Novel Excerpt: Secrets, Lies, and the Other Women

A Novel Excerpt from The Home We Built

An upcoming novel by Betty Phanzu

Novel Excerpt from The Home We Built: Secrets, Lies, and the Other Women

Back in 1978, after firing his first mistress, Marc-Antoine’s next secretary found herself pregnant. “Found herself” Abigaëlle would often think sarcastically. Did she wake up and magically be with a growing belly? And how did she know that Marc-Antoine was the father?

Well, he came clean to her, one evening that year, with a flower bouquet in his hands and a narrative that made him sound like a victim of Jezebel.

- She is getting an abortion, Abigaëlle said coldly.

- Chérie? Surely not! What if it’s a boy? Cried Marc-Antoine.

- I do not care Marc. She is not keeping it. I am calling Dr Tshibamb, and taking her to the clinic. She is getting an abortion.

Often, painful experiences made some people fragile, some much stronger, but in Abigaëlle’s case, her pain had made her numb. Her grandfather was, throughout his life, behind his debonair personality, physically abusive with her grandmother. And she was raised to know when to leave. But she loved Marc-Antoine. On his best days, he was caring, and she knew he would never lay a hand on her. How would she then get herself to forgive him for his second affair, which this time resulted in a pregnancy?

- I don’t know what to say chérie…

- You should have thought about it before having unprotected sex, Marc-Antoine.

- What will God think of us?

She was stoic. She had made up her mind. Having turned to the other side of the bed she uttered under her breath:

- Please see yourself out. I do not want to share the bed with you.

Marc-Antoine prepared to leave the room, with his tail between his legs, and a pillow under his arms. You could see a tear rolling down his face, no matter how much he tried to hold it in.

- Rid me of these hideous flowers too, said Abigaëlle, her back still turned to him.

The atmosphere was cold. He grabbed the flowers from her side of the bed and kissed her cheek. She did not move or utter a word as he headed to the living room. He had to call Mélanie to let her know his wife knew about it, and there was nothing that neither of them could do to keep the baby.

The next morning, as she mechanically folded the laundry, she noticed the foreign perfume on Marc-Antoine’s shirt for the first time. Then it came back to her. The first time she smelled it was 4 months ago, when Mélanie, his new secretary started working for him; and it all made sense.

The year was 1978. Abigaëlle placed an appointment with Dr Tshibamb the following day, then called her mother to let out an ugly cry. After which, she prepared to pick Mélanie up from Marc-Antoine’s office with her driver, Freddy. The ride to the clinic was silent.

Dr Tshibamb knew the reason for that day’s appointment. He remained professional while Abigaëlle was in the waiting room. “Let me know when you feel a pinch,” he told the secretary, who lay on her back with her legs on the rests. Once the procedure was complete, Mélanie asked to be taken home, as she would need the rest of the day off. The ride to her house was awkward, as she didn’t know whether to be thankful for the free medical service or angry at the lack of autonomy over her own body. It was not the first time she had been with an older man. This time, however, the older man’s wife was a vigilant viper, and her venom was painful.

Parked in front of her house, Abigaëlle announced to Mélanie the end of her employment too. Once She was out of sight, the mother of two let out a scream and cried in the backseat of their Honda As Freddy proceeded to drive and hit the road.

- Madame, would you like me to drive you to Séraphine?

- I’m fine, Freddy. Just take me home.

Once home, she ordered Caro to pack a suitcase and asked Freddy to drive her to her father's house in Lumumba, less than 20 minutes away without traffic. Marc-Antoine came home that afternoon to drop Jean-Paul and Thomas from school, respectively 5 and 2 years old. But no one was there.

- Chérie? Chérie?

He would call while searching the house. But no one was there.

Shortly, Freddy made it back home with the Honda.

- Freddy? Is Madame gone on some errands?

- No sir. She asked me to drive her to her parents.

- In the Commune of Lumumba? "Of course, what a dumb question" He immediately thought.

- Yes sir, responded Freddy.

- Gosh… I guess you can head home early, thank you, Freddy.

As the driver handed him the keys to the car. Marc-Antoine stared at the photographs on the mantelpiece. The boys, their mother—his family, his legacy. How many years had it been since he’d thought of them that way? No matter how much he tried to rationalize it, he couldn’t deny the bitterness in Abigaëlle’s eyes the previous night.

He had to face it. She was not going to conceal his affair this time and he would have to own up to it in front of his in-laws on this very day. Before that, he had to go back to work. So he took the children with him and grabbed some colouring books and blocks to keep them busy, hoping Mélanie could look after them while he wrapped up the day. On their way to his office, he bought them some fast food and ice cream and wondered if they could sense that their parents’ marriage was falling apart…

In the office, he realized Mélanie had gone to Dr Tshibamb like his wife had promised and would not be here for the rest of the day. “Well I have to cancel this afternoon’s meeting, boys,” he thought. He handled Mélanie’s paperwork while the kids kept busy with some food and toys.

