One Love, Many Tears Read online

  ONE LOVE,

  MANY TEARS

  IT TAKES TWO TO TANGO!

  GERTRUDE U. UZOH

  Self-Identity. Murder. Hypocrisy.

  Greed. Altruism.

  AuthorHouse™

  1663 Liberty Drive

  Bloomington, IN 47403

  www.authorhouse.com

  Phone: 1-800-839-8640

  ©

  2012 by Gertrude U. Uzoh. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  The concept and story in this novel with its characterization are fiction, and do not refer to anyone living or dead. Any resemblance to any entity of person, persons or group would only be a mere coincidence.

  The settings of time and location herein, are but selective preferences believed to best match the story and do not, either in exclusivity or even with alteration and comparison, exact the actual place and time in real life.

  Published by AuthorHouse 04/08/2013

  ISBN: 978-1-4772-1918-8 (sc)

  ISBN: 978-1-4772-1917-1 (hc)

  ISBN: 978-1-4772-1919-5 (e)

  Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

  Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

  Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

  Contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  To all orphans of our days; young or old, real or imagined!

  Critical Views On One Love, Many Tears

  Gertrude has a knack for preaching love in a “love-lost” society. This masterpiece is more than just a novel but “spill” of her longing for a “love-filled” world.

  Bright Udi, PMP.

  One Love, Many Tears, a story by a young author Gertrude U. Uzoh makes very interesting reading. It presents a moving story of a great African challenge of rapid urbanization with its attendant overstretching of basic infrastructure. The story is tragic in that movement to urban areas is based on the fact that most Africans, Nigerians being no exception, think that the city will provide succor as opposed to the inhibiting rural settlement patterns and practices. The story of Cynthia, Okechukwu and Susan is compelling!

  Dr. Kate Nwufo, mni, fcon

  Director, Special Programmes Center

  Nigerian Educational Research and Development Council (NERDC)

  Lokoja-Kaduna, Sheda

  Abuja.

  Gertrude, a seasoned Computer Science graduate, can simply be described as an intelligent person full of potentials and talents, and has demonstrated a versatile knowledge in this masterpiece.

  Dr. (Mrs.) Virgy Ejiofor

  Head, Department of Computer Science

  Nnamdi Azikiwe University

  Awka.

  One Love, Many Tears is an interesting yarn, spinned and set in our time. A deceptively easy narrative but extremely … Incisive. An intriguing work!

  Rems Nna Umeasiegbu, PhD.

  Professor of English and Folklore

  Nnamdi Azikiwe University

  Awka.

  In Perspective

  They are two, one male, the other female. Both are teenagers. Then there is a third person, who is another female. She is not a teenager, but the mother of the first two.

  Their society turned a hatchery of wickedness, greed, envy, and avarice; which opposes the nest of love, peace, unity and harmony, originally planned for it.

  It is of unique existence partained by the three characters referred above, in the quest to both identify with their society as well as identify with their individuality.

  It does one thing in particular; It tells how ruthless and callous it could get if untamed - THE HUMAN MIND! - by revealing the existence of a ‘devil’, or rather demonic potential inside.

  There is however, a greater potential inside too - a wonderful capacity and ability to love. This latter has a drastic effect over the former.

  It becomes a problem if the former rules. But a beauty when the latter reigns, bringing but less “evil”, and tending their world towards the afore-original paradise.

  With Okechukwu, Cynthia and Susan, it forms but a mind refreshment on the extent love has depreciated.

  If it could remind one that love and tears are but options from which a choice has to be made by preference and at will, then, it must have achieved its aim.

  Felix

  My happiness goes warmly and sweetly in appreciation to my very dear friends (you know your distinguished wonderful selves), family and fans. Great people give great succor. You are very great indeed, and without your various support and encouragement, One Love, Many Tears wouldn’t be a success. Thank you so much for your love, and for allowing me feel your touch - a great experience!

  I LOVE YOU ALL AS WE SHARE IN THIS HAPPINESS!

  One

  I t is now two weeks since Cynthia last came outside her mother’s home and three days since she nibbled at any food. She has been indoors for two weeks now, and her health has deteriorated.

  In her exaggerated but genuine agony, she has been on a hunger strike, not because she loves to play with her health or is fond of punishing herself. No, not at all! It is because she is now emotionally a mix of confusion, pain, anger, fear, and hysteria. She considers what has recently befallen her unbearable. Whoever masterminded it will surely remain unpardoned.

  Within those two weeks, except for the last three days, her meals were very meager and almost forcibly served by a maternal aunt.

