Bella Made of Glass

Please not this story has been published by the South African Short Story Publishing Association in a volume called Telling Tales - Stories from Africa

Bella emptied her desk in record time, shoved pencils and pens into a yellow box, and filed away the last invoice of the day. A renegade smile nestled on her gaunt face. She had filed her leave application three weeks ago and she was late by three minutes. Hazel eyes, set deep into bony sockets, surveyed the office with hardened contempt. She had worked most of her life: if only she had been born into money, she wouldn't have to suffer work everyday. If only. Not in this lifetime, girl; she reminded herself. She had prepared for this vacation by drinking quick consignments of hot water instead of green tea, and rationed food portions instead of mountainous dinners. She scanned the small office for anything she may have left behind. Everything was in its proper place.

The glass door swung open. Darren Slay, MD of FIVESTAR FLIGHT RESERVATIONS, stood in the weak light of the passage, legs astride, hands on hips. He wore a loose fitting white with rolled up sleeves, and a head of thick black hair.

"Carol's gone home and I need you to take down a couple of notes before you leave, Bell."

Bella glared at him. He knew her leave commenced at five today. He had signed her application. He noticed her apprehension and exclaimed,"Hurry. I'm not here all night."

Bella's job as a marketing assistant in his company was beyond reproach, besides, the perks included discounted prices for a flight to any destination anywhere in the world.

She collected her car keys and headed for the door. She wagged a finger at him."Just a reminder, as of five minutes ago I am on leave," she said, trying to slip by him. He countered her move by barricading the doorway with his heavy, barrel shaped body. "Go home Darren," she instructed. "Carol can do this in the morning."

"Home? You think I built this company on procrastination? No my dearest, when I give an instruction, you do, that's all there is to it."

He stepped forward, and without warning grabbed her by the throat and pinned her to the desk, straining her under the weight of his body. Her eyes opened wider as he gyrated his pelvis against her leg and she knew and understood what he was doing. She tried to push him away but his titanic weight crushed her. His lips smashed into hers. She bit deep, drawing blood. He released her, shoved her to one side and ignored the blood and pain on his face. The left hand unbucked his black belt, the right hand forced her down. The left fist flew into her face and for a moment she blacked out. Just a moment. Her eyes rolled back. Rough hands tore the pink skirt from her body. And when her vision cleared, it was too late.

"No, Darren! Don't do this. Stop! Darren, stop!"

Her mind drifted, releasing her from the pain and fear. Josiah, her fiance, had proposed some months ago and was saving up to pay lobola where the groom must compensate the parents with cattle for the hand of their daughter. Josiah earned his living as a parts picker at Daimler Chrysler. It was tough to save, but he managed, and Bella was proud of him. In five days she would be Mrs. Josiah Matata.

*** *** ***

On the way to the church she felt sick. After long periods of soul searching, the final decision to carry out this act belonged to her.

An A frame chapel stood in the middle of an exotic garden of different shades of white. Jasmine wafted by her as she entered the church and slipped into the last pew, away from the relatives and main party guests.

No one knew that she lived in a feeble, corrugated shack in a busy squatter camp in Soweto, far away from people to hide her shame. Just herself and her daughter.

As the choir began to sing the Wedding March, the bride stepped up to the altar on the arms of an elderly gentleman.

Darren turned to face her and did not notice the woman dressed in a white silk dress, seated in the back row.

The minister smiled at the congregation of family, friends and acquaintances whom he acknowledged for coming to witness the union of two wonderful people.

"Before I continue, I must ask if there is anyone here and now who feels this matrimonial union should not take place. Speak or forever hold your tongue."

A cough, followed by a shuffling of feet.

Bella stood up. All eyes transfixed on her as she moved deliberately towards the altar, stopping in front of the groom.

"Who are you?"

She removed the veil.

"You!" Darren's lips trembled.

The bride turned to face Bella, confusion on her face. "How dare you barge into my wedding like this?'

Bella's mouth was dry, her hands trembled, she could hardly speak through trembling lips. "Darren raped me a week before my wedding. It was a Friday, exactly one year ago. I wondered if you wanted to marry such a man?"

"Darren would never...I know him, our priest knows him, our guests know him. How dare you! What proof do you have of this claim?"

"You didn't know?" Bella whispered,"Oh, shame on you Darren for not telling her. By the way, your daughter waits at home. She's not black, she's coloured and I am no longer a virgin. She's not old enough to know about these things. You want proof? DNA tests will quickly sort this out."

His bride glared at him. "Is this true, Darren?"

Darren could not gaze directly into his bride's eyes. Instead, he cradled his head in his hands."Why?"

Bella said, "I am made of glass and you made me stronger. Your bride, these people, even your priest may think I'm a raving lunatic, but I am here and you have not broken me. I could have taken you to the highest court in the land. I could have done many things..."

She replaced the flap of nettle over her face, breathed in the sweet aroma of rose incense that filled the chapel, and walked away from him, head held high as she passed the gawking, flabbergasted guests.

*****

Darren dropped to his knees as though in prayer and wept before his bride as though begging for forgiveness. She stepped back, her face inflexible, cemented in grazed horror.