He thought he heard a scream.
“What, what is going on?”
He tried to open his eyes to see, and would have loved to shout out. The operation was futile.
His eyes managed a flicker and the throat went terribly dry.
“I should stop drinking. By my ancestors I should definitely stop!” His inner man repeated the chant it had long since imprinted in his brain. How long had he told himself not to drink?
His mind ran to the foul words the mother of his children had hurled at him that day… ‘Disgrace’ was her new catchphrase.
“You drink till you do not know where your member lies! You pour urine in your trousers and it runs down your legs like an infant. Do you want me to take the goat skin and tie it round your loins like a baby, so that you stop embarrassing me, father of my children? You are a disgrace who will not accept that his blood cannot take alcohol!”
He still felt the sting of her words, especially now as the pain of last night’s drink continued to sing in his head.
The sound of drums and heavy screams became even more audible as his mind slowly made its way towards consciousness. Chipo was sitting bolt upright beside him, clutching at all the blankets and shivering.
In the semi darkness he could make out the gleam in her eyes as she gawked at the door. Those eyes, those eyes big and inviting that had made his member stand in the market when he first saw her where now flickering on artificial light, illuminated by a terror on the outside which made him sober at once.
“What is going on, Chipo?”
