THE HOUSE WITH A SMOKE GLASS

His face was pale, his nose flaring, and heart thumping as he held a paper on his palms, staring disgustingly. It was 18th July, a month he hated passionately because it was the same months his parents died. Now another incidence has happened, one that ostracized him from his rational consciousness into the unconscious. He couldn’t believe his eyes, as he paced breathlessly with revenge. Positioned outside on a maple tree, was a howling vulture, and knew it flew there to feed on his carrion.

Ethan was a USA commandant soldier, and has spent two years on military assignment in Iraq. It was a terrible war against the terrorists in the Arab country, under a scorching weather. Though he was a New Yorker and did several odd jobs before joining the military. His love for his country birthed his wish to enrol.

His four years stint dealt a blow with his skin. His fair, succulent skin became suntanned and blistered with mosquito bites, and the patches were innumerable, starting from the cape of his neck to the heel of his feet.

On that sunny morning of August, he took his wife Anne to a Serbian restaurant in their suburb in Chicago for a dinner. The restaurant was owned by Luka Vasilije, Ethan’s friend.

Luka was a five feet six inches, rotund and bald man, with three daughters and a wife. Together, they ran the family business. He loved his family and ensured his daughters spoke both Serbian and English.

Though the two friends, first met in 1985 at 8BC club in New York, where Ethan met his wife, Anne. Ethan was a club goer during his youth, and New York provided him the platform to frolic with young ladies from East Village, Manhattan and SoHo. Then he worked as an accountant in a bank, but weekends were always his party lives.

Luka, too, was a party freak whose ancestors fled to the United States of America during the Austro-Hungarian war. Though born in Brooklyn, Luka never shy from his Serbian roots. His parents always admonished him to be Serb-Americanized, and not to view his identity through one lens. But when they both died of cancer, a part of him left.

Ethan reminisced the year Luka rescued him from two armed African-American boys in a graffiti sub-way while they sat on the chair, waiting for their ćevapi and Rakija beer.

On their way home, they took a convenient shortcut through the Eastern rail.

Drunk and exhausted, they began walking through the quiet alley, staring at the colourful graffiti and rustling newspapers and sticks of burnt cigarettes on the ground.

This was a typical New York in the 1980s famed for its bookshops, movies, walls graffiti, artistry night clubs of homosexuals.

In addition, it was notorious for its booming streets of HIV/AIDS, homeless people, drug addicts, prostitutes centres at the 42nd Street in Manhattan, muggers, burnt cars and garbage.

In fact, crime and greed pushed several richer folks out, leading to the city’s flooding with a smorgasbord of immigrants, with a spike of new art, music and fashion.

So when the armed boys attacked them with knives, Luka, a fitness trainer, crumped their necks underneath his armpit, inflicting them severe injuries. But he also suffered a knife cut at his torso. Ethan knew he saved his life, otherwise he would have been dead.

“How was the journey?” Luka who hasn’t seen his friend since he went on a mission balanced on a chair with his flame seared blue apron.

“We came back alive. It was a tough battle but we overcame.” He said, glancing at his wife.

Luka’s third daughter, Sofija, interrupted, arranging the ordered menu on the white-clothed table.

“Thank you.” Anne reshuffled them.

“Your skin has really changed, looking suntanned.”

“You observed it as well. The heat waves during the dry season curls up and reverberate on the cerulean skies. Sometimes, we were on the battlefield for several days, sucked by aphids and simmered, stiffening, warm air. I almost died of malaria.”

“Honestly, war does no good. We kill ourselves for power, resources and for nothing. If only we can live in peace, the world will be a better place.” Luka gave a deep breath.

“Of course. But without conflict, soldiers won’t exist. The world is tussling between darkness and light.”

“Yes. I concur.” Ethan poured his beer into a glass cup.

“The meat is soft and salacious.” Anne added, licking her lips.

“I will be back. Let me attend to other customers.”

“Alright.” Ethan shook his hands.

“He’s such a nice man.” Anne gazed at her husband.

“Of course he is! From the first day I met him in the club, he hasn’t changed his manners a bit. Did I tell you how he saved me in the old days?”

“You never did.” She sipped her beer.

