THREE EXPERIENCES, OBSTINATELY engraved and indexed inside her, refused to be erased: the long walk, the harrowing night, and the shameful afternoon. These were the moments that defined Tererai’s relationship with Walter, the beginning and end of a love that she had once thought untouchable and adequate. She had looked at him as if there would never be a dim in the light of his jet-black eyes, as if life were not a cycle of seasons where hearts were not immortal, and could break despite vows made. At times, she had held his hands in her small palms, feeling secure in their strength. She would gently lay her head on his hard chest, listening to the steadiness of his heartbeat that coaxed her into believing that it was all she would ever need. Often, when they had been together, she had clung to his scent, distinctively musky and sweet, memorable enough and stubborn that now and then, it would waft into her dreams and moments. On cold nights, she had looked at his favourite crimson sweater that covered him with a warmth she could only wish to give him. She fought a thousand temptations to remove it from his body to add it to her repertoire, not because she cared for them, but because she liked that they reminded her of him. Him. The man who now stood between her and her happiness.
Is it something I did? Tererai wondered as the sermon echoed in the background of her thoughts. She reasoned maybe she had missed it when he took her for a walk from the university campus to The Bridge Shopping Mall on their first date, a walk she recalled being punctuated by loving stares. She queried if she had missed it in the way he had nonchalantly ordered vanilla ice cream despite her plea that chocolate pistachio was her favourite. It could have been in her hesitation when he had asked her to take the longer route back to campus, using The Chase Road that meandered and branched into Pendennis Road instead of Wycombe Road, the straightforward way they had initially used. She was surprised his selfishness had slipped her mind somehow the first time they had kissed that night after the walk, in the taxi rank, where he had possessed her, groping, taking. She had surrendered anyway, not wanting to chase a seemingly good guy away. He had walked with her past the university chapel towards her hostel, a circular building that someone had lazily coined New Complex 2 some ten or so years before her time. Now, Tererai detested that she had said a silent prayer asking God to make the guy stay, wondered if it had led her here with this man.
The Walter she had fallen in love with, had devoted her time and love to, had been short, dark, well-built, and brilliant, incomparably brilliant. Hot-tempered, too, but never to her. An irritability that many feared, and others attributed to an impatience that short people were said to hold naturally. He had been studying to be a medical doctor and had it all going for him: the academic prowess, the unquenchable dream of being a neurosurgeon, and the fervent desire for the gospel. She had been helpless and destined to fall for him. He was all she had ever wanted in a guy, and his devoutness would score the right points with her mother, whose approval she craved and valued the most. Perfection. One of her friends, Sean, had introduced her to Walter as a potential boyfriend in her second year.
Money had been exchanged between the guys, something she would never know. It was not unusual for the seniors or strange old men who loitered around campus to befriend younger guys and ask them to ‘organise’ girls for a fee. Friends pimped out friends for a bottle of alcohol or a better meal than the one served at the university’s dining halls. It was better than a struggle meal — a measly serving of sadza, vegetables, and one piece of meat on a lucky day.
After their first introductory meeting in Sean’s presence, she had avoided Walter and his calls. She had found him intimidating despite the kind streak in his eyes. His resonant voice, which threatened to roar and shake her world, had unsettled her. Her dating experience had been limited, and Tererai had feared losing herself in the game. She knew it was a game, after all. Others played for keeps but most for the thrill of the chase. Eight missed calls later and two days after the meeting, she had thought he had received her message to leave her alone loud and clear. But Walter’s persistence, a mix of concern and determination, had given her a break for only a day and, after that, he had not stopped calling.
“What’s wrong, Tererai?” he had asked her when she finally gave up on ignoring his calls. His voice, sending shivers down her spine.
She still didn’t know why she had sheepishly apologised and lied to him. “I am sorry, it’s just that I have a blazing headache that has had me closed off from the world, and nothing has worked so far.”
