“The Housekeeper”

On the night of Donald Trump’s insurrection, the lady finally told Dad the story of the two women who vanished after they got the massage of their lives. The massage of their lives, she always said. In fact, Dad had heard so many mentions of this jaw-dropping massage from the lady that he was beginning to lose interest. But he could not afford to stop her from constantly mentioning it, for he was now a man with no choice or volition left to him in the world. Before the night of the insurrection, after every of Dad’s request for a massage and after mentioning the famous massage that caused two women to vanish, the lady would knead his body, if it pleased her – if she was in the mood. And Dad always waited, hoping to hear this story, pretending to be in awe of her powers that could make someone or rather, people, to vanish with a massage. But he forgot that what one did not know was greater than him. That night, they were sitting in the master’s bedroom, a spacious room with a king-sized bed the size of a volleyball court, with its walls finished in flourishing white stucco, and a television so huge the images in them swallowed the viewer. The sofas in the centre of the room – there were about three of them – were set around a coffee table and stuffed with so much foam they swallowed like a river whoever sat on them. And the lady liked to sit on the sofa. That day, for the first time, she invited Dad to join her on the sofa. They were sipping wine – a Carlo Rossi it was – chilled so much the bottle sweated out droplets of water. Dad’s head was resting on her bare chest while she caressed his nipples – this one, that one. His right hand was on her expansive laps, strolling on her flesh like a football rolling down a valley, and his left hand was holding a glass from which she was making him take sips. They were silent. She was a silent woman; she did not like much talk, especially after a good round of sex. Dad noticed this early in their union. The almost-mute television was showing the mob descend on the Capitol, while the wall clock in the room ticked. Chiki-chokom. Chiki-chokom. Chiki-chokom. The clock’s ticks were the only sounds anyone heard for long minutes. Then she volunteered, “I once gave two women a massage, and they vanished.” Read full story in Obinna Udenwe's collection.