Becky strode gracefully along the narrow path. A twenty-litre barrel of water lay on her back held steadily in place by a rope wound around it and looped about her head. Her upper body leaned slightly forward, and her eyes were glued to the dirt road on which she trod.
When she lifted her gaze a little, to have a good view of the way ahead, she caught a glimpse of Pabonya – her husband's venerable paternal uncle. A jolt of tension ran through her. But she kept walking, certain of the hostility radiating from him.
Closer now, she dared another glance—just in time to meet his eyes shooting like daggers at her. He leaned against the fence, his arms folded tightly across his chest. A cruel smirk played on his austere visage, and Becky's heart sank in a sickening plunge.
Lately, Becky had routinely been in trouble with him. He had turned callous and scornful of her. Most of their recent encounters, despite her efforts to avoid him had proved as unsettling as stumbling into a swarm of provoked bees.
"Why won't you listen?" Pabonya barked. The suddenness of it made Becky gasp, despite having braced herself. "How many times must I remind you never to dress in such atrocious clothes?"
Anger welled up inside her. This was the hundredth time he had berated her about the exact same thing: the supposed indecency of the clothes she wore.
"Look at you, walking around naked! Wicked girl. You should be ashamed of yourself."
Reflexively, Becky examined her clothes as though she had been oblivious to what she was wearing: a tight, black miniskirt, with a slit at the back, that barely touched her knees, and a red tank-top.
Her pulse hammered in her chest. Hadn't she tolerated enough? It was time to stand firm. Her gaze snapped back to him, fury flaring in her eyes.
"I don't understand why you always make it your business to tell me how to dress," she spat. "Judge me all you want, but my dress, my choice!"
Pabonya froze in disbelief.
Becky noticed. Emboldened, she continued to torment him, stepping even closer. "You have gone too far. My husband has no issue with how I dress, so why do you?" Her tone was steady, but edged with vexation. "I won't be subjugated by the old-fashioned social rules of the Kapsoket clan."
Pabonya's face tightened, deep lines carving into his brow. He was used to women addressing him in reverential tones. But this one dared to speak so insolently. Yet it was quite untypical of her; she had always swallowed his rebukes silently. How and when this peppery attitude had crept into her, he had no idea.
Her bold gaze still lingered on his face. It was deeply unsettling being the subject of her critical stare. And in that stern look, Pabonya saw a face that forbade further discussion.
Becky saw the defeat in his eyes. Her heart had fired off those words without consulting her brain, but now she nearly grinned, utterly fascinated by the impact they had wrought.
Defiantly, she walked past him before he found his voice to curse her. Left stewing in the sting of her rebellion, Pabonya watched helplessly until she vanished beyond the bend, his heart pounding with humiliation and rage.
Utterly rankled, he turned and stalked in the opposite direction toward home. His blood boiled as he paced away, swearing that he would orchestrate a wave of retribution to ensure the young woman paid dearly for treating an elder with such disdain.
She is brave, he thought, just brave and ignorant. Let her wait until he unleashed the wrath that would humble and crush her spirit. Soon, she would be entirely helpless under the weight of shame and sorrow.
***
Just before dawn the next day, Pabonya turned restlessly in his bed. Sleep had eluded him the whole night. That miserable episode with Becky would not pass easily.
He cringed as the memory of her words, which had played over and over in his mind, came flooding again, brewing a dull headache behind his eyes.
Had he stooped so low that even a young woman could scorn him?
Hatred simmered and thickened inside him. Hatred that had not just emerged but had been there for a while buried deep into his bones. Now it began to manifest in every fibre of his being.
He flung his thin blanket off his body and lowered his legs over the edge of the bed. Rising to his feet and gathering his garments, he dressed himself and stepped out of the house.
It was dark. The chirping birds heralded dawn.
He filled a basin from a nearby water water barrel and splashed his face. Returning to his room, he snatched his walking stick from beside the bed and headed out.
His resolve had hardened overnight; the unscrupulous, young woman in Tirita urgently needed enlightening about certain lines one simply did not cross.
In a daze, he set out on his little journey. With every step he made, his stride lengthened and his walking stick swung to the rhythm of his pace.
He peered through the fading darkness. Ahead, across the shallow river that marked the boundary between Tirita and Kures, the ground rose gently into a hill. Perched atop it were Becky's two mad-walled houses, roofed in corrugated iron sheets.
In one of them, the young woman might still be sleeping, unaware of the reckoning on its way.
Pabonya crossed the river. The dawn breeze whispered through the reeds. He began to climb.
Fifteen minutes later, he stood at the gateway to Becky's home. Much to his surprise, smoke spewed from the kitchen. He could not believe she was already awake.
He scanned the compound. At first, he saw no sign of her. Then he moved closer, and she came into view bent down beside the chicken coop, her back to him, washing dishes.
He paced towards her.
Becky heard his footsteps. She straightened, turned around and met his gaze. Though alarmed, a smile lit her face as she began wiping her hands dry against the leso wrapped around her waist.