To her surprise, Walter had driven from the medical students’ living quarters and brought her some painkillers. His unexpected kindness had appeared heroic to the warden, prompting him to knock on her door to inform her about a visitor whose calls she was not answering. Regardless of the headaches having been a lie, Tererai had felt cared for, and that is how she had softened up to Walter. In the following days, he waited for her outside the Social Sciences Library, held her books for her, and drove her to her hostel. They sat in his car in comfortable silence several times, knowing there was much to be said, but refusing to initiate the conversation they knew would inevitably come.
After two months, Walter had asked Tererai to go with him to the interdenominational lunch hour service at church, and she had refused because she thought that was the right thing to do.
“I don’t know you well; you are as good as a stranger. So, no, I will not take such a huge step,” she had told him, stamping her stance by crossing her arms below her heavy bust. But deep down, she had been torn. She had wanted to trust him, but something had held her back.
“Wow. What a way to break my heart, Tererai. Ok, tell you what? Let’s go out for a walk tomorrow after your supper. We can get your favourite ice cream or anything you like and get to know each other better,” Walter had suggested, his eyes burrowing into her, his voice nearly bulldozing the wall she was attempting to build at that moment.
Her black dress with white daisies, which she had selected from the suitcase that encased all her special clothes, had been perfect for the evening date. She vividly remembered it now, the vanilla ice cream stain, and the conversations. She wondered if she had missed anything about how Walter had walked and talked with her. She replayed their conversations, and nothing stood out. Nothing had screamed out that she had to run for her life if she knew what was good for her. Walter had a sweet tongue — still did. That was the beginning of a long journey she had not been prepared for.
She could not decide if it was the first date or the night that he had violated her. Both incidents stung in equal measure. That night, she and Walter had gone to the Sports Centre, one of Walter’s favourite places. They sat on the steps at the back of the Pavilion, facing the deserted soccer field, savouring the calming breeze, the conversation flowing. Walter had sat behind her, one stair above, and his warm arms had held her safe and secure under the starless sky.
They were out of bounds, so it had not been a shock when they found themselves suddenly in the jarring beam of a security guard’s torchlight. Fear had taken over Tererai, but Walter had calmed her, rubbing her back as he spoke to the guard. There had appeared to be an air of familiarity between the two. A twenty-dollar note was passed, and just as quickly, Tererai had watched the guard’s green uniform disappear into the night as he walked away, swinging his baton stick.
They both hadn’t talked about the exchange, choosing to skygaze and chat about what made the campus rock, especially for Tererai, who was still finding her feet with college life. Sitting on those stairs, Tererai had wondered if she should have worn a dress for the walk, even with the threat of the wind blowing it away. The wind had turned out to be the least of her worries, because it hadn’t taken much for Walter to tease her, to run his hands on her thighs and everywhere else he thought would delight her. And then things had heated up, almost boiling over, and that was when she had told him to stop.
“No, Walter. This is not the plan, and you know this,” she had reprimanded him, facing his stiff face, the breeze no longer gentle, instead slapping her back to her senses.
“Come on, baby. Don’t worry about it. It’s just you and I until the very end, and this will not matter in the long run. The difference is the same,” he had responded.
“No, it’s not the same, and you know it. I respect you…” and Tererai’s words had been muzzled up in Walter’s mouth as his tongue found hers and entangled her nos into unmitigated silence.
That is how she had always remembered that night. How could she possibly forget the moment he had parted her legs and taken her right there on the cold and hard slab of the stairs? That was when she had first learned of his selfishness — all Walter knew was to take.
“Why, Walter? Why? Are you not ashamed?” she had questioned him, her voice trembling with the weight of betrayal, wiping off her tears that threatened to cascade into a wail.
“Babe, don’t be childish. This happens when two people deeply love each other and plan to spend the rest of their lives together. Don’t worry about it. So, did you like your first time?” Walter had asked, zipping his jeans.
“Bullshit, Walter. I hate you!” she had lashed at him, voice cracking as she stomped back to her hostel in the darkness. The blinkers had begun to fall off her eyes then.