“Two black guys attacked us in 1983 on our way home at East Village, but he defended me. I owed my life to him, as every day, I kept wondering what would have happened if he never stood his grounds.”

“Another Bernhard Goetz. You remembered him, The Subway Vigilante, who single-handedly shot four robbers on a New York City subway train in Manhattan on 22nd December 1984. Though some friends are closer than brothers. But come to think of it. Why would both of you pass that road home knowing how dangerous it was then?” She raised her brows.

“It was my idea. We were drunk. So I told him we should risk it, since it was a short-cut. I never knew we would be victims.”

“My mother always warned me not to go closer to the train station at nights, especially after the rape of a seventeen-year-old student at East-Village subway in 1989 by an unknown rapist. You should count your stars lucky.”

“Honestly. A few people survived.”

As they dined, Luka returned shortly, but has pulled his apron and his raunchy belly protruded from his black top.

“How is the Ćevapi?” He asked, gawking in both directions.

“Nice. I can eat the whole restaurant.” He belched as he sipped the Rakija.

“You have it to yourself.” His friend burst into laughter.. “Anyway, have you heard of Marcus’s death?”

Ethan hunched back, his eyelids clogged in bristles.

“Which Marcus?” He gawked.

“The one that toured us when we newly came to Chicago.”

“You mean our friend?” His jaws dropped and eyes widened.

“Yes. He shot himself and his wife sparing their child.” Luka folded his arms across his chest.

“Why will he do it? Was he depressed?” Furrowed arcs lined on his forehead.

“His wife caused it.”

“But how?” He drew his chair closer to the table, gazing at him and wondering why he committed the atrocity.

“He caught him with another man on their matrimonial bed. You know Marcus as a respectful man with a short fuzz. He shot them instantly and shot himself before the police officers arrived.”

Anne’s legs and palms trembled, her forehead covered with beads of sweat.

“Honey, did you hear what my friend said?”

“I did. It was tragic. I hoped the family have the fortitude to bear the loss.” Her lips wriggled and heart pounded as she spoke.

“To be fair. I am disgruntled.” He bowed lugubriously, wondering if his wife would cheat on him. “Marcus shouldn’t have reacted irrationally. He should have sought for help. His death is painful.” He bit his lips.

“I couldn’t eat well for two days thinking of his death. When he was alive, he was such a generous and respectful man. I can’t forget how he paid for our meals when we first came to this city, how he housed and helped us secure jobs in a café. He was a beautiful soul and wished tabled his worries with someone.”

“People are going through depression and anxieties in our world. It’s more than what the physical realm can handle, and stemmed from the spiritual. A man mustn’t allow his grievous thoughts to overshadow his notion of existence. At his declination, he opens the portals for strange demons to enslave him, to unwind chains of purposelessness around him. Anyway, I will condole with his family, and I hoped we never experienced the horrible event again.” Ethan waggled his head mischievously.

When they arrived home, he tried discussing the matter with his wife, but the anxious look on her face suggested something was wrong. She refrained from interfering much because her understanding of the deceased and the stories were limited and linked to her past lives. She hoped her husband didn’t find out about her past. It would be disastrous, one that will tear the oceans apart and incur the howling of vultures.

Anne woke feeling unwell. Her lips were dry and cracked, and her tongue pinkish than usual. She prepared a cup of coffee, and returned to bed, while being perturbed by Luka’s story about the woman that cheated on her husband. She wasn’t a saint either, hunted daily by her past. Although until Luka raised something similar, did she know her secret might come to the limelight someday? But she was determined to hide it from him to save her marriage.

She leaned her back at the wooden fray of her bed. It was their matrimonial bed, gifted to them by her sister. She thought of telling her younger sister Kimberley of her past. Maybe she can help her with her predicament. She needed to have a fresh breath of air. Then she restrained. Even though she understood her than anyone else, Anne feared of betrayal. Her sister was a close friend of her husband’s before they met at the club. In fact, she introduced them.

“What will I do now? I am scared Ethan will find out the truth someday, and if he does, our marriage will dissolve. I don’t want to lose my family. My daughter is my life.” She sobbed inwardly.

