Cookies and scented soap
By Johannes Adriaan Snyman
Hurrying past the duty-free shops on the airport, Amalia started to feel nauseous. The nausea actually started when she had to check in, but forcing herself to remain calm, she didn’t pay attention to the state of her body. She knew for a fact that her name couldn’t possibly have appeared on the police screens as a suspect, but still, her mind couldn’t help but to think of the “what ifs.” There was no turning back now. A brand new life will begin as soon as the plane takes off.
Her eyes glided over the expensive brand names in the aisle, but it all went unnoticed. Her attention was with Barry. The loving Barry. The Barry she once knew. The perfect husband Barry. The Barry everyone liked, and whom she loved with all her heart.
How is it possible that a person can become so controlling and so ridiculously jealous? Everyone has friends. Male and female friends. True, there were things that she couldn’t discuss with Barry, however hard she tried, but she realized his lack of understanding triumphed her efforts. She was so desperately hungry for conversations about the deeper meaning of life. About faith and relationship, creativity and the abundance of life itself. But he wouldn’t hear of it. He limited his means of verbal communication to rugby, braai and politics. The racial side of politics as he would get so worked up by the government’s incompetence.
It was inevitable that she would eventually find someone who shared her interests and her passion for spiritual and personal growth. It didn’t really matter if this someone was a male or female friend. What mattered was that she, Amália found a friend with whom she could share ideas and a part of her life that she greatly valued. She didn’t even spend a dedicated time with this guy. Their chats were limited to half an hour or an hour after church, never alone and always in the company of other church members. A church Barry attended once and refused to go ever again.
“They are living under the law,” he said. “They focus too much on the old testament,” he complained.
Amalia quickly glanced at her watch, then fixed her eyes on the numbers above each boarding gate. The nausea wouldn’t go away. Could they halt the plane while taxiing to the runway? Do the Russians have the power to arrest her in Moscow on behalf of the South African police? On what charges? She would be a suspect but of what? No, she didn’t think so. It’s always like that in the movies. Once that plane takes off, you are home free baby! But not yet, she must still get through the boarding gate. The gate where there are security officers. They have computers and phones and walkie-talkies and goodness knows what other means of communication.
Amalia thought of praying but quickly realized that it wouldn’t help a bit. Not after what she had done. She’ll ask for forgiveness. But now is not the time. She read somewhere in the scriptures that there is a time for everything and now was the time to get on a plane with as few incidents as possible.
Alongside the rugby, braai and politics, Barry developed a new line of thinking. A married woman, apart from work related issues, ought not to have any social conversations with other men, regardless of their relationship status. Naturally, this new line of thinking quickly escalated to more than a few intense arguments. She then, good wife as she is, sacrificed the conversations with her dear friend at church, but Barry thought he needed to make a point and posted the whole affair as a question on Facebook.
It came as no surprise that a few of Barry’s friends, through a long line of comments, fully agreed with him. Those Facebook friends, who didn’t agree, conveniently neglected to publically give
their opinion. He wanted to make a point and so he did. He was right. She read it all. One notification after another, as he thought it only right to tag her in the question he posted. Until one man, wherever he came from, sarcastically commented that if Barry felt that way, he might consider locking his wife up in the house, buying her a leash and taking her for walks every afternoon.
That comment did not sit well with Barry, and he eventually took it out on her. He restricted her movements in every possible way. He monitored her every move. It became an obsession with him, so much so that she was the one who ended up seeing the psychiatrist. “Bipolar,” he said, but she knew better. She knew where the depression came from. She took the pills nevertheless.
Until about two weeks ago. It was nothing serious, she just neglected to renew her prescription. The effect however was more serious. It was dark. She didn’t know how to get rid of the awful feeling in her head. She wanted to run away from herself. He came barging into the kitchen with his ranting over where she was the previous day. She didn’t think, but at the same time she knew exactly what she was doing. She took the biggest steak knife, turned around and forced it into his neck. Not once, not twice, but repeatedly.
It was messy.
The two ladies and security guard at the boarding gate were professional and friendly. Pre-flight procedures took a while but no longer than usual. The airplane started moving toward the runway with the airhostesses performing their safety demonstrations. The armrests underneath Amalia’s arms vibrated a little as the flying capsule lifted itself into the air.
A new life just started with newfound freedom.
Maybe Barry was right after all. Maybe married woman shouldn’t speak to other men. Men were not as creative as woman when it came to making cookies from the drained blood, and bars of scented soap from the remaining parts of a corpse.