She could not believe that Walter, the ever so kind and devout Walter, had done that to her. As she lay in bed that night, the hot, stinging tears trailing her cheeks had reminded her that she had been violated. For his part, Walter had acted as if nothing had happened, waiting for her outside the library the following day, holding out ice cream, chocolate and pistachio. Tererai had not wanted to embarrass him and walk past his car, so she had shoved her books into the back seat, and all had been forgiven.
Tererai had regretted this act of condonation a year later. She had decided to surprise Walter one afternoon with an impromptu visit at his student quarters after days of not seeing each other due to their clashing lecture schedules. And she had found him with another girl. Her Walter, heaving on top of a stranger on the bed she and he had lain countless times, giving names to their unborn children, buying imaginary houses and cars. She had opened the door to be ushered in by that poignant sight and a room that smelled like ecstasy and desire. Naturally, Tererai had lunged at the girl with a Vogue-worthy face and clobbered her until she left the house, scantily clothed, a little bruised — and Walter running after her. In the heat of the moment, before the realisation that he had chosen the other girl, she had run after him, the pain and shock of it all already flowing down her cheeks.
When she finally managed to catch up with him, what she had expected to be an apology had instead been a brawl. He had punched and cussed at her, as if she had been at fault, as if somehow she had inconvenienced him. He had easily overpowered her, gotten hold of her hands and dragged her out of the gate, the other residents watching from their windows, the spectacle making them ignore her cries for help. Even then, the pain of skin against pavement, of stones against flesh as Walter hauled her, did not hurt her as much as the fact that Walter had run after the other girl. Outside the gate, he had berated her even more, given her transport money as an afterthought, and sent her to her campus in shame.
Those who had not seen it could not believe it. How could the kind and soft-spoken Walter cheat and treat a woman that way? It must have been the gossipmongers trying to tear the lovely couple apart. Thieves must have attacked her on her way to campus. And that is the story Tererai ran with to save face. She had nursed the wounds for days, and not once did Walter call or make any effort to make amends. Walter’s friends had told her countless times that they had never seen him happier, that she was the only girl in his life. After the fight, they had come up with excuses, like how he was ashamed of his actions, how he had sent them to check up on her, how Walter was this, and Walter was that — everything except the guy who showed up, faced her, and apologised.
But after a month, they had found each other’s arms again. They had survived it, Tererai’s friends said, and called it undying love, but she knew the truth. Only she had been the survivor. Neither Walter nor the relationship had had to survive anything. She was the one who had been humiliated, hurt, dragged through the dirt while his colleagues watched. They would never forget that, and neither would she.
THE MEMORIES CAME FLOODING back as Tererai sat in the front pew of Gentle Mercy Ministries, the First Lady. She looked at the empty seat beside her where Walter had been sitting moments ago; the dent caused by his heavy buttocks was still visible. He had gained considerable weight throughout the years, and his speech was now iodised by shortness of breath. Now, he was on the pulpit, belting out a chorus. She usually led the singing, but not today; her voice was stuck.
“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch...,” he discordantly crooned, lifting his hands high towards the unreachable heavens.
The heat in the church was torturous, but the congregants continued to dance and praise the Lord, hypnotised by Walter’s verve. The mugginess made Tererai shift uncomfortably in her seat, never mind that she had Jacque Mgido Cosmetics foundation covering the evidence of Prophet Walter’s sins on her face, the “man of God” whom she could no longer recognise without feeling disgusted. Her attention shifted to the spot where her Cameo Mexican silver stockings had laddered. She despised the gaping hole that was the root of the tear and the running pattern enough for it to be a distraction. It was better than listening to the rhetorical sermon that Walter was huffing and puffing at the podium, the stethoscope long since abandoned, the health guidelines he had learned forgotten. He still had the same fire for the gospel he had had in college, although Tererai now knew it was all an act — just like everything else about him.
