“I’m tired of your acts! It is time you told me EVERYTHING!” Jane exploded when Morris walked into their living room. Her bloodshot eyes revealed the magnitude of anguish she must have suffered, while he enjoyed his rest.
He froze in his tracks. Jane stormed out of the room and disappeared into the bedroom.
“Honey, what is the problem? I don’t understand.”
He followed her. He found her standing by her dressing table looking out the window, sobbing and shaking.
“Would you mind telling me what this is all about?” Morris boomed.
Jane spun, sharply, on her heels and her eyes threatened to blow up. Her lips trembled, barely completing words.
“I’ve suspected many things for long! I’ve watched your steps, and I feel like the time to face the truth is NOW!”
“You no longer touch me. There is no longer an iota of love between the two of us-all because of that witch in a mini-skirt!”
“YES! Don’t deny it! You are having an affair with Raisy.” She dropped the bomb-shell.
It stung, like a red-hot pin going through his heart. Two decades of an introvert’s faithfulness was wounded; set on fire when he least imagined it. His anger started boiling bit by bit…
“See! You can’t utter a word for yourself, because it is the truth!”
“You’re accusing me of an affair? With our own neighbour?”
“Our neighbour MY FOOT!” Jane blasted shaking a finger. “Why doesn’t she stop by our gate like you do every other day at her place? Ehe?”
That was it. Morris turned and stomped off. He yanked the garage’s door and went inside. He grabbed one of the sharpest machetes...
Still enraged, he half-ran towards the family coffee garden about seventy meters away. The sun simmered on a bright cloudless sky and the birds played, unconcerned, on the fruit trees all around.
Morris went into a psychic chopping spree. He cut off branches, one coffee bush after another, swinging arms like a robot. From every pore of his skin, sweat streams poured before soaking into his vest and khaki shorts.
Thirty minutes later, all their bushes were stripped off branches; a task that ordinarily consumed one and half hours of careful pruning.
On the patio later that evening...
“I was afraid you would harm yourself, the way you cut those branches.” Jane confessed dabbing his blistered palm using a cotton wool dripping with disinfectant.
Other wounds, especially those on his legs, inflicted by falling branches, were long cleaned-n- drying. All his muscles complained at the slightest movement.
Jane finally rose to her feet.
“Can I get you more coffee? There is some more in the kettle.” Would she ever wait for the answer?
“Yes darling, more coffee please...”