The Sanctuary #7
The exhilaration felt by Ngozi, earlier in the day, which made her dye her hair red before leaving home for the salon, was quickly evaporating. Her face became pale against the red background of her red hair, almost as white as the white blouse which she wore with a black jeans trouser.
Her customers took cue from her in cultivating their dress-sense, so she dressed to impress, her reward being her customers’ look of admiration.
She had barely started her day at the salon when Calista came in, brimming in excitement about a strange happening which took place the night before at her home. Ngozi listened with growing dread as she narrated her testimony, as Ire insisted on calling it, and knew beyond a doubt that the events were unfolding as was expected.
It was happening, and she would have to watch.
What scared her was that she knew the events won’t always be as positive as Calista’s experience. She was almost sure the death of Patricia’s husband was the beginning of the string of events expected to happen.
The mistress David, Patricia’s late husband had kept, was still shocked to the bone. She had not seen the killer.
According to her, she had waited for David to come back to the room with the food trolley, and when he didn’t come back as quickly as she had expected, had gone looking for him, only to see his lifeless body, with blood oozing out his neck on to the white carpet.
Ngozi could imaging the sight, red blood on the white carpet. A destruction of perfection.
She was happy that Calista got an answer to her wished prayer, but she also knew that humans also tended to wish negatives, she felt an anticipation and dread at what the next granted wish would be.
“God moves in mysterious ways!” Ire exclaimed in obvious glee, as she fixed a weave on for a customer. She was learning faster than Ngozi had expected, and she looked even happier by the news than Calista did.
“Yes He does,” Calista agreed. “I didn’t expect it. I wonder who gave so much money. The person obviously wanted to remain anonymous. May God bless him.”
“How sure are you that it is a man?” Amaka asked, calmly as she rolled another customer’s hair. “There are kind women too, and I thought you didn’t believe in God?”
“Exactly!” Ire agreed.
“The money might have come from a woman, but the mysterious figure who dropped it was too agile and strong to be a woman,” Calista explained. “Also, I now believe God loves me. I didn’t think He cared before. Now I do.”
“Don’t you think you should have reported the matter?” Ngozi asked, speaking for the first time since Calista’s narration began. “I think it strange, and feel uneasy that you just spoke about needing money yesterday, and a stranger gave you some money, after scaring you. I think you should report to the police.”
“I disagree,” Ire countered vehemently, barely allowing Ngozi to finish speaking. “I think God moves in ways He wants to, and we can’t question His decision and method, besides the note must have told them that the money was really for the home.”
“What note?” Amaka and Ngozi asked simultaneously.
“I believe there must have been a note with the cash right?” Ire asked turning to look as Calista who was too excited to notice the abnormality in the fact that Ire knew there was a note even though she had not mentioned it.
“Yes there was,” Calista replied without looking up from the pedicure she performed for a customer. The customer was already giving signs of anger at the time wasted in talking. “It said the same thing the man said before he dropped the cash, ‘Use it well, here’s your miracle’. It also said how much was there.”
“See? Why would she report a gift to the police?” Ire asked, now spraying hairspray as a finishing touch to her work.
Ngozi observed from where she stood braiding a pregnant customer’s hair, that Ire was a natural in the hairdressing business. Her work was very good for an apprentice who was barely up to a month in learning.
“How did you know there was a note?” Amaka asked, with a frown, darting a glance at Ire before turning back to her work.
“It’s a no brainer,” Ire said with a shrug. “I just think if you will do something, it should be done well. For someone to be kind enough to give such amount of money, he or she, should be meticulous. I was right.”
“Thank God for you Calista,” Ngozi said. “But this should also serve as a warning to us. You never know who is listening when we pray and wish.”
“I don’t understand,” Amaka said as she lead the customer to the hairdryer.
“When we speak things out, or when we make a wish, God hears, but so does the devil. We should mind what we say. That’s why I had that inscribed there,” Ngozi explained, pointing to the words inscribed on the wooden partition.
There is a silent listener in every conversation. Words are life.
Everyone’s eyes turned in the direction of her fingers, and silence descended in the shop. Few of the customers who heard Patricia’s words the day she came in, wishing her husband dead, felt a shiver down their spine.
Seeing the fear on the faces of the occupants of her salon, Ngozi smiled inwardly. They were now aware, she has done her part.
Cynthia flipped through the magazine, barely held herself from shouting at Ngozi to shut up. Ngozi was going to make this harder, and that was going to spoil the plan.
She hated it when people interfered with her purpose. She hated it.
She hid her smile as she remembered Calista’s words. A man my foot!
A woman can also be strong, a woman can also be agile, only few people knew that.
The only reason she came here was so she could grant wishes. That was her purpose for living. What better place to hear wishes being made than in a sanctuary?
A Ladies’ Sanctuary.
She knew it wouldn’t be long before they forgot the lesson Ngozi just gave them about minding what they said. People forgot, women seemed to forget more, and they were all women, except Ngozi. She was beginning to suspect that there was more to her than met the eyes.
She knew Ngozi was on to the events not being coincidences, only idiots believed in coincidences.
Ngozi was no idiot.
Cynthia hoped Ngozi was not on to her. She would stop her from coming to the salon, if she ever suspected her. She was just getting started with her purpose here, she didn’t want to be hindered.
Focusing on her magazine, she waited for the awkward silence to pass, so she could hear a wish she could grant.
That was her reason for being.
#1: https://mspsteem.com/fiction/@djoi/the-sanctuary-1
#2: https://mspsteem.com/fiction/@djoi/the-sanctuary-2
#3: https://mspsteem.com/fiction/@djoi/the-sanctuary-3
#4: https://mspsteem.com/fiction/@djoi/the-sanctuary-4