Even so, everyone said she was too far into it. They had built a mega-church and had three children together. On top of that, Tererai was now the mother of the flock, the youth adviser, and the Sunday school teachers’ trainer. Yet, it all felt hypocritical because of the bitterness she held in her heart. At one point, she had thought it would kill her, but she held on for the children and for the church. Every Sunday she was in the front pew, smiling while Walter’s mistresses sat behind her.
She fulfilled her duties without complaining, but the First Ladies’ Club knew the burdens she carried. It was a group of women who all had one thing in common: they were the wives of the leaders from their respective churches — Faith Ministries, God is Good International, Hallelujah Group of Churches, Lambs of Christ Ministries, Eternal Word Synagogue, you name it. Without their husbands knowing, they met on Friday afternoons to chat and guzzle bottles of wine, where their poised speeches and laughter turned into schoolgirl giggles as the wine got to their heads. Tererai knew that none of them were friends because they had been united by something ugly — husbands who did not care. But the ladies made the journey bearable. They discussed everything from scandals and business plans to the latest church suits on the market and where to send their children to high school or university.
It was refreshing, and Tererai’s heart always broke whenever she had to leave, already anticipating the next catch-up. It had become a routine to drive home in misery after drowning in cups of coffee and water to dilute the taste and smell of alcohol on her tongue, only to succeed after gargling mouthwash from a bottle that stayed on her dashboard. She had met the ladies two years ago, and Walter had never asked her about the red eyes after the meetings. Feigned or genuine ignorance, it did not matter, and she did not care.
FIVE MONTHS PASSED after her reflective episode in the church. The façade, the hiding, and the lies had continued. Walter’s and the church’s financial records were booming, and there was no clear distinction between him and the church, which he often used as an excuse for not spending time at home. The crumbs of the times when he did, Tererai made herself unavailable, using the Women’s Association to explain her absence. In any case, it did not matter because Walter did not ask questions. Nothing more was needed; the distance between Tererai and Walter was welcome, preferred even. They made a joke of perseverance.
In those months, she had not attended the First Ladies’ Club meetings until Joyce called her, raising concerns that she was abandoning the ladies because Gentle Mercy Ministries was flourishing. No one could deny Joyce anything she wanted, and after forty minutes, Tererai agreed to attend the week’s meet-up. They were meeting a stone’s throw away from her and Walter’s house in Mount Pleasant, the house he had promised her on their first date as they walked around in astonishment at the architecture. At least they had done that right.
As usual, the meeting was a joyous one. She floated with the conversation and the bubbly, allowing it to loosen her up. It was a refreshing afternoon, and she admonished herself for taking a break from the bliss of their Friday sessions. As the sun began setting and they started ordering their cups of coffee and bottles of water, a bottle of wine came with their order.
“This is for you, ma’am, from the gentleman sitting in the corner there,” the waiter in black pronounced as she walked to Tererai’s left side, meticulously taking the bottle from the stand and placing it on a serviette before her.
“Me?” Tererai asked, unable to hide her surprise.
“Yes, ma’am. Here’s the note,” she responded, passing her a slip of paper.
A vintage bottle for a lady who looks like she will be able to appreciate its value. I trust you will need a nightcap, and I hope you won’t take this the wrong way. Please call me on 0712586326. Masimba.
The ladies giggled after reading the note, to Tererai’s annoyance. She left for her car with the bottle and the note. Without hesitation, she punched the number into her phone, pressed the dial, and listened to the dialling tone. Fear crept in as she considered what she would say and questioned why she was drawn to him. She found herself hoping he wouldn’t answer and she would let it go. But he picked up.
“Hello, Masimba. My name is Tererai, and I just wanted to thank you for the bottle of wine.”
“You’re welcome, Tererai, and I am glad you called. I hope you get home safe.”
She would get there safely, but whether that place was home was equivocal.
“I am on my way out. Tell me where you are parked, and I’ll come there,” his voice broke into her thoughts.