In the evening, his heart was racing inside his chest. He put a sweater on each of his sons, then buckled them in the back seat. The ride must have rocked them to sleep because it didn’t take long for them to close their eyes. He was alone with his thoughts. How did he put himself in this position? What did Dr Tshibamb think of him? He promised Abigaëlle to be better, but this time, he took it too far. What did God think of him? As for what he thought of himself, all he could feel was disgust. He wished he could rewind time and not be so selfish. The boys required a lot of his wife’s time and energy. She had lost so much weight after Thomas’ birth, barely having an appetite for anything. The only things she enjoyed were chicken wings from the Lebanese restaurant close to his job, and he hadn’t bought her any in months…

The first time he stepped outside of his marriage was out of curiosity. Her name was Anita, 23 years old; she had the softest voice he had ever heard. Oh, how he loved how she said his name. He grew fond of her out of the habit of having her around and having her do as he said without much question. Curious about how far he could push it, he found himself abusing the power he had over his secretary in selfish ways. He flirted with her, and she flirted back. Her skirts became shorter over time and tempted to touch, he gave it a try. It lasted a year until Abigaëlle confessed a discomfort to him around her private parts, that became extremely itchy out of what seemed like nowhere. He deflected her and suggested that she switch to cotton underwear, as her current ones could be the cause. Filled with guilt, he fired Anita, telling her the practice was undergoing some expense cut, and the position would have to be put on standby. “I’m sorry to announce it to you this way, but we are going through the roughest time in years and will unfortunately have to part ways with you.” In her compliant nature, she didn’t fight it. She packed her belongings, emptied her drawers, handed over her files, and saw herself out.

Two months later, he confessed to Abigaëlle, who had not spoken to him for two weeks, which felt like forever. But they made up the best way they knew how and then, lying side by side, staring into each other's eyes, he promised it would never happen again.

Alas, with the amount of administration and phone calls his practice required, the position was vacant again. That’s when Mélanie was referred to him by his brother and friend Thierry. At first, she seemed professional, having been vetted by Abigaëlle herself. She gave the green light, and he hired Mélanie. But one morning, after an argument with his wife over the water bill due to the garden upkeep, he was tempted by his old ways once more. He started a pleasant and casual conversation with Mélanie, asking her how she adapted to the new job. Then, he asked her about her family and how she liked to spend her weekends. If there was any man in her life, and when she said no, he asked: “Why? An attractive woman like yourself, smart, with a nice body, you’ve got everything it takes to please a man” to which she didn’t respond, raising her eyebrows, eager to hear more. “Or perhaps you haven’t found the right man to please you?” he daringly said. That evening, he made it home late, for obvious reasons. And four months later, that is where his selfishness led him.

Why was he neglecting his wife? He thought his affairs could be a way to escape the cries of his children, and Abigaëlle’s complaints. But it seemed out of frustration, he sabotaged his family. He started coming home late from work, and would rather linger in the office, or grab a drink with his mistress than help Abigaëlle put the children to bed. He’d get home and everyone would be asleep. The food on the table, which he forgot to be thankful for, would be cold. But it would not matter because he would have already eaten.

Such were the thoughts of a man terrified by his in-laws’ wrath. Before he realized it, he was at their gate. His legs trembled, but he had to keep a cold head. If he tainted their marriage, he would be the one to clean the mess.

He hooted, and their sentinel let him in. It was almost a quarter past six. His hands trembled slightly, as he parked his car. He exhaled slowly as if that could slow his heartbeat. He unbuckled the boys, who were still asleep, and the noise from the car door woke them up.

- Where are we papa? Mumbled Jean-Paul.

- At Mami's! Shouted Thomas, who was ready to jump out of the car as he saw his grandmother.

He watched them rush through the front yard grass, straight into her arms, and the louder they laughed at her kisses on their necks, the more guilt he felt in his stomach. He wondered if Mélanie’s child would have been a boy and if it would have been welcomed by his family and Abigaëlle’s… Abigaëlle’s mom greeted him coldly and sat him in the living room. “Paulain will join you shortly,” she said, without offering him a refreshment.

- Maman? How is she? Shyly asked Marc-Antoine.

- What do you think? She hasn’t eaten all day. Hopefully, seeing her children will cheer her up.

