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Writing Fiction With Nhamo Muchagumisa: The Wasted Prayers

To quench the inferno of curiosity welling up in her, Fiona visited the house for first hand information By Nhamo Muchagumisa So it was for Jana that Fiona had said all those prayers?

To quench the inferno of curiosity welling up in her, Fiona visited the house for first hand information

By Nhamo Muchagumisa

So it was for Jana that Fiona had said all those prayers? Yes, the bible taught the faithful christian to pray for their enemies, but when Fiona had prayed for Jana, she thought she had been praying for a friend, a saint even.

Not all good things remain good when they reveal themselves physically.

Jana was once the Angel Fiona had longed to see, now she was the fiend for whom no grave was deep enough to be a proper custodian of whose remains, yet the grave was gaping, not for Jana, but for Fiona herself.

But Jana had saved Fiona’s life, a fact not even the devil, no matter his desire to deceive would dispute.

Tinashe had shown his wife the bank transfer records, direct to the private hospital account where Fiona had undergone the ten hour operation that had saved her life.

“So Fiona Dear, I had broken up with Jana, but she was the only person I could approach for financial assistance,  only I had to lie that it was my mother who was ill,” Tinashe told her.

“A liar you have always been. When we got married, you never told me that there was once a woman in your life, and a son to the relationship,” Fiona said, banging at the table making the breakfast items dance on the table, his tea spilling in the process.

 

 

“I did not lie about her, I just did not mention her. After all we had broken up,” Tinashe reacted testily.

“Very soon you will be served with some important papers. Don’t blame me for what will happen next, blame not even Jana, only yourself.

The colour drained from the face of the man sitting across the breakfast table. Fiona was glad with the effect of her threat on her husband. It was not however an empty threat. She was going to file for divorce.

Half his property would be hers and her daughter’s. It was time she began to  live her own life.

All had been well until Jana had returned from the United Kingdom, where she had worked as a nurse for half a decade. The thirty-four year old mother had without delay reclaimed her space  next to Tinashe.

Tinashe had even bought her a house in one of the upmarket suburbs of the city. Fiona wished she had been spared the knowledge of her husband’s amoral escapades, but as fate would have it, a tragedy made the whole thing known to her.

An attempted robbery at Jana’s residence exposed the naked truth about the side relationship, that seemed to be mellowing into the mainstream relationship.

It was a tale of fantasy that straddled into the ugliness of bitter reality for the robbers as Tinashe had outsmarted them by pretending to be outrageously timid while the robbers ransacked the house for cash and valuables until he pounced on the one who carried the dreaded firearm with a baseball bat, striking him on the back of the neck as he bent down to search beneath the cushion of one of the sofas.

 

 

As one of the robbers charged at Tinashe to save his accomplice’s situation, his target leapt out of harm’s way as at the same time Jana aimed the spout of a sanitiser bottle at her husband’s attacker, released the pressure on the valve with her thumb, and sprayed the robber in the  face, making him temporarily blind with the liquid.

In a flash the gun was in Tinashe’s hands, forcing the gang to scramble for an exit from the house. It turned out that the gun was not even loaded.

Such a story would never miss social media coverage, especially as the neighbours desired to sympathise with the victims.

Fiona could not absorb the shock when her husband was mentioned as one of the two survivors of the attack while at the time she thought her husband should be in Mozambique on a business trip.

To quench the inferno of curiosity welling up in her, Fiona visited the house for first hand information, as the physical address had appeared on social media.

That was when she came face to face with Jana for the first time, and she had called her all sorts of names, some of which are taboo to put in print.

Things would have been worse if Tinashe had been there.

Jana responded calmly, but her words found Fiona’s heart like a shower of acid rain. “Take care my dear. You are on my turf, and only a few days ago Tinashe and I overwhelmed a gang of armed robbers. I don’t think you are that formidable.”

Fiona left the place, humiliated, the impotence of her anger effacing the little self esteem that still remained in her.

Next she had to confront her husband who had to be a good listener to allow his wife’s venom to tranquillise in a barrage of angry words. Denial was useless, and he had to let Fiona know the positive side of the relationship.

 

 

“I’m sorry for keeping the relationship from you, but she may not be such a bad woman, especially when she assisted me financially when your death had seemed a dreadful certainty,” Tinashe explained.

“But you said a donor saved my life,” Fiona said, anger and confusion taking control of her emotions.

“That was all that was safe for me to say that day, but Jana was the donor,” Tinashe said.

Tinashe rolled out of bed and walked to the furthest corner of his bedroom and unlocked the safe that kept more papers than cash, extracted the relevant papers, then displayed them before his wife.

To Fiona, divorce was the answer. Tinashe was free to reunite with his old wife, but Fiona had settled for the material gains of divorce.

Divorce having been granted, there were more court sessions  to decide which property went to which party.

Fiona held her breath as at the end of the fourth court session the magistrate read the court’s verdict. “It has turned out that all the immovable and movable property that supposedly belongs to Tinashe Nembiri all belongs to Jana Tazvidzwa.

All the property is lawfully registered, and  neither the court no the applicant may dispute who the owner is,” the magistrate read from a large sheet of paper.

Fiona stood up to leave the courtroom, but collapsed a few paces towards the door.

She did not hear the magistrate say that Jana, in an act of generosity would allow Fiona to continue occupying the house she had been staying in for a period of five years.

When she regained consciousness, Fiona was in a car, being transported towards an uncertain destination.

 

Nhamo Muchagumisa is an English Language and Literature teacher, and he writes from Odzi. He writes in his own capacity and can be contacted on +263771271478 Email him at: muchagumisan@gmail.com

 

 

 

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