She glanced at the table clock. It was 5:15 a.m. She couldn’t sleep well because of her husband’s thunderous snoring rumbling like the bellowing train tracks from a long day of work. Outside, the skies were still dark as the weavers jingled squeaky notes followed by a drawn out sizzling buzz. She reached for the window and thought of the day she met Ethan.

Well, it was in 1985 at SoHo club. She was with a group of friends for a night out, and wore a big, curly, and heavily styled bouffant, black, cropped biker jacket, crucifix necklace, door knockers earrings, kitten heeled sandals and light coloured makeup.

Ethan, too, wasn’t looking bad, dressed in a blue Canadian tux, blue denim jeans, and white New Court Victory Pump Reebok snickers. He has been spying at her at a close distance, leaning beside a white Buick-turbo charged V-6, parked at the rear end of the club park. But he made the first move, and they exchanged pleasantries. Ethan was full of humour, telling her of his dreams about their marriage and dream family. Anne was just laughing in her ribs as he cracked the jokes, but later told him she has a boyfriend.

Those words struck him, and at that moment, he was in love with her beauty, and nothing could change it.

For six months, he wrote love letters, sent her gifts and called her frequently on the phone. She was reluctant to fall in love with him because she loved her lover. But one Saturday morning, their relationship crumbled when he impregnated her best friend Jane. The emotional distress sent her to a month at a psychiatric hospital in Chicago, as she couldn’t believe her best friend had betrayed. This was her childhood friend; the girl they shared the same secrets. Because of Jane’s misdeeds, she believed the proverb that the ant eating a water leaf is inside it.

In further response to this backstabbing, she wanted to end her life on two occasions, but her mother came to her rescue. When Ethan heard of the saga, he tried consoling her by writing many unresponsive letters. In another way, the breakup was a means to win the trophy, but he was more sympathetic than the trophy, knowing how a heart wrenching experience of such can be.

After healing, she gave him a chance. Then he introduced her to his parents. Ethan’s mother, Vera, was against her son marrying her, but didn’t give him the reason. But his dad, Redmond, disagreed and gave him the green light. In their relationship, he asked him if she ever wronged his mother somewhere. She said they haven’t met before and attributed it to a mother-in-law and daughter-in-law stunt.

When they got married in an Orthodox church in Chicago, his mother never attended the matrimony, warning his son of an imminent danger. He has asked her several what the potholes were, and the reasons she disliked his wife, but he never got answers. Throughout her years, his mother and wife never saw eye balls to eye balls. The other would always disturb any space mentioned by either. This became a storm for the young man, who loved them equally.

He was closer to his mother than father because she was always there to comfort him while growing as a child. She prepared his meal, dressed him, and always admonished him, while his father was always away in the mines, struggling to put bread on the table. Though he doesn’t hate his father, but there’s this mysterious inseparable bonding between them. When obfuscated with his thoughts, his mother lifted his spirits, and told him to be grateful for every new day.

As she looked at the starry skies, Anne knew she betrayed him, as she forced herself to swallow the coffee.

“I am tired of life. It’s not worth living. What if I opened the cankerworms for the world to see? Won’t I be at a critical conundrum? But why did I give in to my emotions? Why did I do the most sacrilegious? Was I sleeping? Was a sinister spirit controlling my mind? Let someone tell me! Let the tumultuous deep blue ocean cover my guilt.” She fizzled.

“Why are you standing at the window? What are you thinking?” Ethan twitched, raising a suspicious brow.

“Oh, you are awake!” She recuperated, flickering a feign smile. “I was just glaring outside.” She sat on the white bedspread.

“It’s unlike you. You arm is so dry this morning. I hope it wasn’t what Luka said that gave you goose bumps? He wasn’t referring to you.” He stretched his arms.

“No. I am just having a migraine. I have been stressing myself, monitoring the new interns at the chocolate factory. You teach them one thing today, tomorrow they forget. I don’t know if a virus is always eating their brain.”

Ethan chuckled.

“They are new. So you have to be patient with them. They will catch-up. I have been in the same shoes when I worked as a mixologist in a bar. My boss always complained I was dull, not until I became the best shots mixer in his bar.” He got up and went to the bathroom.

She gave a sigh of relief, knowing her husband dissuaded her thoughts.

