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“Yes, little girl. A queen does live here. A sad queen who has everything she could ever want, but nothing that she needs. She is very sad and very lonely, but nobody can ever know about it. Yes, a queen lives in this castle. But how she wishes she could be a pauper again if only to be truly free again.” Marie mouthed her answer to the toddler as she wiped away the single tear that ran down her perfectly powdered cheek. Since then, Marie never looked out of that window again. She did not need any more painful reminders about the prison she lived in. Instead she spent endless hours wandering through the garden, baking in the kitchen or reading in the library. She made herself forget about the pulsating world beyond the walls that surrounded their house.
Another year went by in this slow and mundane manner, but then out of nowhere, Mark informed her that they were to make a trip to Europe. He had asked her to pack everything she valued, and from the tone of his voice it sounded as if they were leaving the country for good. It was at this point that Marie’s brave front cracked. She wept at his feet, begging him not to force her to leave her family and friends behind. He had turned his back on her and was heading towards his study when in one desperate moment she had lunged at him and hit him with a glass vase on his head. No sooner had the vase shattered than the man she hated as passionately as she had once loved fell to the ground in a pool of his own blood.
Her screams had alerted the household staff of the incident or was it accident? (Well that depends on whose version of the story you heard thereafter.) Everything after that was one big blur. What with the ambulance and its wailing siren, her being bundled into a police saloon, the detective’s insinuative line of questioning, she had just about had it when Dr. Mutua had rescued her from this vicious mob to run some tests on her because he suspected that she was suffering from a severe case of post-traumatic stress.
There was a huge media frenzy once details of Marie’s attack on her husband became public knowledge. Reporters followed her to the court room, to her house and everywhere she went. Marie learned to utter the words “No Comment” into the microphones and tape recorders that were thrust in her face with the same relative ease as she had previously smiled for photographers. She withdrew further into a life of seclusion at her mansion to avoid all the pressure and callous insinuations by press and public alike.
Weeks went by and everyday Mark’s condition remained the same. He had slipped into a comma, and although his doctors had hoped he would recover, his odds for survival got worse with ever passing day. When his body could no longer function without the aid of various life-support devices, Dr. Mutua had called Marie into his office to ask her to make what he thought would be a very difficult decision for a young loving wife.
“Marie, we have done everything that we could for Mark, but now we have to accept the fact that he may never get better. Even if he does regain consciousness, you must understand that he may never regain control of all his body functions. It would be humiliating for a man who was used to being in control of his own life to have to depend on a nurse to feed, bathe and change him. Marie, I know you still love him a lot, but surely you must see that he has lost all his humanity at this point. The best thing that we can do for him is to just let him go.” And with this Dr. Mutua had ended his passionate appeal to Marie. Euthanasia was still illegal in their country, but for a family that had thrived on bending laws, it came as no surprise that Mark had written up a clause in his will which would allow for him to be “put out of his misery” if the need arose.
“Do it”, was all Marie said. She gave him permission to do that which she herself had failed to do; kill Mark. And so early that August morning she had gone with Dr. Mutua into Mark’s room and in an instant ended the life of her ‘beloved’ husband.
Now Dr. Mutua was standing beside her looking very grim indeed. All of a sudden, Marie got this sinking feeling in her stomach. She tried to brush it aside by appealing to her sense of logic and reason. “He is dead now, so there is nothing to worry about now. Now I can try to put my life back together. Thank God he can’t hurt me any more…”
Her line of thought was interrupted when Dr. Mutua spoke again. “But to be honest, Marie, I was worried that it was a bit more than stress affecting you, so I ran some tests on you.” He paused for a while and sighed heavily before continuing: “There is no easy way to say this Marie. I know this will only compound the sense of loss you must be feeling now that Mark is dead…it’s just sad that he won’t get a chance to be a father to the child you are carrying now.”
Marie did not hear any of the other things that Dr. Mutua was rambling about after that. The only thoughts that resounded in her head were: “It will never really be over. He made sure that there would always be a constant reminder of him with me. I won’t ever be free!”
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Sylvia Akeyo
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Comments
Not Even in Death Will We Part Samuel-Malachi Odekunle | Nov 17th, 2004
This is a very powerful and emotional story. One could only wonder of the potential it posesses.
It is a Story that is so true to many people out there.
Not Even in Death Will We Part Maryanne C | Jul 2nd, 2009
Very touching story. Leaves us with questions at the end, too, like all good writing should.
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