Scent of Water

In the three years of his incarceration at the Federal Prison, Calabar, Mike had received only one visitor—Dr. Esam Bassey. A complete stranger. He didn’t know where she was coming from and what plans she hoped to achieve. One thing he knew though was that he shouldn’t have walked out on her the way he did. For the umpteenth time, he wished he had been more patient, less surprised. She was a beautiful woman, and that had made him defensive. Overtly. He hadn’t even comprehended why she came. From the way he left, he was sure she would not come back. If she was from a church, they would probably send someone else next time. She would refuse to come back. He knew some churches were very active in prison ministry, bringing food and drugs and having private visits with prison converts. He didn’t want to be anybody’s convert. He didn’t want anyone’s “so-coveted” private visits. He knew many of the prisoners who deceived the church people they were “born-again” just to get private visits. One thing he was sure of was that these private visits made the prisoner feel they belonged to someone, especially those that had been long forgotten by the outside world. Prisoners would often come back with gist of Brother This or Sister That living normally and who’d adopted the prisoner. He wondered if the relationship was just for the inside or it extended to when the prisoners were finally free. He doubted that.

It was a month now; and every day of the month, he’d spared a thought for his August visitor. He had replayed every word spoken and comforted himself with her beauty. Once upon a time, he would have fallen in love with her at first sight. He had always had a weakness for beautiful women . . . But that seemed like ages ago. He was no longer attractive to any female, physically and otherwise; and he couldn’t appeal to his sense of judgment in that regard anymore, or else he would risk emotional torture. Three years and the most beautiful women he had seen all that time were starch-uniformed, rigid, middle-aged, overweight prison officials whom they nicknamed Ambassador. Esam Bassey was truly a breath of fresh air, if nothing else. Maybe an angel sent from heaven or a stray ghost!

“Visitor for CM1106!” a warden bellowed from the entrance of the cell. Mike jumped up. It had to be her. Maybe she had come back after all, or who else could it be? No one remembered him.

When he entered the visiting hall, he noticed she was the only one there; and she stood, backing the entrance. He used the opportunity to drink in her shapely, hippy figure. Clad in black jeans and a black-and-white striped ladies shirt, he wondered what she would think of him. He felt a strong attraction to her. She turned, almost as coincidentally as he moved in, and smiled easily. He took note of everything about her. From her oval-shaped eyes, her small nose and mouth, shapely eyebrows, thick wavy hair that was just a little longer than the last time he saw her, to the  tiny earrings she wore  with chain and matching pendant resting between her cleavage . . . Esam followed his eyes to the cleft between her breasts, and heat poured into her face. She knew her dressing seemed suggestive; but she had not done her laundry in weeks, and this was the only thing available. She was paying for her insensitivity. When she looked up at his face, she met with two deep pools of black emotion. She knew she had ruined the purpose of the visit. She never meant to seduce him, but she could feel that pulse. This man, despite his status, for whatever reason he pleased, was going to use her femininity to destroy her. She’d better be prepared.

“Hi,” she croaked, after a brief moment of completely losing her voice.

“Hi,” he whispered in response, taking a seat opposite her, obviously struggling to control waging emotions. The warden had already gone to stay at the elevated spot to watch them, probably unaware of anything between them. Esam breathed in deeply to calm herself, and sat down. She was here for business; and though she had least expected what just transpired, she decided not to allow the thudding in her chest to deter her. It was a lesson for next time.

“I’m sorry for upsetting you last time.” She stared at him, and he arched his eyebrow in surprise but didn’t say a word. “Though you seemed in a foul mood too,” she added lightly.

“Prison is a foul place. The environment dictates the mood, most days.”

“You seem better today. That’s good. I’m glad I came.”

“Does your husband not care about you, your being here, especially dressed like this?” he growled, startling Esam.

Oh no! she thought.

“My husband died five years ago,” she whispered.

“I thought you couldn’t be married,” he said