Gilbert Simukanga
S t. Lawrence Catholic church was huge and spacious; probably one of the biggest catholic churches in Mufulira. The brick structure was tall with a huge headroom that had always made Arista feel somewhat holy, but not this day. This day was different, everything about it was amiss. He saw Patra from a distance, looking all shiny in her pretty gown, only about half of the vanished wooden benches were occupied and the occupiers were all watchful and focused towards the altar.
‘You may unveil the bride.’
The priest said. He could see Brighton’s hands rising up to her face. When Brighton unveiled her, he imagined she felt so exposed, like she was naked. He knew that everyone had known she had a lumpy stomach, but with the veil over her head at least they couldn’t look her in the eyes. But now that she was uncovered, she could probably feel everyone staring, whispering, and judging. But Brighton’s handsome smile seemed to have offered her some reassurance. Brighton was a tall muscular fellow with a fine toned face whose lower jaw was a bush of a nicely trimmed beard. His face was smooth as well as that of a kind person.
He had on a navy blue, two-piece suit with a white shirt and a sky-blue necktie with black stripes. On his feet were Patina black genuine leather pointed shiny shoes and a silver Rolex on his left wrist. With Patra’s gorgeously light bony face, natural dark long hair and her slim, short stature that fitted a pure white gown, the couple looked awfully glamorous. Despite opting to wearing flat cream-colored shoes as she was carrying on extra weight to survive stilettos, Patra looked prettier than ever and she did not even have much for curves.
‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses, to join in holy matrimony commended to be honorable among all; and therefore, is not to be entered into lightly but reverently, lovingly, passionately and solemnly.’ The priest started…He was dressed in a pure white ankle length clergy Alb, a cream Cincture around his waist, a violet Stole and a golden Amice around his neck and shoulders. He was standing facing the couple.
‘… Into this, these two persons presented now come to be joined. If there is any person, who can show cause as to why they should not be joined together, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.’
The church was in total silence.
‘Praise the Lord,’ He continued… ‘We thank the Lord of hosts as these two are worthy to be joined in both the eyes of God and those of witnesses.’
‘Do you both pledge to share your lives openly with one another, and to speak the truth in love?’
‘Do you promise to honor and tenderly care for one another, cherish and encourage each other, stand together, through sorrows and joys, hardships and triumphs all the days of your lives?’
‘I do.’ Brighton spoke first, then Patra seconded.
‘Bring the rings.’ The priest called out in a soothing voice. Arista was witnessing all this by the door, his heart a blazing furnace.
Wearing a sky-blue Bow dress with silver embroidery around its neck and cuffs, Aunt Maureen looked ten years younger. She was stunning, her face lit with a bright smile. She had sharp round eyes and pencilled eyebrows. She had on a dark shoulder long wig. The dress fitted her perfectly accentuating her curvy structure, for her age, she was a total beauty. She brought two silver rings and gave one that had some blue shiny Gem to Brighton and the other one to Patra.
‘May these rings be blessed as a symbol of your union.’ The priest said,
‘As often as either of you look upon these rings, may you not only be reminded of this moment, but also of the vows you are about to make and the strength of your commitment to each other.’
‘Brighton, please repeat after me,’ he continued.
‘I Brighton…’ ‘Patra!’
The priest stopped short… The high-pitched voice that echoed within the holy walls of St. Lawrence span every head to the main entrance. A man with an average height was now standing in the middle of the aisle. He was in an orange top and an orange pair of trousers; a suit with the initials MCF printed on the left leg. On his feet were dirty blue Crocs. He bent forward with both his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath. Murmurs were slowly building up and people were starting to look nervous. The priest was just staring in shock, his eyes locked in to the intruder whose eyes were focused on Patra. Patra’s mouth gaped wide as she shifted her eyes to her aunt who gave her a frightened look with both her hands on her chest, then quickly back to the intruder.
Suddenly, a wailing sound from a distance started building up every second that passed. Mostly when that sound was heard It was either a building was on fire and that was the fire truck from the local fire department, or someone was very sick or injured and it was an ambulance from the hospital, but Arista seemed to know exactly what it was as the sound made him startle up, shoot a quick glance behind him then lurch forward to the alter where Patra, Brighton, aunt Maureen and the priest stood facing him.
Aunt Maureen made an attempt to stand in his way but he swerved around her in one quick maneuver and knelt right before Patra panting like a Dobermann. Holding her right hand with his left while placing his right on her belly paying mind to no one, not even the groom. He stared up at her with his wet eyes and in rapid rasps he said,
‘I don’t have much time Pat, but there’s a lot you don’t know, I know I have let you down several times, I know I have made you cry, but I helplessly love you and my child, and I am completely lost without you two.’ Tears begun rolling down his face.
The entire crowd gasped audibly; loud whispers were going around. Brighton could only stare; mortified, what was he to do?
‘I am struggling, I’m losing my mind in there, I need you.’ he said and lightly kissed the back of her hand.
Patra’s cheeks were all soaked but she couldn’t get a word out. Veins were popping out of her neck it was clear she was struggling to breathe. The sirens grew so loud that everybody could tell that whatever it was, it was now in the premises. That was when it dawned on the priest and the audience what the sirens were. Arista withdrew his hands and quickly half-lifted his orange top, a white bandage was wrapped around his lower abdomen. He pulled it down a little and drew something out which he placed in Patra’s right palm and closed it.
‘Baby girl you once believed in me, I am the same person. A lot has changed, but I haven’t, don’t go through with this I plead with you. Keep this with you and give me a chance to restore the faith you used to have in me.’ he said standing up. At this point, six officers were rushing in dressed in full gear, except their AK’s, which were left with the ones at the church entrance out of respect for the Lord’s house: though Sirens where still blaring.
‘I love you Pat, I love you so much, both of you.’ Arista said with shortening breaths.
He never once looked at Brighton, or Aunt Maureen. Not even at the priest. He walked backwards, still facing the alter, his eyes locked on Patra’s who just still stood there, frozen, pouring like a weeping statue. The crowd was now upstanding, phones flashing, others recording videos. One of the officers placed his hand on Arista’s shoulder and whispered in his right ear;
‘You’re in big trouble young man, really big trouble.’
He glanced back, he was now surrounded by six of them, one of which kicked him behind his knee and he dropped to the polished floor wincing in pain, he shot glances at Patra who now slowly sunk into Aunt Maureen’s arms bawling loudly. Her face a ghostly mess of tears, sweat and makeup.
His hands were cuffed behind him and as he was being hauled away, the words on the back of his top were exposed; Prisoner, they read.
‘Arista!’ Patra finally attempted a scream but only a dreadful husky sound like that of a weak dying goat managed to escape her lips followed by an uncontrollable cry.
‘Apologies for the theatrics brethren, peace be with you.’ one of the officers said and followed after his fellows.
A few minutes later, doors slummed shut and vehicles cruised off. The church was filled with a strange silence that was only pierced through by Patra’s half-suffocated sobs.
————————TO BE CONTINUED——————————————————–
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Author and Poet. Words for healing, reflection and spiritual growth; helping generations achieve purposeful living. All links here: https://linktr.ee/gilbertsimukanga
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