The Place Beyond Her Dreams by Oby Aligwekwe (english novels for students .txt) 📗

I’ve been trying to do,” I said after I opened my eyes again.

“You’re doing a poor job at it.”

“How?”

“I’m glad you asked,” she said, kneeling before me and taking both of my hands in hers. “Listen carefully,” she said.

“I am listening,” I said, waiting eagerly for her to begin.

“No. Look at me. Not like Ifedi, your friend or companion, or whatever else you see me as now. Really look at me.”

“Yes, I’m looking at you.”

I sniffed and took a good look at her. The creases and lines around her mouth told the story of the thirty-five years she’d spent on this earth. There was sadness—deep sadness—in her eyes. My apprehension increased the longer I looked at her, so I sighed and tried to look away.

“What do you see?” she asked, dragging my chin to continue facing her.

“I don’t know,” I gasped in protest. “Stop acting as if I’m just seeing you for the first time. You look a little tired. Leave me alone. I need to rest.”

Taken aback, she released my chin but ignored my comment.

“I’m sorry, Ifedi. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Do you think this is the life I wanted for myself? Before you respond, I’ll first say that I have no regrets. I have worked for you for several years now. If you recall, I was barely an adult when I came to live with you and your grandparents. I loved you from the moment I set my eyes on you, but what you don’t know is that I too had hopes and dreams of my own. I was even in love at one point.”

“What happened? Where is he?” I asked wondering how I had been oblivious to the fact that Ifedi had been in love. For some reason, the prospect that Ifedi had ever been in love made my sorrows disappear. I slumped back into my chair when I realized my questions had turned her tired eyes a bit teary. It was the first time I’d ever seen Ifedi cry. It broke my heart.

“I don’t know where he is now,” she finally said. “But I dream of him every day. I imagine that he is mine and that we’re here together. We have children running around the house, making a mess, and I don’t mind because I’m happy—too happy to care. And it’s all in here,” she said, placing a hand on her chest.

“Why?” I asked. “Why don’t you just go after him?”

“Why haven’t you gone after Okem?”

I stared at her in disbelief.

“I don’t know where he is.”

“Exactly! I also don’t know where this man I talk about is. He could be dead; I don’t know. He could even be married with children.”

“Then why do you keep dreaming about him?”

“It makes me happy,” she said, getting up and walking towards the window. “Otherwise, I would be crying just like you.”

“Like me? That’s not fair.”

The rain had turned into a slight drizzle and taken along with it the tears in my eyes.

Ifedi turned to me and spoke with authority. “If you love Okem, replace your dejection with dreaming. You will see how much better that will make you feel. Dreaming helps keep hope alive, hope for the future. It’s a way for you to let go without feeling as though you’re betraying him.”

“I don’t think it’s as easy as you make it sound.”

“What do you have to lose? Try it.”

From that day, I dreamed instead of crying. I dreamed that Okem was back, and we got married in a lavish ceremony, and we had children and that we lived to a ripe old age. My dreams replaced the dejection I felt. I slowly recovered and became happy again. I was to graduate by the end of that year, and my grandmother organized a huge party. Albert asked me to marry him again at that party, and I said yes. Albert loved me, so it was easy. I still hoped Okem would be back, and I still dreamed about him occasionally, but I loved Albert in a different way, and I was willing to make it work. Besides, no one had heard from Okem since he left. Everyone wondered if he was still alive. I wondered if he would ever come back to Ntebe.

* * *

Months of intense grooming at the palace in Ide followed my betrothal to Albert. It was necessary for me to become the wife of the future King. A driver picked me up daily from Ntebe and drove me to Ide for the exercise. The process included training on etiquette and ethics suitable for a queen. We carried out several traditional rites, some of which made me uncomfortable, but I brushed them off as necessary for a future queen. It was not until I complained to my grandmother that she made everything clear. After a day of intense training in Ide, I sat down in her room and asked her what I'd been meaning to for a while.

“Why do I have to learn so much? I don’t even think Albert is going through as much as I have to, and he is to be king, not me.”

“How do you know he’s not going through worse? You don’t attend his sessions with him.”

“I know that he is undergoing less torture for a fact. Do you see all they’ve put me through? I did not ask for this.”

“Listen, dear. When you finally get married, your husband will be the head. You will be the neck. As the neck, your role is as important as that of the head, even likely more important than his because no matter what the head wants to do, the neck will have to approve as the former could not possibly move without the latter.”

“But what if I ruin everything?” I asked after a moment’s pause.

“You cannot run away from your calling. This is what you have been called to do. You tried to run away once and got pulled back by providence. The same providence will keep restricting you no matter