INHERITING THE MADMAN - by Eyitoluwase Soyinka

He hadn’t planned on it. He had only gathered the courage to reveal his feelings to her, busy was she at school, busier at work.The only place he could get her alone was her house.So he broke in, only to tell her about his feelings. Please do be clear on that.Fate, however, was a tempter.That evening, he watched, fascinated, as she set the CD player and let the music spill into the room, divesting herself of her garments one by one, and, oh Lord, he was transfixed.He hated what others tagged as “peeping tom.”They called it watching.They reduced it to baseless weakness.But he was not weak.He was enshrining an artifact—one that surpassed the human mind, a beauty meant to be preserved, not understood.And he continued his peculiar observation day in, day out. It wasn’t even sexual anymore, it was something more ethereal. HE WATCHED. She moved as though the room belonged to her,As though the air had been trained to part when she breathed,She was his muse, a masterpiece of exquisite resplendence with curves that would make any man a sinner.He learnt only her rhythms, he would have to wait before he learnt her name, memorizing how her shoulders loosened when she thought she was alone, the way music coaxed truth from her body more faithfully than conversation ever could, as she shimmied to the rhythm of Wicked Games by Chris issakHe was tight with longing.Still, he did not touch, even though he wanted to—badly.But artifacts are not touched before they are understood.And yet, that other man’s hands hadn’t respected the code, tainting his fascination with vulgarity.Molten anger that had risen in him, as those hands found the small of her back, cupping her breasts and teasing her in places he could only dream of, he watched her fall apart.“This wasn’t how you imagined it,” his mind whispered.“You could do better for her,” it added.But he had sucked in those perverse words.She was way out of his league, never to be noticed by her.He was whispered unto" If you were the one she was with, you’d make her smile more" The pressure mounted.Her very own salvation called unto him, and begrudgingly, he answered. He just wanted her to smile again,To laugh freely!!!!!It was all the fault of those hands, they hadn’t held reverence in her undoing,And that was not how you honour a gift.Scripture understood desire better than men admitted. Amnon had wanted Tamar long before he defiled her. The wanting was not the sin, he told himself, only the possession that came after.He was determined not to repeat his mistake. A spiked drink turned into slipped shorts, and he took...and took.Yet, as he stared at her, he watched as fear and tears made a marriage upon her countenance.Her tied hands and bruised skin spoke of a twisted heaven as the sweet smell from the red metallic nectar, gotten from the patterned design he had made with his knife, filled his nostrils." Oh, how holy and purified he felt, to finally grasp the concept of real pleasure" realization overtook him, she was really never that beautiful.Her freckles were actually rather…disgusting.The beloved cat eyes now looked dull and almost lifeless.Was this how Amnon had felt? To loathe the very thing he once burned for?Was he living out the scriptures through his actions?For, in truth, he had found a wisdom even Solomon couldn’t proverb "simply put, the allure of gold is only more when you have less" She closed the journal with careful hands.The stone before her bore his name, dates neatly aligned, respectable.Around her, the cemetery was quiet—eerily so.So this was what he had left her.This was to be her inheritance.“A madman for a father.”

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