“I have to pretend everything is alright. The more I show my contorted face, Ethan will suspect. I can’t risk it. Never!” She entered the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

Ethan knew his wife was still worried about his friend’s narration. It was unusual for her to stand at the window early in the morning staring at the void streets.

“Is she really keeping a secret?” What could it be?” He stared at his reflection in a mirror.

He rinsed his face and returned to bed.

“Our daughter is coming back this week.” Anne said, folding a woolly napkin.

“That’s great! Next week is her birthday. I have missed her. What can I buy as gifts?”

“A big, brown teddy bear would do. You know she likes toys.” She added.

“I don’t think she needed toys. She’s growing and would be eleven-year-old I’m coming days. I will get her a red gown.”

“That’s better.” Anne said, taking a nod.

He digressed to Whitney, his daughter, whose photograph hung on the wall. Ethan loved her, but thought she has the semblance of his brother, Derek. Her Teutonic fair skin, imperious nose and angular cheek bones gave a vivid reflection. Growing up, Derek resembled their mother and he his father, but he loved his brother with his whole heart. He knew this. After the death of their parents, he helped Derek get a job as a clerk in a bank, fed and clothed him. But each time he took a second glance at his daughter, he saw his brother’s semblance.

Despite this, he didn’t give meaning, knowing she inherited a trait from their ancestry.

“Are you going for your friend’s burial?” Anne opened the curtains.

“Yes. Marcus was a man with a golden heart. It’s difficult to find generous people of his calibre.”

“Do you loved him because he gave you welfare when you came to Chicago?”

“No. Our relationship was strong. He was a friend and a brother. When I, Luka and Derek first came to Chicago from New York, we were homeless. The bank and bar I once worked liquidated. Things were rough in New York. The 1970s poor economic policies forced people out of jobs and the mayor’s gentrification of antique houses worsened it. You remembered how the city became a haven for derelicts and drug addicts. They were on the lifeline. So when we came here, he was a photographer and owned a studio at Michigan-Avenue, a major thoroughfare that ran north-down Chicago. On the hopeless streets with crack addicts and robbers, Marcus gave us life by sheltering and feeding us. It was the time you threatened to end our relationship if I don’t fix my life.”

“Then I was still young and head over heels with you. How do you expect me to be alone? You know, ladies are fond of attention.” She gave a coy smile.

“What if I never contacted you, won’t you go back to your ex-lover?”

“Not at all. He was a serpent, a lying tongue. He promised me the entire world, and to always be there in difficult times, but betrayed my trust. There is nothing compared to having staunch friends who walked with you in the darkness. My grandma said a loyal friend is a compass that shows directions.” Anne returned to the kitchen.

⭐⭐⭐

Friends and families marked Whitney’s birthday. The space wasn’t too large, but contained the visitors. The celebrant wore a big, blue birthday badge and a red dress. While the invitees were dancing to Steven Wonder’s Happy Birthday song, Ethan and Luka sat behind the children, discussing a business proposal. Ethan wanted them to set up another wine retail after they first dissolved. Luka gave an approval, since he would run it, when Ethan returns to his command base in California. While in this conversation, Whitney, who was blowing balloons with her friend, interrupted.

“Dad, you aren’t dancing with us.” She stood in akimbo, with furrowed brow.

“Oh, my little princess, I am sorry. I will be on the stage with you shortly. I and Luka are surveying a business proposal. It’s all for your future.” He caressed her blonde hair.

With each sweet word from her father, her eyes steadily aglow from the horizon.

“Mother, too, isn’t here. I have checked her in the bedroom and kitchen.” She uttered, breathless with anger.

“Where could she be? Is she bathing?” A spasm of worries crossed his face.

“She isn’t there either.” Her lips tightened.

He squinted at his friend, who seemed suspicious of her. Derek too wasn’t in the picture, and he wondered about his whereabouts.

“Excuse me, Luka, I will be back.” He held his daughter’s right arm as they went in search of them. Anne’s younger sister was blowing the balloons and decorating the tents when he approached her.

“Please, have you seen my wife?” He taunted.

“She was here a few minutes ago. I saw her and Derek exit from the gate.”

“She and Derek?” He sounded tremulously.

