What I Remember

I remembered vividly the exact time his soul left with his last breath. That day, a part of me left with him. His body ran cold in my arms, with the reach of his hand in mine. 

I slept with his corpse for three days. It was improper because I wasn't supposed to be near his remains. It was tradition and that was exactly what a witch would do. He was the bravest man I knew, and I loved. Someone who saw what others were so afraid to see. If I was with him when he had life, why could I not be with him when his soul no longer flickers in his body? If I was alive in him, then I could die in him too. He was not Jesus Christ but lived just as a god would. 

Then again, a god should not have bones the texture of ceramics. A god didn't need to have lifeless eyes that felt so alive when I stared at them one last time. I wanted to reach him from within the cores of my soul and ask him what the afterlife felt like. I wanted to know if the walls of death were cold just like the way he left me with his remains. Was he wearing a sweater to prevent his lack of breath from kicking in? Just the air of breath was all I prayed for, even if the curtain of life had closed on him. 

Grief was the doorway to my limitless deaths when his family came to take his body wrapped in white cloth. "What happened to him? '' his mother cried. "I knew you'd be his ruin." Her words didn't hurt as much as not hearing his voice to counter that accusation. I felt useless because there were a lot of things our families didn't know, including his illness. That was okay but it didn't mean so much now that he's gone. 

They didn't know that Nosa was different when he was around me, he could be stern with the world but he folded like a child before the brightness of my eyes. Nosa hated coffee but loved tea. He was a quiet one but loved gossip to a fault. Except for working on the board of internal revenue, he loved the arts. Took trips to Sakponba road where they displayed brass work and strolled gracefully to art galleries. He hosted and sponsored little art festivals to promote cultural and contemporary paintings, brassworks, sculptures, and clay works that could serve as artifacts for decorating or keepsakes. He went as far as hosting workshops for writers and also showcased African books too. 

 I remember how he marketed my paintings like it was his own. Those canvases I bled all my emotions on just for fun. I remember the nights we stayed up writing one proposal after the other, also I didn't forget the rejections we got after and how we cheered up after sulking with alcohol. I loved the smile on his face when he said in too many interviews, "The reason I hosted those festivals was because we don't really have those kinds of events here in Benin City. The second reason was I did it for my wife and her carefree nature for her craft." 

They didn't know that he quit his job at the BOTR and got a job at Vanguard as a columnist. That was the real reason we moved to Lagos. When their Benin city branch developed well, he was promoted to the role of director but he turned it down. He didn't want a mere job to take much of his time, so he led the team for their online newspaper. It was flexible for him, for us. Money was never an issue because we had multiple sources of income but nothing was more valuable than his solitude and his time to write and create. 

 No one knew how he charmed me with so much love when he swallowed my moans all the nights he was inside me. "Nare, you are my irreplaceable. Don't ever forget." he affirmed. It was more than sex. It was the way he understood the language of my silence and looked for ways to help me heal when I broke. He would gather my fragments and piece me together like a puzzle. "Don't worry, I'm here." 

He never tried to fix me, he didn't claim to be the bigger person although I submitted myself to him. We broke and healed together, photographed our emotions with lyrics of diverse songs. After losing two pregnancies, when my ghost was all that was in the dark with voices in my head as the only music, his large hands would snake around my waist, swaying with me. Without the world's eyes fixated on us, we were two broken souls healing and moulding into one body. Other than that, we were an unbreakable force cemented right at the centre of chaos. When all was heavy, when my eyes couldn't close the void of reality, he would slur words of his poems as lullabies till my body conformed to rest. I never understood poetry but his poems were always familiar to me.  

When I asked him about the thought process of his poems, he replied, 

"I don't think of them. The best poems are the words that your soul screams every time you are in my arms. Most of them are not about you, but they have you in it." He never felt he was doing much because I did quite the same for him too. 

They didn't know how he became distant and loathed himself. I felt like an outsider in his life which hurt so bad that I lost another pregnancy without any contact. It was afterwards that the doctor said my body saw the pregnancy as a virus and I have to commence treatment if I ever wanted to keep a pregnancy.

