River

“Got here as fast as I could. What was it you wanted to speak to me about?” River asked even before she’d shut the door marked FR. RALPH KHAMA.

The priest looked up from his computer, his expression grim and weary. He slid the medium-sized envelope across the table towards her. River walked over and emptied it of its content. There were four grainy photos and a typed note that read: DROP OUT OF THE RACE AND WE’LL MAKE THEM DISAPPEAR. STAY ON, AND THE PHOTOS WILL BE FRONT PAGE NEWS.

The photos were successive, close-up shots of both of them smiling, of her touching his face, of them kissing and then finally hugging. They were about a year old, taken in the parking lot of a restaurant where they had celebrated his birthday. Ralph’s face was out of focus, but his features were somewhat discernible, if one squinted hard enough. The photographer’s primary target had obviously been her.  

Confounded, River rubbed her fingers over her eyes then down her cheeks. She favoured masculine silhouettes on her androgynous physique, and at forty-nine years looked a decade younger. A septuagenarian opponent had tried using her seeming youth to score cheap political points, referring to her as “a small girl.” But the slur backfired when young delegates, tired of the old guard, voted her as the party’s gubernatorial candidate.

“When did you receive the parcel?” she asked, her voice low and even. The envelope had no stamps and wasn’t addressed.

“This morning before the first Mass,” Ralph said. “It was on the floor outside my door.” 

A slim, multiracial man of forty-seven, Ralph’s towering presence was difficult to ignore, even in a crowded room. He was charming, soft-spoken and bald by design. But it was his eyes that caught River’s attention. Unlike most who pretended not to notice them, she had asked him point-blank why one was chestnut brown and the other the colour of the sea. A mutation, he answered. That was five years ago at a dinner party hosted by a church member.    

River settled in a chair across from Ralph, who slid the parcel back into the envelope lest someone walk in on them. He would burn them later.

“I’m polling at fifty-two percent,” she said. “Whoever is trying to blackmail me knows I have a good chance of winning the election.”

Surrendering at this juncture would be utterly absurd, especially after slugging it out in the mosh pit that was the primaries. Her campaign staff had put in countless hours of work to get her this far in the race, and many others trusted and expected her to carry the torch to the finishing line. She couldn’t let them down now.

“I’m not going to give in to their demand, not three months to the election.” Her eyes burned with raw determination. “We’re so close to the end. So so close. I can’t let them do this to me.”

Ralph’s brows beetled in a slight frown. “What about me? Your neck isn’t the only one on the line. I could be defrocked if this comes out.”

“Your face is hidden.”

“Have you considered there may be more photos of us where my face isn’t?” he said, annoyed at her flippant response.

River fell back in her chair. She tapped two fingers on her lips, pondering possible scenarios. It was clear the media would cast her as Delilah, and the public would see her as a jezebel who seduced a helpless, holy man. When she spoke again, her words were decisive.

“We’ll brazen it out. My team will release a statement saying the photos were doctored. It’s done all the time to celebrities. If need be, you can make a declaration during Mass, denouncing the rumour as—”

“The rumour? What rumour?” Ralph gave a wry laugh. “I can’t do it. I won’t do it,” he repeated for emphasis. “I’m not going to lie.”

“Come on, Ralph. You know how hard I’ve fought for this. You know this.” She begged him with her eyes to see reason. “If we let them win, the state losses. We all lose. This city will burn to the ground. More schools will shutter. Armed gangs will continue their raids on businesses and homes, and many more residents will flee. The cycle of violence will continue unabated. You’ve given sermons criticising the government’s inertia in solving these problems. You’ve preached about safeguarding our environment and children’s rights. If all those things matter to you, if clean air, quality education and affordable healthcare matter to you, then—”

“Enough.” Ralph palmed the table with both hands, startling her. “I’m not against you or your campaign,” he continued in a soft, earnest tone. “You know this as much as I do. I want you to win, to be this country’s first female governor. Dammit, I do. You’re the best candidate out there. But we have an immediate threat staring us both in the face, and I need you to acknowledge it instead of speechifying.”

