UNREQUITED LOVE

“For instance, you know that two of us are the only University graduates in this school...” Her eyes were becoming sheer less and dim, apparently the effect of alcohol. She was becoming uncontrollably emotional and doting. I was becoming scared of the possibility of being roped into a fantasy. Perhaps it was simply a figment of my imagination; wishful thinking, maybe. I composed myself.

“Have a drink” Mrs. Duta offered again and raised her two legs unto the table clearly exposing her pink under wears and inciting smooth well oiled laps. I looked at the door and outside to see if someone was watching. There was no one. I tried to conceal my discomfiture and pretend that there was nothing new or strange about the on going. I tried to convince myself that I was now a mature adult, no longer a boy. After all I was now a teacher, no longer a student under parental or scholarly supervision. Mrs. Duta was also a teacher; but something in me was revolting. My father brought me up under strict Christian moral discipline. Would I now, so early, betray this upbringing? As a young and independent graduate teacher, I could now freely relate with the opposite sex in any way I chose. After all, my next concern might be to get married. Mrs. Duta was elegant, ardent, seducing, enticing, girlish, but something in me quickly prompted a danger signal in two words “...BUT MARRIED”. Adultery was desecrating and profane, at least so I thought from my background. That put me off quickly, and I fearfully erased all the untoward thoughts as figments of my own imagination. I remembered Oscar Wilde’s musing that ‘there is no such thing as morality or immorality in thought’. I also remembered in Shakespeare’s Macbeth, “The attempt and not the deed confounds us to the sticking place.” I tried to forgive myself, and regained my composure once more.

I curtly and nervously congratulated Mrs. Duta once again for the promotion and replied that the party was an occasion to look forward to. She smiled affectively, and sluggishly opened her side table drawer. She brought out a bundle of barbecued meat on sticks wrapped with an old newspaper.

“You won’t have a drink with me. Why not have some suya,” she offered. I was hesitant but she urged me on. “You appear too tensed. Why don’t you relax a bit? All work and no play makes Mr. Ezennia a dull guy.” She said and held out the several sticks of suya that she had unwrapped. “Come on, she urged on. It’s fresh! It’s hot! I just got it and it contains delicious sweet spicing... you may have heard of Bashiru’s suya in Idah...” she smiled.

“No, I haven’t” I replied.

“Then have a taste of it. You’ll like it. Come on!” She urged me on and took a bite of one to show me it was safe. I fell for it probably more out of my bashfulness than conviction, and to show I did not necessarily suspect or resent her. I courteously took a little bite of the tasty spice infested barbecued meat and thanked my boss. She was excited like one who had successfully executed a mission.

“How do you like it?” she asked.

“Fine, and very tasty!” I replied politely.

“Then have more! Now you can relax well and we can have a lot of good fun.”

I took another stick, stood and quickly repeated my request for permission to travel for the Christmas holidays.

“Oh no! Mr. Ezennia, you are a young man. You stay here with us. I promise you a good time better than you’ve ever had, better than those girls out there can offer you.” Mrs. Duta replied. I felt shot across the bows. Her charming exposed laps on the table caught my attention again, and I got somehow kindled. It was an incredible reality. I was tossed between emotive fealty and moral agitation. Minute by minute I was convinced I was in an exciting dream. I tried to exercise self control derived from fear, but I was beginning to have a strong penile erection.