Page 25 of Cursed Daughters
“A good what? Eniiyi, please. The dog is well overdue for meeting his maker. He has lived for almost three decades already. At this point, it is sheer spite that is keeping him alive.”
Eniiyi chose not to argue with her mother so soon after her arrival. Sango the Immortal had been there when she was born, and at this rate, she suspected he’d be there when they all died. She left Ebun to continue fiddling with the Beetle, a car that should have been laid to rest a lifetime ago but due to her mother’s attention continued to sputter along. Mr. Sango chose to follow her. It was a no-brainer—the one who loved him best or the one who was anticipating his demise.
“Don’t mind her, Mr. Sango. She’d miss you if you weren’t here.”
He wagged his tail in response.
II
Her room was just as she had left it—a shrine to her childhood. Her limbs were longer, her breasts fuller, her waist wider, and beside her, the dog was greyer; otherwise, she could have been tricked into thinking no time had passed at all and she was still trapped here, trying to fight her destiny. She had never seen a photograph of her dead aunt—the house was eerily empty of any pictures of her—but according to all and sundry, Eniiyi was the spitting image of her. She stared at herself in the mirror on the wall, and her aunty Monife stared back.
She was distracted from her reflection by the singing coming down the corridor, high-pitched and off-key but with more than enough gusto to make up for the lack of rhythm. She smiled and opened the door just in time to be met by her beaming grandmother. Unlike her mother, Grandma East wasted no time embracing her. Hands squeezed her arms, pinched her cheeks and tapped her nose. Her grandmother’s delicate wrinkled fingers were tipped at the end with long nails, painted ruby red, as they always were and always would be. She smelt of menthol, chewing sticks and shea butter.
Her grandma released her and gave her a once-over; was there the briefest hesitation, or was Eniiyi imaginingit?
“Ah ah. You are a real madam now. All the boys must be chasing you.”
“Not all, Ma, I had to free some of them for my friends.”
Her grandmother laughed. “Kú ìgbá dùn o. Bring one of them home to meet us.”
“When I find one I like…” Eniiyi didn’t bother to mention that she had never dated anyone, never even had a crush on anyone.
“Okay o. You shouldn’t be too picky sha. How old are you now?”
“Twenty-three, Ma.”
“Haaaa!!!! You have to be fast o! Men don’t look at women in their thirties. That’s why your mummy couldn’t…”
Eniiyi’s eyes widened, and she raised her chin. Her grandmother was quick to pick up on her message. She turned and smiled at her daughter, who had come up behind her, still wearing her oil-stained apron.
Ebun didn’t return the smile. “No, Mummy, please continue. That’s why I couldn’t what?”
Eniiyi looked from her mother to her grandmother and back again. There was so little resemblance between the two of them, and what similarities may have existed in the past had since been eroded by Grandma East’s various cosmetic adjustments—the bleached skin, the tightened cheeks, the heavy make-up—whereas her mother rarely did more than the odd eyebrow pencil and brown lipstick.
Eniiyi cleared her throat; she had no interest in where this conversation was headed.
“Grandma West is not around?”
“She is. She is in her room.”
“Oh. Okay. I’ll go and greet her.”
She had just started to edge past Grandma East when her mother grabbed her wrist, holding her in place.
“Wait. That’s what I was coming to tell you. Aunty Bunmi is not…she’s not really herself these days.”
There was something in her mother’s voice, and she noticed that her grandmother had looked away, was staring at the wall, her eyes fixed on a mark Eniiyi had left there when she was a child—a series of squiggles that had won her thirty minutes in the corner.
“What do you mean?”
Her mother proceeded to explain that Grandma West’s mind was beginning to go. Her short-term memory was scrambled, and sometimes she didn’t recognise the people around her. Dementia. The word sounded heavy and final. Eniiyi tried to imagine it; but Grandma West was arguably the one with the sharpest mind in the house—she never forgot anything, she could hold grudges for years. And now they were telling her that this woman who commanded pupils, teachers and parents alike was but a shadow of herself. She couldn’t fathom it.
“How long has this been going on?”
“A couple of months.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