Ralph was still in his cassock, looking priestly and yet speaking the language of sin. Had the mood been different, River would have cracked jokes about him being a wolf in sheep’s clothing. With a sigh, she rose and paced the room, covering its entire length with eight strides. As far as she was concerned, there were no other roads to follow. The alternative route, the politically expedient one, the safe one, wasn’t an option. It was death. 

“Did you tell anyone about us?” Ralph asked.

River started to shake her head. “Well, besides Remi, no,” she said, then noting his expression, stopped in her tracks. “You don’t think she’s the one, do you?”

“Her husband is your rival. And aside from the incumbent, you’re his strongest challenger.”

“Remi’s like a sister to me. I’ve known her all my life, and she has been supportive of my campaign. From a distance, yes, but supportive all the same. She would never do something like this.”

“Never underestimate how low people will stoop to gain a political advantage.”

“Remi would never harm me.” Her tone was sharp and defensive.

“I’m sure Julius Caesar thought the same of Brutus. In politics, everything is fair game. Never forget that.”

“Right, and since I’ve known her longer than you, wouldn’t it be more plausible to assume you hired someone to take those photos to blackmail me?” The words hit their mark, and she immediately regretted saying them. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m on edge and nervous. So much is at stake here: my campaign, my marriage, my daughter... What is she going to think of me? O God.” She covered her face with both hands.

“Don’t be naïve is all I’m saying,” he said quietly.

Never in a million years did she think she would cheat on her husband of twenty-three years with a man of God. Unviable relationships were not something a reasonable, accomplished woman with a teenage daughter entertained. They were the preserve of footloose and starry-eyed twenty-somethings looking for thrills. And yet, here she was in the midst of an impending storm. 

What made her risk it all? Was it the way he had paid attention as she railed against capitalist greed and government incompetence, or how he said her name with a certain urgency, or the fact their eyes always found each other at that party several years ago? Or perhaps it was the way he laid an affirming hand on hers in the confessional after she’d expressed doubt over her decision to run for governor. “Make your boldest move and watch doubt melt,” he’d said. That brief, unexpected encounter awakened something in her that had since laid dormant.

River flashed a sad smile and motioned Ralph over. He obliged, and took her hands in his. Worry rippled over his expression.

“Should have walked away a long time ago,” he said.

“Don’t be silly. I wanted this just as much.”

“So what’s the plan?”

She retracted her hands and turned away from him.

“You’re not going through with the election, are you?” His tone was accusatory. “I’d disappear if you want me. But please, don’t do this.” He was begging her to spare them from the media circus.

“Four years is a long time to wait, Ralph. People are dying every day. They deserve a better life.” She faced him with the resolve of a kamikaze approaching their target. “I’m meeting with my campaign team later today. We’ll come up with a way to spin this. It may mean more people knowing about us, but it’s our best shot at quenching the fire.”

Her mind was made up. She had slipped on her fighter persona. There was no turning back. Knowing this, Ralph backed away, walked back to his desk.

“Do whatever you want, River. But bear in mind, I’m not going to lie.”

“We’ve been sleeping with each other for years and you think telling a lie will damn you to the ninth level of hell?” she cried in disbelief. “Your sense of morality is gravely distorted.”

“And if they release pictures with my face in full view after I’ve fibbed to the public, who’s going to come out of this in worse shape? The priest or the politician?”

“If they had such photos, they would have sent them to show they mean business. They don’t have them.”

“River, do what you need to do. I’ll follow my conscience,” he said flatly, arranging sheaves of paper.

She wanted to say something mean, to call him a heartless coward, but instead stormed out of the office with not so much as a backward glance.

                                                                        ____

One week later.

