Zora’s marcus

“Darling I’m sorry I cannot make it for dinner. I’m very busy at the office…” “But you promised… it is our wedding anniversary…” “I’m sorry I cannot do otherwise…enjoy you…Click”. Zora held the portable in her hand. She was motionless. The words from Marcus kept on echoing in her head. After years of deceit, denial and near death, the marriage had reached breaking point. Zora was now more than ever determined to find out the cause of Marcus’s behaviour. She was determined to find out where Marcus spent most of his time. She had even started imagining life without Marcus. Marcus came from a wealthy Rwandese and Ugandan background and the mixture of Ugandan and Rwandese blood had resulted in uncommonly good looks. His curly hair was black and his Almond shaped eyes clear like those of a newly born calf. He was of light complexion, had a set of gleaming even teeth and a perfect sensual mouth below a slightly aquiline profile. Although only a few years older than Zora, he had the self assured and chivalrous mannerism of good breeding and of an unusual culture. He deeply loved with equal passion art, music, antiques, sleek cars and beautiful women. His savoir-faire and aesthetic sense were far more developed than in any of his contemporaries and he had the irresistible gift of making Zora feel like a woman. He was her first man and he swept her off her feet. Marcus radiated energy. His aura of intense liveliness and awareness was extremely attractive. He had a special way of walking tall and straight and of giving his partner the undivided attention of his direct intelligent and arresting clear black and white eyes. During their University days, Marcus always stole the show owing to his multiple abilities. He was an all rounder in games and sports. He had an athletic figure with well-chiselled muscles and a strong pair of long legs. Friday evenings were always the time for campus girls to stroll down to the rugby grounds to watch the varsity rugby club play, and guess who always pulled the crowds… you guessed right, it was Marcus. During one of the solidarity shows, Marcus, in his final year, pulled a rare stunt, which installed him as the “ladies’ man”. Marcus had tried to dance to the tunes and sing along Sean Paul’s “Get busy” but failed miserably. But instead of being booed and jeered, as was the custom, he was applauded. This definitely did not go well with the men folk who always looked forward to Marcu’s fall. The guild canteen was always the place to be on Friday nights. There were two people who would never miss out, Zora and Marcus. They had become “part of the furniture” as one student casually put it. If it was not the guild canteen then you did not have to look any further. A glance at the University’s parking lot would always reveal a black Sedan, this meant that Marcus was in Viet (girls hall of residence), now his second home. Zora Banya was tall and beautiful. Her skin had a depth of blackness that was soft and tender. Her cheeks were like two fruits riper than blackberry. Her hair was so black soft and smooth that all men felt like sheltering from the sun in its shade. Her voice was sweeter than the sounds of a thousand and one musical instruments. She was everyman’s dream woman. At campus she set the trends for others to follow. A peep into her room revealed a luxuriant lifestyle. She had a wall-to-wall carpet marching in colour with the curtains and bed cover and a big wardrobe in the corner near a big dressing mirror. Zora’s lifestyle had far surpassed that of a student. A twenty-one inch colour television set found its seat in one of the corners of her room. This attracted many of her less fortunate neighbours who always flocked in to watch soaps and news. Zora and Marcus’s wedding hit the headlines that year. Saint Francis chapel was filled to capacity with friends, parents and well-wishers from all walks of life. Clad in a black blazer, white shirt and black bow tie, you could mistake Marcus for Denzel Washington. Zora looked radiant in an ivory colour dress and embroidered veil. “If there is any one who knows anything that can stop this wedding please say it or forever hold your peace,” said pastor Murenzi. There was dead silence in the chapel. There was no one who could dare lift his /her hand. The couple was flawless. The vows that were made that day would come to be tested with time. Zora’s failure to conceive during the first year in marriage came as a rude realization to her. She moved from clinic to church to shrine but there was not a sign of an end to her predicament. Zora had developed a complication that dazzled doctors. (To be continued) Email: burkepal@gmail.com