Not that Nosa didn't care, he was just keeping a secret that ate him up inside. I knew because I felt it and he couldn't lie. So I told myself, whenever he was ready he'd open up. 

When I was sick, he found out I had a miscarriage. On that cold rainy day, he told me he cheated with his co-worker because they were both drunk. I remember leaving the house to stay with my father for two weeks until he was tired of warding Nosa off. I couldn't shake off the depression from my skin, because that was what he felt. Yet, the idea of his misconduct was heavily swimming in my thoughts. I remember stopping by to see how he was doing because I felt like a dying fire, only to see him drowning in the bathtub. 

The fear of losing him was greater than his mistakes. I can still piece the words I told him. "If you want to die please be bold and tell me."

Then he said, "There won't be any need for that because you'd know." 

***

After Nosa's funeral

Nosa was put to rest a month ago and the only thing on my mind is his last words to me. "If I'm not cremated, I will return to you. You'd feel me in everything I hold dear." His raspy voice echoed through the walls of the house, in the dark, and my thoughts too. He was always a breath away. This house felt like the oblivion I've always craved. I just didn't think it was this way. He loved the feeling of emptiness too maybe more than I did, but did he love the void that comes with not being with me? because I don't.

"Nare, you need to at least leave your bed and eat something." Niyi pleaded. My twin sister has been with me. We settled with the idea that she was looking out for me. I loved having her around but at the same time, I didn't. 

"You haven't said a word since your husband's funeral. It's not good for you and the baby." 

"How did you know?" 

"I have children too. I know the symptoms when I see it."

I turned to the other side of the bed. 

"I don't know how you feel, but if he was here he would be furious." 

"Well, she's right." His voice came in again. 

"I can feel him everywhere, I can hear him. It's like I'm missing something in between." A sigh escaped from her. At this point, she didn't know what to say, she went numb. 

"I can understand that. It is because of what you had with him, you both had a connection that's difficult to sever." she said, reaching for my arms. I couldn't even cry anymore, I desperately needed to skip this phase. Nore informed me that she needed to go check on her family and I was left all alone again. 

I took his journals from the drawer beside my bed. I needed to wrap myself in his presence through his words. 

I'm here when you need me. 

I'm connected to you by heart, 

For as long as yours beat, I will be 

more alive than ever.

Just beckon on me and I will be yours.

"I wish you were here, babe. I honestly can't do this." I felt listened to, talking out loud in tears instead of bottling them up. 

"You can." I felt those familiar hands around me. I tried to face him —at least to see the truth—but his firm grip prevented me from doing that. It felt like I was sinking in a bubble of deja vu. 

"Have you been with me all this while?" He kissed my neck and replied yes. 

"Then why am I just realising this?" It felt like we'd done this before and it was making me lose my mind. 

"We saw in the library, Nare. In the kitchen, when you sat outside the house in tears, we talked but you just can't remember," he said underneath that raspy voice. 

"Wh…why?"

He sighed and released his hands as I turned to see him. His body was gradually turning cold. He was dressed in his casual clothes and it brought smiles to my face. 

"Most times when you see me, you cannot hold the memory, You only latch on to the conversations. It will feel like you're making them up in your head. Knowing you, you'd want to piece everything together."

"Of course." I cut him off. Did he expect me to not make sense of it all? I would do anything to have him near me. 

"You are not listening to me, Nare. There would be gaps in your memory and you may die because your grief would intensify. It's best if you don't beckon on me." There was a hint of sadness hovering around him, it was almost like he had no choice.

"That's not possible."

"Think of the children you have inside you."

"I ca…n't."

He gave me a small kiss on my swollen cheeks. " It is better to feel grief only when I'm in your thoughts, Nare. Grief is a passage for the desire of the past to intertwine with this realm. In this case, I can't just leave you alone. As long as you are alive, I will always be drawn to this world. That doesn't mean I should put you in harm's way. I am always in your thoughts, you can feel me around this house."

"It's not easy Nosa"

"Try, darling."

"How?"I cried out. 

"You'd feel me in everything I hold dear." he broke a small smile as confusion was written all over me.

"Letters, baby. You can write to me, I will answer."

The last thing I remember was the leftovers of our conversation and the series of illnesses that followed right after that. 

©Izogie