  Despite persuasion from her aunt, she sternly refuses, in the pained weakness of her heart, to even come outside and view the sun; so she might see that however life is sore, the sun continues to shine and give its warmth.

  But her mind won’t even get around to think of such a thing now. She is too preoccupied in grief to bother about anything else beyond the current distress of her heart. She cares little about anything and does not even take fresh baths to soothe her nerves.

  All she does day and night is occupy her sixteen-year-old mind with thoughts. Right now she is lying languidly stretched out on the bed and moping endlessly into the blurred white space provided by the walls and ceiling of her room, blurred only by her tear-impaired vision. Her mind is filled with riotous but sodden thoughts of the present situation, of past events, and of her future, which seems so bleak now.

  Her eyes are swollen from so much crying, but she appears not to notice. She has more and quite greater worries on her mind. A painful exercise it is indeed, for one so fragile and young. She is in great turmoil and cries most of the time.

  Now, as she turns around to hug her pillows, she is streaking out bot
h tears and a slow song in a faint but melodious voice. The songs, mostly dirges and eulogies to both God and her mother, are meant to be therapeutic, to calm her and ease her sorrows. But instead the pathos and pitiful lyrics of her songs arouse her innermost feelings, making her weep even more. She is obviously troubled!

  She turns around again restlessly and slowly sits up on the bed. Bracing herself, she tries to stand and pace the room once more, as she has done many times in the past weeks, but she is too weak this time to even lift her legs. Instead she feebly slumps her shoulders and then reaches forward a little farther down her legs toward the heavy blanket that spans the foot of the bed. She absently draws the cover up and falls back slowly on her pillows, pulling the cover over her head and trying to hide completely from the harsh reality as she perceives it. But rather than keeping her pain out, the action ends up making her weep harder under the sheets. Any person that looks at Cynthia would most likely pity her, because pain is boldly written all over her.

  All the same, Okechukwu, Cynthia’s younger brother, cannot accept the situation, either. Just like Cynthia, he cares little about anything around him. He merely allows his young and innocent mind of twelve to continue wandering aimlessly, causing him worry and heartbreak. Both of them are at the mercy of their friends, relatives, and friends of their parents.

  Days later, Okechukwu gets stronger, but not Cynthia. Her spirit is still weak.

  She just cannot bear it easily, being that she is such an emotional girl who could not fathom the blow that came her way. Such is her emotional makeup that despite the constant urging of her Aunt Christy, she is still unable to engage in small talk with close friends. If she tries to, her voice gives way like the weakness of a punctured balloon, breaking into disenchanted fragments that only yield incomplete sentences. And usually the tears come showering down her beautiful face, leaving their marks and stains of dejection.

  Unknown to Cynthia, as she is deeply lost in her sorrows, someone just walks into her room now. It is Christy, her mother’s younger sister. Aunty Christy, as often called, is a strong woman. But this time, she, cannot bear the situation, either, and feels the pains of the unhappy incident. In particular, she feels for her dear Cynthia, who is like a daughter to her.

  The effect of all this is not light on Cynthia at all. And lately, Christy is no longer sure of Cynthia’s capacity to carry on longer in this shattered composure. She now double-tasks herself over Cynthia, becoming both a guardian and a watch guard, to avoid any more disaster. She reasons that with this state of mind, Cynthia might harm herself physically, or even consider suicide. Christy is afraid of such thoughts

  No! Suicide is surely a stupid thing to do, especially now, Christy says to herself.

  It is death again!

  Their father, Mr. Fredrick Obi, died ten years ago when Okechukwu was only two years old and Cynthia was six.

  Suddenly becoming a young widow, their mother, Susan, had difficulty caring for them all by herself, especially when her in-laws, like in a carefully made song, orchestrated them back into poverty. Single parenthood was not easy for her amid the serious challenges she had with her in-laws.

  Susan is in her late thirties, and despite her charming and very outstanding qualities compared to most women of her time, she would still be described as a dimstock, meaning that she is not a modern woman who, empowered inevitably by her broadness, education, and civilization, is very aware of and familiar with her dignity and essential equality among all formations of human classes. It is a reality and awareness that, though quite appreciated in its reform, is very challenging to the assertive and projecting woman that she is. It is not easy at all for the average minds in her community to accept, at least not when the awareness seems to run contrary to some strongly held social, religious, and cultural biases. The discrimination inherent, therefore, is usually subtly covered, being that it is often interpreted as natural order, love, respect, or loyalty to obviously cherished beings and authority. Susan’s society and culture is one fertile ground where such biases thrive like weeds.