They scurried to the gate with him, thinking something was going on between the two. Whenever he visited them, Anne was always too obeisance with him, a curtsy that raises suspicion. Although he never confronted his brother regarding this, since he knew he wouldn’t betray him. But it was getting out of hand. On arriving outside the gate, he saw them having a conversation.

“Where have you been? Our daughter has been combing for you?” He gave them a stare.

She trembled with an adrenaline rush.

“Oh, so sorry, dear. I and your brother were talking about his pregnant wife who fell heavily with pregnancy on the slippery floor, and experienced a miscarriage.”

“Is that true?” He turned to Derek, whose face was on the ground.

“Yes.” He was grim and clear.

“Accept my condolences. But why would you hide it from me?” He moved towards him, placing his right palm on his right shoulder.

“I wanted to tell you after the party because I don’t want to spoil your mood,” Derek said in a low tone.

“You should have informed me. I will understand. I am your brother and want the best for you.”

“I don’t think we should discuss it anymore. She’s better now.” Anne cuts in.

“Yes, she’s better. Let’s return to the party.” Derek flickered a smile.

They returned to the dance floor. At night, Anne went to her daughter’s room, which was painted pink and emblazoned with toys under a lime of green light.

“Happy birthday once again.” She sat on the trim of her bed.

“Thank you, mom.” She held her Polly pocket doll on her chest. “But mom, I have a question.”

“Go ahead, my princess.” She was attentive.

“Linda, my best friend, said I looked like Uncle Derek. Is it true?” She felt the smooth texture of her face.

Anne’s hands flew from her laps, leaning backwards, and experiencing a sudden jolt of bolt running through her veins, and ceaseless breath.

“No. You resembled you father. People view the world from two perspectives, and humans to have their share of reflections. I can see a carton box and say it’s rectangular. Another man can call it a square. It’s the irony of life.”

“But my other friends also told me the same as Linda.”

“Don’t be mindful of them. They are children. I have to go to bed now. It’s getting late.” She whispered.

“Thank you, mom. Good night.”

She switched off the lights and walked lazily to her bedroom. On her bed, she faced the rolling blades of fan, with the meditation on what her daughter said.

“Is it true my daughter has Derek’s traits? Is my past about to be unveiled? How will Ethan feel when he knows the secrets? I am assailed by memories of my past that kept knocking me at every angle, no longer unfettering me from my bondage. But how long can I be silent with it, giving the impression of my irrationality in a chaotic world? I would be in self conflict to keep dying in this silence of raucous streets, without voicing my pain, and accept the dreadful consequences that come with it. Lying to oneself is understandable, but lying to the world is a sin with gravely penance. For when the truth prevails, and light overshadowed darkness, the liar becomes an object of scorn. I don’t want to be scorned by my past, even though the truth is dangerous. I will summon the courage to tell Ethan the truth, nothing but the truth.”

The ashen night captivated her with starry, heavenly bodies, each serving as a reminder of her ugly past. As she turned off the table lamp, darkness overcast the room, but the barn owls and bats emitted a blood-curdling shriek. She knew the worse would come, but at an uncertain season.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Ethan saw his brother’s picture in his wife’s wardrobe. He glittered at the monochrome and wondered how it got there.

“Was his wife having an affair with his brother?” He frowned and checked the back of the picture.

They took the picture on 13th June 1999. He stopped searching for a land document, which he thought was in her wardrobe. There were flurries of thoughts, with his arms narrowed to his arms tight to his angling body. He opened the left chest of the wardrobe and found lips sticks, and plastic bottles of powders, and a white cellophane bag containing their photos.

In one of them, he saw his wife hugged his brother.

“What’s going on? Are my eyes deceiving me?” He wiped them, sure he saw correctly. “Is Anne really keeping a private affair with my brother? Is she? No wonder she supported his decisions during arguments. But I might be wrong too? It may be a common shot when I was on a mission in Yugoslavia to redeem Kosovo. Though it’s still strange because Anne wouldn’t have taken a monochrome without me. Anyway, I know what to do.”

As he went through her old photos, he saw three other shots in winter jackets on the Alps. They were radiant smiles on their faces and their heads knitting as couples. As he saw these, an icy current drifted through his spine.

