The lover and the fire

THE LOVER AND THE FIRE


"I've killed her," Ano gasped. Sweat trickled down his brow. He shot up from his swivel chair and ran to the window. Distant car horns clambered up from the street ten floors down. He dialled a number on his cellphone and was rewarded with a busy message thrice. A cup of tea stood cold, untouched.
"Oh my God, I've killed her," he shivered. He paced past the desk to the door, then returned to the chair. A house was ablaze in Avondale, the cleaner had said, conversationally. His brain immediately sounded an alarm - that was his neighbourhood! What was it Tariro had said on the phone two hours ago?
"Prepare for the worst. I'm not taking this lying down," she screamed, almost hysterically, into the phone.
"She's my wife," Ano insisted, "you can't expect me to treat you as equals." He had always called the shots, he would not stop now. "I gave her the car, it was my car. It was my car, my decision!"
"We'll see about that."
"And what's that supposed to mean?" he breathed, trying to sound scary.
"Petronella is an obstacle to our love, to my happiness, to our happiness. I know you will be very happy without her. She's an obstacle and that obstacle has to be removed." She banged the phone down. Ano stared at his phone for a moment then laughed. Tariro expected royal treatment yet she knew Petronella was his lawfully-wedded wife. She had a habit of wringing him whenever she needed something badly. The threats were weak though, because he never took them seriously. She had become his mistress knowingly and now she was using blackmail so she could become his wife.
But now, he thought, she could have been serious.
He picked up his keys and dashed out of the office. He bumped into his secretary, her papers flying to the floor He murmured an apology and lept into the elevator. A house was ablaze in Avondale. Tariro had torched his house. His wife was an obstacle, she had said a thousand times. His thoughts ran faster than his car as he skidded onto Leopold Takawira street and raced home. he fought back tears as he thought of his lovely wife who he had taken for granted.
The children would be at school. They would come home to a burnt shell, their mother... he shivered. Surely, Tariro would hang for this. But his was the greatest crime, he realised. Infidelity. The affair had never been worth having, no affair is worth having. What I'd give for another chance, he prayed, tears clouding up his eyes like rain on a windshield. The car shot past the shopping centre and swerved onto Argyle. A few houses down the street, he saw it. The house was engulfed by orange flames leaping into the sky like fiery demons. Thick black smoke rose like a pillar to hell. Fire fighters were fighting a losing battle.
He stopped his car across the street and climbed out. Ano felt it pushing against his ribs. He tried to stifle it but could not. All
heads turned towards him. He held his belly and bent over the bonnet. His laugh was a roar above the crackle of the fire. It boomed down the street and boomeranged against the high suburban walls.
His chest was aching when he got into his car and drove home, some houses down the street.
His wife was in the kitchen and he sneaked upon her, put his arms around her.
"I love you, I love you, I love you," he told her, plastering her entire face with kisses.
"What's got into you," his wife asked, pushing him gently away.
"Can't a man have fun with his wife?" he asked, still kissing her and told her about his race home. He told her how he had assumed it was his house on fire. He told her about the house on fire down the street and how he had laughed on the street when he had been told it was a fireman training drill. He phoned his secretary and told her he would not be back at work that day. He told his wife a thousand times how he loved her.
He could not tell her about his affair or his mistress' threats. He would tell her, one day how an affair had almost ruined his marriage and how a fire down the street had brought back the warmth into the marriage. He would tell her everything, years later, in a retirement home over a cup of coffee, sitting in a rocking chair, watching the sun go down.

THE END