Pabonya stood only a few steps away silently studying her.
Graciously, she extended her hand to greet him.
Pabonya didn't react, determined not to be entertained by such gestures of humility. He had hoped to find her in a similar attitude as the previous day. It would have afforded him a favourable atmosphere to engage in a verbal fight.
Becky, noticing the menacing look clouding his face, withdrew her hand . She was reminded of how she had crossed him, and perceived, that this visit was not socially concerned. Had he devised a way to settle the unfinished business?
"I don't come in peace," Pabonya declared.
With that confirmation, the smile on Becky's face slowly curdled into something different. "What does that mean?"
"Trouble! I am here to notify you that your welcome in this clan is overdue. With your outburst yesterday, you made an enemy of me."
"Oh! Is that so?" She puzzled over those words.
Instead of escalating things, it would be better to make necessary concession. "I'm sorry! I spoke so harshly!" she said grimacing with resignation. "I wasn't thinking clearly. Kind of lost my mind. I sincerely regret it."
Pabonya, having not missed the conciliatory tone in that voice, was amused. His dominance had been restored. But he wasn't about to leave it at that. "Apology not accepted," he spat.
"I was just hoping to make peace."
"Now is not the moment. You ought to have realized that there would be serious consequences. The battle you've picked would only end with one winner. And that won't be you."
Becky sighed in disappointment. Her efforts at reconciliation would bear no fruit.
She had once held this elder in high esteem. That was in the early days, when things were rosy; when he had showered her with favours - lending his men and oxen to help till her land. Then came an incredible dynamic in the climate of their relations. Pabonya turned spiky and Becky was differently regarded. He was eager to scold and appraise her every move with suspicion. That, bit by bit, chipped the respect away. Apparently it had reached a point where she found it meaningless to continue giving respect where it was not being reciprocated.
"So you won't forgive me?" she asked summoning a callous smile that reflected poise and fearlessness, "You came here just to aggravate me? You think you can scare me?"
Pabonya laughed incredulously. "I am not interested in scaring, but rather in declaring what is about to befall you.
Though Becky did not fully grasp the weight of his threat, she felt its hostility. Her heart ached. For how long must she endure his humiliation?
She gathered herself. "Perhaps we need to come to an understanding," she said, voice serious now. "It is because of one man that I live among you. I am neither married to you nor to the clan. If you, or any elder have grievances, report to my husband - he would listen. But don't barge into my house at dawn ranting like this."
"Again, that note of confidence in her voice—Pabonya despised it."
Becky had to resist his attempts at bullying and harassing her to give up her self. She would not allow him to destroy every facet of the person she was and replace it with a being of his own creation. Neither would she let anyone rob her of her ability to think and judge for herself what is right from what is wrong. Her ideals would never subscribe to the primitive notions, customs and traditions of the majority of those around her.
Once again, Pabonya had been rubbed the wrong way. These seething challenges were rude insults being hurled at him his own territory. Was he not a citizen of the clan by birth? Unlike her - a woman whose position could be substituted anytime? Was this not Kapsoket clan, famed for its strict adherence to the norms and customs of the tribe? Where was the respect for the elders?
It was clear. Becky was heretic. She no longer deserved to remain among them.
"You have forgotten your place in this clan," he growled. "And soon enough you won't be in it. I wonder what makes you consider yourself special. Marrying our son didn't empower you to hurl insults at elders."
"I am tired! I am tired! I am tired!" she suddenly yelled like one hypnotized hands raised fingers locked behind her head.
Pabonya stared at her with astonishment. She had turned black with rage.
He had anticipated this verbal exchange. But now wrought unnerved him.
"Calm down," he urged, his composure slipping.
"Don't tell me to calm down," she shot back. "You won't keep stepping on me like I am nothing. Hurry up with whatever it is you plan to do."
He felt the lethal bite in those words and it was another misery.
He looked into her eyes calculatingly, conscious of the fact that the confrontation was spiraling out of control. Soon they would attract the audience of the neighbors, gossip would spread, and Becky might even gain a gaggle of sympathizers.
He won't let that happen. He had to quickly withdraw and go tie up some loose ends; relay his plans with more precisions. He had to induce a few people to look at her in a bad light; a coalition to back him. A little stain on her image could turn most against her. Only then would he truly bring her world down.
He cast one last look at her and the flaming raging hatred in his heart intensified. He felt like grabbing her by the arms and crushing her underfoot into a paste like some annoying bedbug. But how sorrowful, his powers were inadequate to execute his wish.
To Becky's relief, Pabonya turned and left. She resumed washing the dishes. But her mind churned. Was he capable of ruining her life? His influence in Tirita, Kures and the whole of Kapsoket clan was undeniable. How would she stand up to a man of such stature?
She was not a coward. She would face whatever came like a brave soldier. And her husband would protect her. She was certain of his unwavering love. Nothing could come in between them.