Shortbread - A Short Story

Another great short story by Adewunmi Adekanmbi, the voice behind the fantastic blog Kool Story - share your thoughts in the comments. A writer yourself? Send your short stories, nonfiction pieces, book reviews, and poems to editorial@zodml.org for a chance to be featured on the blog!
 
Matthew 6: 1 “Watch out! Don’t do your good deeds publicly, to be admired by others, for you will lose the reward from your Father in heaven.”
I put a lot of crushed ice into the tumblers on the tray. Two bottles of semi-cold Coke stood beside them, as well as a Sprite-branded opener. Hopefully the ice would melt and dilute the Coke, filling up the guests quickly so they couldn’t finish their entire bottle. Some visitors drained the bottle as though determined to swallow the Coke brand with it.
Madame started counting the bottles of soft drinks three weeks ago so I would be unable to steal one. She counted the noodles packets also, and the plantains and yams. But she couldn’t count the rice so I eat a lot of the rice. I make stew too, without meat. I slice the pepper and onions and fry them in perfectly heated oil. She couldn’t count those ones either.

“Itoro!”
“Ma!”
I gingerly carried the tray to the living room where the two visitors were waiting. They looked worn out, the man and woman, their faces aged from a hard life. Madame, on the other hand, looked radiant. She sat across from them, close enough to hear them but far enough that there was an unseen chasm between them. I once went through her dresser and was dazed by the sheer number of bottles she required to keep her skin looking untainted.
She looked at the tray I brought and frowned.
“Where is the shortbread? Take that back and put the shortbread.”
“Yes ma.”
I had not forgotten the shortbread. There was just the one pack left and I did not want to serve it to these people. They looked like the the type to finish all of the shortbread served to them. Or they would eat some, and wrap the rest to take home to their children.
I reentered the room. shortbread in tow. I had added more ice to the cups. If they were to have shortbread, they deserved watery Coke. I had barely placed the tray on the table before the woman took one shortbread. I straightened to leave.
“What are you thinking of? Open the bottles!”
“Sorry ma.” I opened them and left to go eavesdrop by the door. I could see them clearly from the dining room. The woman was on her second piece of shortbread when the man started talking.
“Yes ma. Thank you for seeing us.” He paused for her acknowledgement and continued after she nodded. “The thing is, my wife and I need your help badly. Very badly. We are finding things so difficult. Times are hard and my boss just slashed my salary because of the trouble in the country. And Bisi,” he gestured to his wife, “her tailoring shop is not going too well. Ever since she had our babies, she has not been able to go to work and her girls, you know how the youths of today are. They have taken advantage of her absence to…”
“Mr. Akinmade, just tell me how I can help you.”
He nodded quickly, leaning forward in his seat to make her understand. “Ma, if you could just help me with some money, a loan really,to keep afloat. The arrival of the triplets really drained our pockets” - at that moment, he gave his wife an accusing stare (she was on her third piece of shortbread) - “we did not know she was expecting triplets, if not…”
Madame nodded and he immediately stopped talking. He leaned forward more and I imagined him falling off the chair.
Madame cleared her throat delicately. “How many children do you have now, Mr. Akinmade?”
“Plus the triplets?”
“Yes.”
He looked at his wife, who whispered to him. He muttered, “Are you sure?” and she nodded. Clasping his hands together, he turned back to Madame. “Eight ma. That we were blessed with.” I snorted from my spot.
“I see.” Madame said.
He looked embarrassed but slightly pleased with himself. I shook my head. Even my mother at her most amorous had had just six of us, albeit for different men. I looked at the wife, and shook my head. I was not going to have children until I could absolutely take care of them. Absolutely. No child of mine would go work for a family where the madame counted all the things just so she would be sure they weren't eating more than their due. As if a bottle of Coke would make any difference to her.
I moved away from my spot to check on the clothes I had put in the washing machine. I wash and iron all clothing items apart from their unmentionables and bedclothes. The first and last time I put my clothes into the machine, they came out in pretty pink hues. I had to take them out before they were properly rinsed because Madame arrived earlier than normal.
When I returned to my spot, the man and woman were lying prostrate before Madame, thanking her. I wondered how much she had promised them.
After several seconds, she still didn’t ask them to stand up. When people thanked you, you were supposed to wave it off, ask them to stand up and tell them not to worry about it. It was debasing enough having to beg for something. There was no need to leave them thanking profusely till they started feeling a niggling of the shame of begging.
When my uncle brought me to her five months ago, and she gave him an extra three thousand naira for his transport, Uncle Jona had prostrated before her, thanking her. I had gone on my knees thanking her too. She made us stay there for two minutes, saying nothing, smiling slightly, accepting the thanks as her due.
I liked it even less living with her. She did not maltreat me or starve me. She was kind to me. But her kindness seemed more for her sake than for mine.
“Itoro!” she called, still not asking them to get up.
“Ma.” I entered the room and averted my eyes from the prostrating couple.
“Clear the plates,” she told me.
I moved towards the tray and was about to lift it up (two pieces of shortbread remained, and at least a quarter of a bottle of Coke) when the woman spoke.
“It's alright ma,” she said, turning to me still on her stomach, “I haven’t finished with it.”
I looked at my madame, who smiled that smile again. She waved me away before saying to them finally.
“Please stand up. Don’t thank me, thank God.”
They both stood up and didn’t bother dusting off their clothes. The floors were tiled and perfectly polished. I looked on from my spot as each took one last piece of shortbread and slotted into their mouths.
Matthew 6:4 “So that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.”