deep under layers of fear. Instead, she clasped her hands together and closed her eyes, as if she was about to say the Lord’s Prayer.

“Stupid, wretched, illiterate woman, answer me!” he had screamed. Illiterate? His formal education had ended after high school. She had an Associate degree in law! She’d wanted to enroll in a 4 year college to finish Law school, but he would not hear of it. He’d insisted she didn’t need a career. He would take care of her every need till death do them part.

His slight had stirred long-buried defiance and her eyes flew open. She dared to look him in the face. Her thoughts must have shone through because as her eyes locked with his, in one quick motion he slapped her across the face with the back of his hand. That was just the beginning of a hellish couple of minutes that felt like an eternity. By the time he was done, she was left on the cold tiled floor, broken in both spirit and body. As she felt her babies die inside of her, a combination of rage, terror and grief flooded her with strength. The dark emotions drove her to her feet. It propelled her to the kitchen drawer where she kept the knives. She had to end his reign of terror. This was her fifth miscarriage in the eight years they’d been married.

She walked to his bedside and looked down at him. The duvet was bunched up around his waist. He had on a t-shirt with an oil company’s crest right over his heart. She raised the knife and was about to drive it in when she heard the voice again. “If you kill him, you will go to prison. Who will take care of Segun, Bisoye and Busayo? No one will understand that he humiliated, cheated on and hit you. All everyone would remember is Mima Sulay murdered her husband in cold blood.” She looked at the raised knife and now she was sure the voice had come from the knife. The knife had spoken to her. It had stopped her from carrying out the most grievous mistake she could ever commit in ten lifetimes - murder. Just then Jethro turned on his side towards her. His eyes moved under their lids but didn’t open and within seconds, his snoring resumed. The monster was oblivious to the fact that he had just come very close to never waking up.

Mima crept from the room, returned the knife to the drawer and retreated to the guest bedroom. She resolved there and then to take the kids and run. Forever leaving behind everything and everyone else. Including this house. Her childhood home.

Jethro had bought it off her father a year after they were married. This house she had spent dozens of Christmases in. This house that had been everything to her. This house had become her prison. Now she’ll leave it all behind. Forever.