Page 5 of Death of the Author

“Yeah.”

He began to step around her. He paused. “How are you doing?” he asked, a small smile on his face. His gray beard was always perfectly trimmed.

Zelu bit her lip. His question brought back the department head’s bullshit. “Oh, I’m fine, heh.”

“You still teaching writing at that university?”

“I’m getting by,” she said, clenching a fist.

“Good, good. Will we see you wheeling down the aisle one of these days?”

She laughed. “Nah. I don’t believe in marriage. Not for myself.”

“You just need to find the right man,” he said.

No, I simply don’t believe in marriage, she thought. She smiled and shrugged.

“You like to swim,” he said. “Have you been in the ocean?”

She perked up. Her favorite subject. “Oh, yes! This place is magical. The water just carries you! And it’s so warm!”

“Indeed, like something alive,” he said. “I went swimming this morning.Chey!Your father and I used to swim the rivers in the village, the streams, too, even the ocean near Port Harcourt. None were calm like it is here. Well, I’m glad I’m not the only one enjoying.” He tugged at his short beard as he looked at her. “You don’t have to be so tough, Zelu,” he said. “And smile more. A man likes some softness. You’re a beautiful girl.”

She forced her lips into a smile. “Gonna get back to my sister.”

“Yes! She needs you in her finest hour.” He turned and went to the ceremony area.

Her finest hour? The way people talk, like it’s all downhill after the wedding, she thought.

By the time she returned to the bridal suite, all her sisters’ heavy makeup was complete and the room reeked of expensive perfume, powder, and anxiety.

“Zelu!” Amarachi said. Her face now sparkled and shimmered in its flawlessness. “Get over here. Let’s at least put some eyeliner on you.Please.”

Zelu submitted to their torture for the next ten minutes. It was unpleasant, but it could have been worse. She took comfort in the knowledge that when the wedding was over, she would scrub it all off her face. There was a knock on the door and their father peeked into the room. “Ready?”

Amarachi looked at the four of them. “Are we ready?”

“Always,” Chinyere said.

“Yep!” Bola said.

“You’re beautiful,” Uzo said, laughing.

“I am!” Amarachi agreed.

Zelu’s phone buzzed in her hand as everyone moved toward the door. She turned back to the window, squeezing her eyes shut as thoughts of the phone call from the department head seeped in again. Her eyes began to water. “Shit,” she whispered.

“Want some help?” her father asked.

Normally she’d say no—she hated receiving help—but she could barely breathe. “Yeah,” she managed. Her father was too preoccupied to ask about her unusual acceptance, and she was glad. He pushed her swiftly with his strong arms and his long legs. They caught up with the others quickly. As they moved, Zelu took the moment to glance at her phone. A notification alerted her of a new email from her literary agent. She swiped it open. Her novel had gotten its tenth rejection. This one from some small publisher who couldn’t be bothered to speak directly to her agent or even write a personal rejection letter. A form letter? To her agent? Seriously?

A wave of nausea churned in her belly, and she leaned to the side to catch her breath, glad that all attention was on her sister.

There was so much going on that for a while, Zeludidforget about her personal problems. Amarachi and Jackie liked to do thingsbig.Jackie was a South African–born physician who was proudly Zulu and atheist and had deep African National Congress roots. Amarachi was a Christian neurology resident physician who was the child of Nigerian immigrants with deep Yoruba royal and Biafran roots. Amarachi and Jackie loved each other, and each other’s families, but there was strong, proud, dominating culture on both sides. Having everyone together like this, full force, was going to be a battle over who could be the showiest. Yet Amarachi and Jackie wanted to do only one wedding, have it all be just one thing, no matter how multiheaded that thing was. Thus, a priest, a judge, and two elders all presided over the ceremony to bond the two forever.

Zelu had never seen anything like it, and she loved it. As they moved from the ceremony outside to the lavishly decorated banquet hall, she looked over the attendees who’d come to Trinidad and Tobago from all over the world, mainly from Africa, to celebrate the union. The space was grand and opulent with sparkling chandeliers, peach-colored wall sconces with red LED lights, and rows of round tables with crisp tablecloths andenormous bouquets of roses in the centers. But there were also African masks hanging on the walls overlooking everything; Zulu baskets sat in corners, and colorful Zulu textiles were draped on the tables.

As everyone filled the reception area, Zelu was pulled from her joy by more of her family’s thoughtlessness. “You are truly blessed to have a sister like that, so plump and fine,” her uncle Jonah said to her. “Maybe now that she is wedded, someone will see past you being crippled, eh?” He grinned and tapped her on the shoulder as he walked on.

---