  Susan is a natural, intelligent, and strong woman, but the incapacitation of little education and a narrower view, especially in contrast to someone that truly knows, accepts, and respects her essential humanness, does not allow her to use her natural strengths. The weight of her cultural demands and the expectations of her as a woman, especially when she becomes a widow, does not allow that; thus, it swallows her blazing intelligence.

  There seems to be a general but silent fear of freedom in her society—freedom to expound, explore oneself, and evolve completely into one’s full potential. Men, women, and children are equally affected by it. It could simply be the natural inclination to fear an unknown or uncertain outcome. But when one is not only afraid of exploring and expounding herself, but also direly afraid of allowing other people around her to grow in that sense of excellence, it is usually a kind of insecurity. But of course, no one among them, especially the menfolk in her community, would easily admit he is afraid or insecure, let alone agree to being afraid of letting other people excel!

  Yet it is glaringly written in the day-to-day lifestyle of the people and the checkered arrogance and subjection on the faces of the would-be lords. To the great disadvantage of their lower physical aggression, and having been repressed overtime, the suppression and anti-freedom often get more pronounced when women, children, or any subordinate groups are the subjects. The repression simply continues and thrives vibrantly in her town. An unpronounced sacrosanct cycle it is, but the new generation of children, and even the ones yet to be born, will surely call it a circle of doom.

  Such wariness to change can be a good caution in a way, and quite welcomed by many in her community. But Susan is not an unrepressed person who can gladly respect the caution, know the limits, and still expound without allowing any biases and sentiments forestall her positive advancement, including spiritual, intellectual, academic, social, political, and emotional well-being.

  She is entrenched in the socio-cultural practices of her time, and her limitations will not allow her to be a person that can really preserve her own rights or privileges favorably. This incapacitation is primarily why the whole ten years of her widowhood was spent in penury and far below the social middle class, despite her riches and upper class status before. The riches actually were gratefully made possible by her husband, who died earlier than she expected—but who actually expects death?

  In addition to her already daunting incapacitation, Susan had a rather unfortunate childhood and family background that affected both her interpretation of herself as a person and her womanhood. Unfortunately, her family and upbringing was not a rosy one. She grew up witnessing her mother’s abuse by her father. She and her siblings were victims of it, too; none was spared the bitter wine.

  Their father, Mazi Obiajulu, was both physically and verbally abusive. In the guise of disciplinary actions and leadership, Obiajulu was a domineering tyrant. Susan, being the first child, had to experience and witness the abuse and countless domestic violence firsthand, and a lot more than her siblings.

  Yet for a man so domineering and full of physical strength and superiority, Mazi Obiajulu was surprisingly the weaker breadwinner of his own seeds. Obiajulu was a loafing palm wine tapper who drank more wine than he tapped most of his time; thus he never got around to having many people that ask for his services. Most of his work time was leisure times for drinking, leaving insufficient time to fend for his family.

  All through the time of their marriage, Susan’s mother remained subservient to him and gracefully contained the abuse. She inordinately believed it was meant to be that way, since she was a woman, and Mazi Obiajulu was a man who should be allowed his full rein. She believed she was being a humble and good wife, according to the cultural expectations of her. She worked hard at her trade and domestic responsibilities, and her major preoccupation was to raise her chil
dren and make sure that Obiajulu’s food was always ready and on time, as well as meet his other needs and errands.

  Ugochinyere, Susan’s mother, was reduced to a quiet mouse that wet her pillows all through the night with muffled tears, only to wake up in the morning to dutifully salute and tend to the master that gave her bitter pills at night. And always with practiced happiness! But Ugochi honestly thought that her ancestors would always console her, knowing that she was a woman that “married her husband well.” She should therefore do her best and be grateful to her husband despite all, for that was truly the test of her humility as a woman. That was her “noble” reasoning and the “right” thing to do in the unwritten culture of her society, which condoned recklessness and irresponsibility from the menfolk and dominated women to indulge them. So Ugochinyere didn’t have many choices in the ignorance that besieged her community at the time, for that was the normal condition ascribed to womanhood.

  Susan was very close to her mother, so she witnessed and drank the same wine of fury, bitterness, sarcasm, name calling, and of course thorough beatings that always generously gushed from her father.

  All these incidents affected Susan’s formation and thus left her with rather little opinion of herself and of what a truly humble person should be.

  Yet in a way, some point in her growing up, nature obviously defeated nurture. Susan seems to be a golden creature out of the dark mines. She is strong above it all and is above the expected outcome of her type and experience. She is good-natured and very spirited, but she is also evidently limited.