River came home at two in the morning from a strategy meeting to find her husband, Jaja, wide awake, waiting for her. Before he flung the unaddressed envelope at her feet, she knew what it contained. This time the incriminating photo was of an unidentified man kissing her bare back on a beach. Ralph’s face was hidden behind a fedora and sunglasses. Thankful for small mercies, River said a silent prayer.

“Do you want to explain that to me?” The iciness in Jaja’s voice sliced through thick layers of uneasy silence. He’d been watching her with the intensity of a hungry lion waiting for its quarry, his eyes burning with naked fury.

Slowly lowering herself to the edge of their bed, River looked her husband dead in the eye and confessed.

                                                            ____

Two weeks later.

After endless discussions on how best to tackle the rumour mill, River’s team devised a strategy of “managed honesty.” On a Friday afternoon, they convened a press briefing. A flurry of clicking cameras, harsh glaring lights, and microphones greeted River at the podium. Her husband and daughter stood behind her, both wearing solemn expressions that matched her grey, pinstripe trouser suit.

River held her head and shoulders high and looked directly at the camera as her team had advised. Keep it short and crisp. Don’t beg for forgiveness. Encourage them to vote, she reminded herself.

“I want to apologise for betraying the trust of my husband Jaja, my daughter Amede, my staff and everyone else who has supported me on this arduous but exciting journey. Yes, the rumours are true. I had an extramarital affair but not with a priest as some would have you believe. Father Ralph Khama is my spiritual adviser—that has always been the nature of our relationship, and on that note, I ask that the press respect his and my family’s privacy.

More importantly, I hope you keep your sights on building that bright future for yourself, your children and your children’s children. Nothing and no one should keep you distracted you from accomplishing that vital goal, not even me. So I urge you not to hang in the towel. I urge you to keep the fighting the good fight, to pick up the baton and go out on Election Day and cast your ballot. Thank you and God bless.” 

River stepped away from the lectern as journalists yelled out questions. She made for the exit, followed closely by her family and members of her staff.

Body language analysts, talking heads, and newscasters wasted no time dissecting her mea culpa with laser-like precision. “Poised, measured, even presidential,” quipped a pundit. “Calculated and stilted,” opined another. “Insincere and Clintonesque,” said yet another. “Anything a man can do, a woman can do better, right?” scoffed an opinion show host. “She’s been polling at thirty-five percent since rumours of the scandal broke. That horrendous apology will not dig her out of the doldrums. No way. At this point, a snowball in hell has a better chance of survival.”

Meanwhile, Ralph had watched the briefing live on his phone with bated breath. He hadn’t spoken to River since her last visit to his office and was unaware of the magic she and her team had cooked up. Her SMS telling him to tune in came thirty minutes before she went on stage.

It had been a surreal few weeks for him, with media personnel hording at the gates of Holy Trinity to catch a glimpse of the so-called errant priest. Parishioners spared him eerie looks during Mass, and socialising with fellow priests had grown awkward. None wanted to broach the topic with him, even as the rumours continued to morph into something darker and more salacious online. In response, he spent most of his recreational time alone reading or—when he could manage it, which wasn’t often—strolling in the park when foot traffic was minimal.

Ralph reclined in his chair, feeling mighty relieved and grateful. He also felt sheepish for questioning River’s character, for letting her take all the heat while he remained unsinged. He stared at his phone for a while, contemplating whether or not to call her.

Later, he said to himself. Later.

____

Election Day.

It was bedlam in the hotel suite and raining in sheets outside. A nervous optimism filled the room, where the campaign staff had gathered to watch the election coverage on TV. River was seated on the couch next to her passionate speechwriter and ferocious social media manager, who had worked tirelessly to put out the conflagration that almost undid her campaign. She’d feared massive staff attrition after breaking the news of the affair to them, but was overwhelmed with their support and loyalty. Some argued she owed no one, other than her husband and daughter, an explanation or apology. Her campaign manager Noura was the fiercest among them. “No male politician has ever apologized for cheating publicly on their spouse, so why should you?” she’d protested. Such was the campaign’s stance until her poll numbers began dropping, and dropping fast.