Papy Paulain entered the living room, and behind him were three men, who ought to be his brothers and his cousin. Their expression was unreadable. Marc-Antoine knew them from previous family reunions about their farm. Only, that day, none of them were smiling. He felt himself melt into the couch, wishing he was a fly on the wall instead. He was in trouble, and the sweat on his forehead could show for it as he kept adjusting himself in his seat. Infidelity is an abomination in Sakata culture. Marc-Antoine’s behaviour not only hurt his small family but also brought much shame to his wife’s entire family. They heard his side of the story and questioned his intentions moving forward. Marc-Antoine had to plead for himself, and the four men decided to call in Abigaëlle and her mother to ask if she would have him back. Luckily she did, but said she was not ready to forgive him so soon. She asked for 6 months to recover in the company of her parents. The boys could spend the weekends there, but he would have to take care of them and their school schedule alone. At the sound of these words, he felt drops of sweat drench his back. How was he going to care for the boys on his own? He walked in hoping he would come out of it with his family intact, but there went Abigaëlle with her requests.

- That’s not all, said Papy Paulain. During those six months, I think my brother Moïse could use extra hands on the weekends. While the boys spend time with their mother, why don’t you stop by the farm?

That was it. Whatever Marc-Antoine could not pay in apologies and flowers, he would have to pay for in physical effort. Despite all this, he loved Abigaëlle. She was his wife, and he was willing to put his pride aside and do it all for her.

The next morning, as he walked in, Mélanie was not at her desk. Furious, he decided to call her phone. How was she wrecking his home and skipping work in the same breath?

- Mélanie, are you running late again? You must be at your desk at 8:15 latest!

- I did not know I had work today, Marc.

- Do not call me Marc!

- Mrs. Bukole told me not to come…

- She told you not to come?

- She said not to set foot at your job again and that I was fired…

Marc-Antoine was silent.

- Thank you, Mélanie. Have a nice day.

And he hung up before she could return the wishes.

Over the following two weeks, he hired a new secretary. She was much older; she would not threaten his marriage.

Six months went by fast. It gave them both time to reflect separately and discuss it on the weekends when the work at the farm, which was forty-five minutes away, was done. Abigaëlle was starting to look like herself again. The boys adapted well to the change, but Marc-Antoine’s body was constantly exhausted. Abigaëlle’s departure called for several family reunions, during which Marc-Antoine publicly apologized to her family and swore to learn from his mistake for the sake of his family. Her mother called in a priest who prayed over the family of four. They drove home, put their children to bed, and despite their exhaustion, got together in their marital bed. Marc-Antoine noticed a beauty mark on her collarbone, which he had never seen before. Or maybe, had it always been there, but because he had not seen her in so long, he was getting to know her all over again. Distance does make the heart grow fonder, after all. That night, they made love, with their eyes tearing up and their hearts full of emotions only they could explain. And the following year, in March, they witnessed something magical.

When Abigail felt her contractions, she knew it was time. Her bags were ready, and because there was no other adult in the house, Marc-Antoine woke the children up, put everyone in the car, and drove to the Gécamines Clinic. The boys fell asleep in the waiting room, and when their father was sure that mom and baby were safe and healthy, he drove back home with Thomas, soon to be three years old, and Jean-Paul, six, as they had school the following morning. Eric was born at precisely 37 past 10 pm and weighed 3 Kg. He had always been a night owl. Very difficult to put to bed. Eric Mwana Bukole, meaning son of Bukole, a reminder that he was legitimate. He was a helpful child. His brothers would use him to ask for a sleepover at their friends' and cousins' houses, and because he was the last born, their parents would often give in.

A young man now, studying law at the University of Lubumbashi. Marc-Antoine would affectionately refer to him as “Maître Bukole”. It was a patrimony in their house; Marc-Antoine went, Abigaëlle went, and so did their three sons.

The head of the household had since been more attentive to Abigaëlle but for some reason, could not bring himself to help her around the house.

She would have hated for her sons to turn out the same way. Although proud to have raised gentlemen, she wished she had married one herself. Despite the countless family reunions, they never addressed his affairs again. JP and Thomas vaguely remembered that time; anytime they would ask about it, she would use the moment to teach them the value of honesty: Honesty with others and honesty with themselves. But she suffered deeply inside despite her endless devotion to her boys.

She had often wondered how other women overcame infidelity… Was it always so lonely? Were their hearts made of stone? That they could move on effortlessly? Marc-Antoine had been her first and last boyfriend, after all. Maybe that was the problem.

***

If you have made it this far, I would like to thank you for reading this first public excerpt which has featured in the Kalahari Review in April. The Home We Built is a beautiful novel taking place in my hometown and exploring themes like family, adulthood, relationships, progress, politics and culture. This project is very dear to my heart and in essence, the reason for this very blog. I look forward to sharing more with you as I score more features. But that's going to take some time.

Stay tuned, and don't hesitate to reach out, I write back ;)