Martin Egblewogbe

A careless incident when under the influence…

The result was bothersome; it seemed to harm the psyche continuously with an interminable vision of an iron vice slowly closing. In the end, it all was not worth the trouble. It did not help to know that under other circumstances this outcome would have been welcomed gleefully: a good bargain leaves everyone happy.

And everyday, it grew a little.

It was in this relentlessness that the increasing sense of unease lay. Rain or shine, day or night, it seemed unstoppable in its doggedness, though the effect often seemed so innocuous as to be ignorable: just a slight darkening of the nipples, a heaviness in the breasts, an extra line on the test strip. Most prominent amongst the signs was the cessation of the monthly event, yet it almost passed unnoticed. Usually considered an inconvenient routine, a person could almost be glad to be free. Except that the absence meant something else: a clot steadily thickening, thickening at an astonishing speed.

And everyday the anguish of knowledge and the vision of the vice and the urgency of decision; Everyday with stealth towards the day it could not be hid.

So every day…

For many reasons it seemed inappropriate to continue in the present state, though there were warm, cuddly thoughts of a cot and hope of life after life. The moral argument was strong, but so was the social argument; each side fully represented by the habit and the parish. Yet Christ, crossing all crises, was to be listened to above all else. But, could one sin be greater than another, two sins greater than one; were there sins too great to be forgiven.

Everyday, it grew a little.

Frantic efforts were made. Someone, moving in clandestine circles, scribbled a name on a scrap of paper. It was restricted, but one could only try. An acceptably seedy pharmacy shop tucked away in a despondent and poverty-ridden neighborhood was found, chosen because it seemed likely that there, such requests would neither be unusual nor unexpected.

Thin film of dust over shelf over shelf of medicine bottles and boxes; was the world that sick, were there so many ills? A false smile hid the darkness within, and the scrap of paper was duly presented. From the Queen of this medicine-demesne there was no smile, only a look of pity behind thick lens across the counter. Her voice, tired, cheerless, and aloof, was designed for the dispensation of good sense and medication.

“Some women think that this can be used to abort a pregnancy, but that is not in fact the case.”

A correct choice of words is much to be desired. What was sought was ‘a pharmaceutical intervention to cause a reversion to the former state.’ With delicacy, some forms of distress can be avoided. In making the request, therefore, the words were carefully selected, weighed, and practiced. No allusion was made to illegal purpose.

There are difficulties in the present condition. It is imperative that this mistake be corrected early, and more unpleasantness avoided later.

The lexical accuracy of the word “mistake” could be questioned. Great lies are often hidden in misnomers.

A response required measured tones, normally used for delivering the catechism:
“It was recommended.”

And the reply came in the same polite tenor.
“Still, a prescription is required.”

“At this time I have no prescription.”
“Then, it cannot be sold.”
“It is much needed, I assure you.”
“Nevertheless, the Law must not be broken. A prescription is required.”

Further pleading would tear apart the smooth veneer and expose the growing desperation; perhaps it would achieve nothing else. It was clear that in the openness of the pharmacy shop, even accepting to commit an indiscretion would be hard to do, no matter how cogent the persuasion – and certainly the Queen was not brazen.
Thus, slow about-face and exit, poker face hiding sinking feeling. But a small distance away from the shop, discreet whispers came from an alley.

“It is possible to secure the medication at extra cost.”

Would this offer be the rope to rescue the imperilled climber scrabbling at impervious rock face, or the rope callously handed to the willing suicide? The idea of salvation might be misleading. Not saved from what, but, saved for what?
The offer was take-it-or-leave-it.

“A special case may be made for your situation. Even so, avoiding the prescription will mean paying more.”
Did the price really matter, when the thing grew even as the voices passed back and forth? The exchange was made, Cash for the Chemical, pressed into pills.

There is much wood in the world. Shelves in the pharmacy became trees along the way to a door, opening to a room with a table inside. The cross on the wall hung a Wooden Christ looking on while the chemical was taken as indicated, but with a quickly swallowed shot of absinthe to assist the process. It had been suggested that a little alcohol would only help. The changes were hormonal; thus, a certain gaiety was noticed. Gaiety, not relief. It was the chemical: the chemical and the alcohol.

Everything living dissolves into blood. However, one is unsure of a decomposing cadaver: there perhaps, blood might be absent.

With the blood came relief, and stronger, remorse. Absorbent material was at hand; it now helped to put to bed as well. The intervention had been successful, but the problem and its resolution presented remarkably similar mental torment: the vice did not disappear; only the jaws stopped closing. Certain stains are permanent, though concealed within the folds of the garment.

Now the icon of the Holy Mother held greater meaning, the thorns about the Sacred Heart had deeper significance. Each struck a profound and bitter resonance.

When drowsy, voices cross over from the other side.
Has it now come to this?
Yes.
The cuddly suckling lullabies of the future…
No more.
Murder…
But that is certainly extreme. The notion must be rejected.
Evil…
Somehow, its applicability is doubtful, though the word comes to mind.
Sinner…

Once again – but perhaps it is not exactly something new, this far into the journey.

Drowsiness often gives way to sleep. Sometimes, though, there is an interregnum, and one momentarily reverts to wakefulness.

Martin Egblewogbe
Accra, 2005