River’s assistant interrupted the women’s conversation, notifying her of a phone call. She took the phone from her and retreated to the toilet, away from the noise.

“Today’s your day.”

“Yes, it’s the day I find out whether my sins paid off.” River smiled a little in spite of herself when Ralph chuckled. She’d missed the familiar lilt of his accent and his rolling laughter.

Someone squealed, prompting a peal of laughter in the suite.

“It’s noisy. Where are you?”

“Sun View.”

“Is that the same hotel J.D Korsah declared her candidacy for president fifty years ago?”

“Yes. My team thought it would be historically symbolic should I win.”

“When you win,” he corrected. “Have faith in God.”

She scoffed. “You think They are still on my side after all I’ve done?”

In the early days of their relationship, they argued about her referring to God as They as though He were legion, but he’d made peace with her using the genderless pronoun.

“You made a public apology. That counts for something,” he said half-joking.

“Except you forgot the lie I told to protect you,” she said drily. “Would you want me to confess that sin personally to you, Father, or should I take it to a priest in the state of grace?”

Her remarks made him feel secondary. She was right to be upset, having served as a sacrificial lamb for something they both consented to and committed in equal measure. He also knew his reticence was to blame for her abrupt manner.

“I’m sorry for waiting this long to call you. I should have called after your press briefing but the timing was off. Then I got swamped with activities. Anyway, thank you.” Because she didn’t say anything, Ralph thought she had hung up. “Hello?”

“Yes, I’m here.”

There was a short pause.

“Ralph, what’s going to happen to us when—”

Someone knocked on the door, informing River the announcement of the election result had begun.

“I have to go.”

“Good luck, Governor.” 

“Thanks.” She smiled and hung up.   

Empty bottles of champagne, paper plates and serviettes littered the floor of the room. River helped herself to a glass of wine before settling in a chair next to Jaja. His shirt sleeves were folded at the elbows and his tie was undone, a sharp contrast with his courtroom persona. He smiled and held out his slender hand, giving hers a reassuring squeeze.

As the minutes crawled by and the results came in, more bottles of alcohol were emptied in desperation. Some of her staff gasped in horror when she lost another district, others simply left the room. But River’s eyes remained glued to the TV, not because she believed in miracles but because she wasn’t one to shrink away from defeat.

By the time the winner was declared, the suite boasted the same level of excitement as a graveyard. Some had tears in their eyes, but most were too shell-shocked to express any emotion.

As if on cue, River called the winner, a cursory conversation that lasted longer than she wanted. Then she worked the room, hugging and thanking her team for a job well done.

“A seven percent margin. It wasn’t a landslide victory,” she reminded them in a bid to assuage their pain. She exhorted them to get some rest, but not before apologising for undermining their hard work.

When the room emptied, River plonked down on the bed, kicking off her loafers. She would spend the night here by herself alone, a decision she’d made the moment she lost. Her phone was ringing again but she wasn’t ready to hear anyone’s pity and ignored it.

“Where’s Amede?” River asked Jaja, realising for the first time in hours that she hadn’t seen her daughter.

“She decided to watch the drama unfold at home,” he replied casually from the chaise longue where he sat, nursing a glass of red wine.

River sighed, massaging her feet. “I’m such a bad mother. I didn’t notice she wasn’t here with us.”

“You’re not a bad mother. A cruel wife? Yes. A bad mother? No.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” She stopped rubbing her feet and considered Jaja with questioning eyes. “Why did you stay?”

He arched a brow. “Stay here?”

“No, stay with me. You didn’t have to pretend we were a united front in public.”

“No, but I owed it to our daughter.” He rose and wandered around the room. “Amede wanted to see become the first female governor, and I didn’t want to be the sand in her garri.” Jaja paused, draining the rest of his drink. “Anyway, I harboured the same feelings you did about our marriage. You only pulled the trigger first.”