When she returned from work in the evening, Ethan didn’t tell her what he saw in her wardrobe. The corner of his lips moved up a bit, but his eyes were cold. Anne was exhausted, with crawling frond-like circles and narrowing dark tunnel. She walked lazily to prepare dinner, while her husband and daughter were watching a soap opera in the living room.

Ethan wasn’t too interested in the show, fidgeting on the black, leathery couch.

“Could it be true my brother had a fling with my wife, because people have been saying our daughter is his facsimiled?” He blinked at her.

Whitney, who has been so demeaned by his father’s melancholic platitude, smashed at the dingy molten magma on her father’s face.

“Dad, what’s going on? You seemed unimpressed with the program.” She fixed a gaze on him.

He sat upright, his lips flaying sideways

“Nothing! I was just thinking about my next mission in Sudan. I haven’t been. The government would cut to Africa and my leave short.” He hunched.

“Are you sure, dad?” She gleamed, knowing he was lying.

“I can’t tell you lies. By next week, I shall travel with the third command.”

“If you say so. But I will miss you.” Storms gathered in her eyes.

“I will miss you, too. It’s unfortunate my work doesn’t allow me to spend time with my family for long. It was the deal I signed.” He rubbed his palms.

“I know, dad. You are a brave man, who loves your family and country. Though there’s something bothering me. I told mother.”

“What’s it?” He blinked, wondering what was wrong.

“My friends said I have uncle Derek’s facial semblance, something I am not too cool with.” She said, sitting on the couch.

Ethan’s lips wriggled, wondering how she shared the same thoughts.

“It might be hereditary. Science made us understand we are by-products of our pedigree. Some children don’t resemble their parents, and looked more like their relatives. It’s called genetics. When you get to medical school, your professors will tell you more.”

“Really. I will be interested in it. Now I get the logic.” She tapped her chin, and a glow overshadowed her succulent skin.

Three days later, Ethan paced in his room reading the paternity test result, and he flushed with smouldered vindictiveness.

“Why will Anne and Derek ruin my life? I loved both, but they betrayed me. This is the result. Whitney isn’t my child. Oh, dear heavens! Swallow me. I can’t bear this shame. Is it a crime to love and trust people? It’s true, those we cherished stabbed us the most. Why me?” He clenched his fist.

He covered his face with his palms and waited for his wife, who was on a night shift at her workplace. When she returned, he asked her if Whitney was her daughter. Her jaws dropped, wondering what was going on with him. She hasn’t seen him so charged and pale.

“Ethan, what’s wrong? You have been acting strangely these days. Why will I be unfaithful to you?” She drew closer to him.

“If you come too close, I will strangle you. Look at this. You have been messing with my brother. I am finished. You betrayed my trust.” He thundered and showed him the paternity result.

“Please, I can explain. It’s not what you think.” She begged with a pool of tears.

“Explain what? I have wasted my life raising another man’s child. You think I won’t find out Whitney isn’t my child? For so long, I have been giving you a close watch. But I never expected this menace. As for my brother, he’s lying in his crimson liquids in his apartment. I regretted being the same blood as him. He was a crocodile. I have nothing else to lose. You have screwed up my world, and I curse the day I met you.”

Momentarily, he cocked the rifle he hid underneath his pillow. Anne wailed over her mistakes, begging him to forget her sins. He was unyielding, his heart bent on revenge.

“How can I withstand this ignominy? I have wasted my life. Life isn’t t worth living.” He sobbed.

Before she narrated what happened, Ethan pulled the trigger. Anne rushed in from her room, but discovered his father had bolted the door. She pummelled and begged his father to open the door. It was too late. He shot himself before Anne succeeded. She was frigid seeing the corpses, not knowing if it was a trance or reality.

Ikhenoba, Joseph, is a passionate biochemist and writer. His essays, poems, and stories have appeared in local and international magazines, including Writer Space Africa, Humanities Commons, Poetry South, Shortstory.net, Goodreads, Amazon, Poetry Soup, Eleventh hour review, Academia, Kinsman Quarterly, and a whole lot of magazines. He has authored over thirty short stories and has received nominations for several international awards. His poem “Sanctuary” was long listed for Iridescence Awards and his story, “Wretchedness of the Earth”, shortlisted for Natives Awards in USA. When not writing and making scientific researches, he is out there watching football and sipping beverages with his loved ones.