A few minutes later, his car was parked next to her van, and she was sitting in the passenger seat, eating up his words and presence like a child in a candy store. He had no ring. She had one. He was calm, and she was losing her composure. She told herself that laughter was good for everyone, and if people knew the jokes that Masimba cracked, they would enjoy him as much as she did.
“That’s quite a big stone. Do you mind?” he said, reaching for her hand, which she lifted towards him.
“So, you are married.” It was more a statement than a question.
“Yes, something like that. I have children, too. It’s complicated,” she responded, wincing but not averting her gaze from his brown eyes.
“I’ve been divorced for five years. That guy must love you. I don’t blame him. I’ve only been talking to you for two hours, and it appears you are a good person.”
“If he did, would I be here with you?”
He laughed, and his laughter reverberated in the car to her delight. She wanted to touch it, bottle it, and take it home.
“I see. You are in a domestic arrangement!” he said in between bouts of laughter.
“Exactly!” she replied, his laughter infecting her too.
She arrived home just after nine, and thankfully, Walter had not returned from wherever he had gone. She did not want to have to explain herself after such a wonderful evening. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt happy. It could have been the wine or Masimba or both. A delicious concoction. Long after she had retired to bed and as Walter slept peacefully beside her, she realised she had been in a candy store. She had consumed candy that had been hidden from her for years. The sugar rush would not let her sleep as she tossed and turned, replaying the evening in her mind. She knew the ladies would talk, but what hadn’t they said before, even behind her back? They all knew that Shuvai, one of them, was sleeping with her husband, and they did not say anything to Tererai about it. Tererai thanked her luck that she let Joyce bully her into dining with them after all this time, if only to meet Masimba, who violently came into her dreams that night like a whirlwind ready to shake the life that she led.
She allowed it, allowed Masimba to access her, and she wanted to see him again. So, she did. She stopped attending the First Ladies’ Club and instead began to spend that time with him. Masimba brought back a long-forgotten calmness into Tererai’s life. She had allowed herself to get lost in the chaos of her marriage to Walter. Knowing better from how things had started with Walter, she ruminated over the conversations with Masimba, praying she would not miss any ominous signs this time. All she found was warmth and a realisation that her moments with him seemed shorter even though their conversations lasted hours. He asked her to know that she could be happy, and it could be with or without him, but she owed herself that much. She realised then that it meant not being with Walter.
After seven months of meeting up with Masimba, she knew she could not let go of their “friendship.” She started singing again, not in church, but alone, as she was doing her chores or with Masimba, and she grew out her mane again. Walter noticed. His wife looked happier, lighter.
“Your voice still sounds good. It’s been long,” Walter bellowed one day as he watched her put on her makeup in preparation for church.
“I am leaving you, Walter,” she abruptly said.
Watching the disbelief settle on his face, Tererai saw Walter’s world crumble. Their marriage meant many things for his standing, publicly and in the church. The church. The church they had built together but had his name on it. The church that had sheltered him, covered his infidelities and other transgressions. The church that Tererai had been afraid would judge her for leaving. This was the only life they knew — living for the church.
“What do you mean leaving, dear?” he asked, his voice shaky.
“Divorce, Walter. I mean, I am moving out and filing divorce papers,” she said, her gaze unwavering.
“And the church?”
“You see, that’s the problem, Walter. You didn’t ask about us or the children, nothing except the church. The church, Walter, of all things. That’s what is on your mind? What do you love about it, hmmm? It’s not God, because God is love, and you don’t know what that is. Is it the money? The power? The mistresses?” She rose to walk out, her handbag in hand, igniting their marriage into nothingness.
She had thought about this moment many times, but she was not prepared for how she lacked any care. She had been packing her possessions and taking them out of the house for two weeks, and he had yet to notice that the closets were nearly empty.
It would not be easy from here. She knew that as she observed Walter sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands on his head. The custody of the children would have to be determined by the courts, and that was all she wanted from the marriage, her children with her. Turning on the ignition of her car, Tererai decided Walter and his church would only hold as much power as she was willing to give.