“You had an affair?” River caught his pained expression in the mirror.

“No. I couldn’t bring myself to do that to you even though the thought crossed my mind.”

When he turned around and met his wife’s eyes, she looked away at the muted TV, at the pundits and newscasters yapping about the election result.

“That night you told me about the affair, you said you loved me. Did you mean it?” The question made her look back at him.

“I did. Still do.”

“Then why?”

“We stopped being a unit a long time ago. We were friends, yes, but we had drifted so far away as lovers, even more so during the campaign trail.”

Jaja clenched his jaws. She’d always told him the truth with unflinching candour, a quality that had endeared her to him in grad school. It was why he hadn’t suspected the affair and the reason it floored him. He’d trusted if such a thing ever happened, she would be bold enough to tell him rather wait to be blackmailed before doing so. 

Jaja walked to the window overlooking the garden. The rain had since stopped, and the trees and grass glistened a vibrant green. “Still won’t tell me his name?”

She smiled weakly at him. “Of what use is it to you?”

“I never suspected once, you know?” he said, without looking at her. “I mean, I noticed you were chirpier and had become more religious.” Realising the irony, he chuckled wryly and shook his head. “I should be heading home. Have a case I need to research tonight.”

River watched him retrieve his briefcase and suit jacket from the wardrobe. “Leave the divorce papers in my bedside drawer. I’ll sign them when I get home.”

“Sure.”

At the door, Jaja gave his soon-to-be ex-wife a long stare. “Just so you know, Amede’s proud of you.”

She nodded her acknowledgment, then he shut the door, leaving her alone to her thoughts. It had been a tough, exhilarating, enlightening and brutal two years of meeting people in their homes, of trying to convince pay-for-play voters to reconsider their position, of pandering to certain demographics who weren’t happy she had chosen a woman as her running mate. She wondered if it contributed to her loss.

Her phone rang, jolting her out of her reverie. She reached for it across the bed with the intention of turning it off but changed her mind upon seeing the caller ID. 

“Hi Remi,” she said with a tired voice.

“Hey Riv.” Remi’s voice was ebullient. The ruckus in the background meant she had to speak loudly. “How are you?”

“I want to die.”

“Ah, please o, wait until we scale to Mount Everest. You owe it to me for my fiftieth,” joked Remi. “But really, how are you?” This time her concern was palpable.

“I think I might be able to articulate my state of mind better tomorrow.”

“I can only imagine. I was in the bathroom when you called my husband to congratulate him. Of all times my bladder chose to evacuate itself.”

River was too exhausted to laugh, and smiled instead.

“Riv, are you there?” When she answered, Remi continued, “You ran a brilliant campaign. I mean, you shunned corporate money and still managed to raise an impressive amount from the grassroots. I told my husband you would have beaten him by a large margin had it not been for the scandal.” She sighed with regret. “That someone skulked around, waiting to take photos of you in front of Sage is downright filthy.”

Suddenly alert, River sat bolt upright, surprising even herself. “What did you say?”  

“I said it’s terrible someone hung around Sage to take photos of you for blackmail.”

“How do you know the name of the restaurant?”

“What do you mean?” she said, a little annoyed. “It was all over the news.”

“No, it wasn’t. No one knows the name of the restaurant because those photos were taken in the parking lot.”

“OK, then you must have mentioned it to me.”

“Ah-ah. I couldn’t have. You told me years ago to stop talking about anything related to Ralph around you because you didn’t approve of our relationship. We had an argument about it, remember? I stopped talking to you about him.”

“OK, so what are you insinuating?” Remi said, clearly irritated.

“You and your husband, or at least someone in your circle was involved. You’re the only one I told about the affair. I’m guessing you may have inadvertently told your husband about it, and he used the information, with or without your knowledge, to blackmail me.”

“OK. This is very insulting and hurtful. But because I cherish our friendship, I’m going to hang up.”

“No, you won’t. Tell the truth.” River’s tone bore none of the acrimony present in Remi’s. She was calm and in control. “Tell the truth, Remi.”

“You want to know the truth?” she thundered, “I’ll tell you the truth: you’re jealous that my husband won. You’re a sore loser who would rather fault others for her shortcomings than take the blame for them. If you had half a brain, you would have known cavorting with a man in frock was political suicide. You should have broken up with him before you decided to run, but I guess you were too obtuse to consider the repercussions. So I’ll leave you with one useful piece of advice, in case you decide to run again: Digging for skeletons in a rival’s backyard is Politics 101.”

“You knew, Remi. Tell the truth.”

“Fuck you, River. You hear me? Fuck you.”

The line went dead, and River flung the phone across room, where it hit the wall with a thud and crashed to the floor. Angry, alone and confused, she buried her face in a pillow and wept for a long time.

____

One month later.

Ralph was packing books from his shelf in a carton and didn’t notice River walk in.

“Hey,” she said, startling him.

“Didn’t hear you coming.”

“Flat shoes and light footsteps.” She smiled, shutting the door behind her. “What are you doing?”

“Packing,” he said, straightening from his crouched position. His Roman collar peeked out of his black, short-sleeve shirt. He looked grey and frazzled.

“Are you leaving?”

He nodded. “I’m transferring to Namibia.”

She felt like she’d been kicked in the gut and placed a protective hand over it. “When?”

“In two days.”

For a beat, they stood there, staring at each other, speechless and lost to the world. She’d lost weight, he noticed. She also had dark circles around her eyes. Ralph broke the silence.

“I called you many times after the election but couldn’t get through. Figured you’d gone under the radar or travelled out of the country to escape the madness.”

“I smashed my phone against the wall. Only got around to buying a new one yesterday.”

“Rough night?” The remark was more of an observation than a question.

River nodded. Another silent moment passed.

“You know, you were right about Remi. She didn’t admit to any of it, but I know.” She recounted their phone conversation. “I would never have done that to her.”

“There’s no guarantee people will treat you the way you treat them. You can only hope they will.”

“I know, but we did everything together growing up. Our parents became friends because of us. And now… I trusted her with my life, you know?” Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them back, waving her hand dismissively. “Anyway, enough about that. Let’s talk about something else. Are you leaving because of what happened?”

“Not really. I’ve been up for transfer for almost two years but kept pushing it back because…” he let his words hang.

“Because of me.”

He nodded. “I think it’s best for both of us,” he said softly, “considering your political ambitions.”

She let out a rueful laugh. “My political ambitions died a gruesome death forty-three days ago.”

“Give it time. The ache is still fresh.”

Even though the election mania had died down and the media had moved on to trendier stories, it had not ended for her. Not a day went by when she didn’t think about what she could have done differently. It hurt knowing the public had penalised her for having an extramarital affair but thought nothing of another politician’s election bid to parliament despite reports he’d raped a former aide. She was reminded of Remi’s betrayal whenever her husband appeared on TV. But the people had made their choice and would have to suffer the consequences.

Her expression turned pensive. “Do you think I’ll run again?”

“Rivers always find another channel when obstructed.”

“I’ve lost my husband and my best friend. My daughter’s not talking to me. And you’re leaving. That’s what rivers do, sweep everything in their wake.” There was a note of sadness in her voice. She forced herself not to think of the numerous pieces she’d miss when he was gone. 

Ralph walked over to where she stood and took her hands in his. There were so many things he wanted to say but knew it was best to leave them unsaid. Yes, she’d made him reconsider the priesthood one to many times. Yes, she’d shown him a different side of life, of love and pleasure. Yes, he was grateful for the time they had spent together. Truth be told, nothing about their relationship was immoral to him, not even in the early days. How could one be fortunate and unlucky at the same time?

They held each other’s gaze steady, savouring one of their last moments together.

“Kiss me.” River whispered.

He hesitated, smiled and then leaned in.

This story originally appeared on Kalahari Review .

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