Sheunesu only noticed that the tomato soup was burning when her hand began to hurt. She looked down to see the brown smudge stuck at the bottom of the pot. She did not bother to make another batch; she simply threw it out and decided she would serve her husband dry rice and fish. If he choked that would be his problem. Her mind was still consumed by the used cigarette with red lipstick she had found in the dustbin earlier that day.

She neither smoked nor wore lipstick. Sheunesu had thought her husband Mufadzi would be more careful with his cheating. Perhaps this was his way of communicating that he was seeing another woman. She had been warned that all men cheat back when she had her kitchen party. The day when many gifts had been bought for her to use at her matrimonial home. She wished she could burn all of those gifts, as if that could erase what her husband had done. 

If Mufadzi had brought his mistress to their home, he probably took her to their bedroom. She searched the bed for any traces of the intruder. Her friend Winnie’s husband had cheated on her in their home. Winnie found the hair of the woman on the bed, but her husband lied that it was corn silk. 

Sheunesu did not find any hair or any foreign fragrances. All she had was a cigarette with red lipstick stains. She told herself that perhaps it was a prostitute and not a mistress, because red lipstick to her was a sign of a loose woman. The colour was too bold and striking for anybody that did not seek attention. She had been away in South Africa buying stock for her tuck shop. She had opened the shop soon after she got married to help Mufadzi with their expenses. The money was good enough to meet her wants and buy groceries. Perhaps opening up the shop was a mistake, she thought. Perhaps closing it would have been a good choice to save her marriage.

The cigarette had been thrown out with the rest of their rubbish, but she thought it might have been a good idea to keep it and confront him with evidence of his infidelity. The next best thing that she could do was to plot her revenge against him. Burning him with boiling oil would be too kind. Setting him on fire in his sleep would be too easy. Aborting his child would be too trivial. There was a man she heard on the radio who claimed to have the power to send ants to whomever he disliked. He said the ants would crawl all over your body. This may have been a more fitting punishment, making him experience the discomfort she was experiencing. She would never find the man so she pushed the thought out of her mind.

Winnie arrived at Sheunesu’s house in the middle of the morning.

“I’m so sorry, my friend,” said Winnie. 

Sheunesu was near tears. “Before we even have our first child!”

“That has nothing to do with it, Sheu.” She took a deep breath. “These men are heartless, that’s what they are!”

Winnie was like a pillow she could land on. She always was and always would be.

Sheunesu had never been open to telling her problems to her church members, but today she booked a session with the First Lady of the church. The First Lady wore a heavy fragrance that the whole congregation knew was a knock off. She was wearing the same scent      when Sheunesu walked into her office for her session. After the usual pleasantries, Sheunesu quickly placed her matter on the table.

“Cheated on you?”

“Yes.”

“And all you have is a cigarette butt you threw away?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t be so shocked. Even the pastor of this church is taking care of another family in Bindura,” the First Lady said casually. 

“What do you mean?”

“My husband got a woman pregnant and now he supports her and the child in Bindura.”

She should have added that this was the reason the congregation’s monthly contributions had gone up, thought Sheuneu. This was the reason why they had introduced quarterly subscriptions at the church. All of that money was being used not only to support the Pastor’s family here, but a child he had in another city.

“Thank you for the advice, Mama.”  

***

If there was anybody who would know if Mufadzi had cheated on her, it would be the woman from across the street. That woman’s children were grown, and she wasted her time growing and cultivating gossip. Sheunesu had learned to ignore the woman each time she left the house no matter how many times the woman tried to strike up a conversation with her.

“Nhasi matioonao?” chimed the woman.

“Don’t be like that!” said Sheunesu. “I’ll be running to work.”

“Not even a second to say good morning?” 

“I’ve greeted you in the past,” she lied. She knew the woman would talk to her no matter what.

“What brings you here?” asked the woman.

“My husband.”

“I don’t have affairs with other people’s husbands,” she said. “Don’t you know that some of those women have put spells on their husbands?”

“That’s not what I want to know.” Sheunesu was impatient. “Did you see him bring anybody into our house while I was gone?”

Sheunesu was not expecting the answer that she got. The woman said that nobody had gone into Sheunesu’s house, apart from her husband, of course.

“Impossible! I found a cigarette with red lipstick on it! Someone was in my house.”

“Maybe I missed it,” replied the woman, “but I know everything that happens on this street.”

Shenunesu knew what she had seen, but if the woman had seen someone enter Shenunesu’s house then she would have said so, gladly. She quickly excused herself.

“But if you’re so afraid of your husband cheating on you, why not put a spell on him? I did it to my husband, and if he ever cheats on me he will not be able to survive outside of water.”

Sheunesu quickly rubbished the story that her husband had cheated on her. The best way to change a fact was to tell a lie and to repeat it until the river of truth becomes murky. She continued being the wife she was raised to be. She wished she would become colour blind so that she would never see the colour red again. The time for her to restock had come. She went back to South Africa to buy the necessary material. When she returned, this time she found a cigarette with pink lipstick stains on it. 

The first thought that crossed her mind was revenge, to inflict pain on his skin. The second thought was to ask the woman across the street how to cast a spell on Mufadzi. The third thought that lasted the longest was to face the truth. It was time to clear up the murky waters that she had ignored. She took the cigarette butt and placed it on the bathroom counter.

“Who is it?” asked Sheunesu. Mufadzi was holding the butt. “And I saw the other one too, with red stains.”

“It’s no one.”

“Taura chokwadi!” She felt her whole body vibrate.

“I am.” He paused for a short while. “It’s me.”

Mufadzi then led her to the small storeroom behind their house. He pulled out a suitcase and revealed women’s clothes and multicoloured wigs. The wigs ranged from siren red to pure white and hot pink. He dug deep in the suitcase and pulled out a makeup kit. 

“This must be the lipstick you are referring to,” he said, showing Sheunesu the lipstick in the kit.

“You wear these things?”

“Yes.”

Sheunesu searched for regret or shame in his response but was unable to find any. He was as confident as an eagle when it took to the sky, knowing its empire. Sheunesu’s head was spinning, and she ran out of the front gate with no particular destination.

Perhaps this was a demon possession she was witnessing. In what world did a man put on makeup and women’s clothing? Sheunesu thought there should be a logical explanation, and the only way to get this explanation was from Mufadzi.

All she could remember as she walked back to her front gate was a gang of children who were sniffing glue, the hushed sound of the river, the dancing of zvigure and the flickering of tower lights. As she walked through the door she found the food she had prepared still on the table, the pink-stained cigarette next to it, still menacing her. Inside the bedroom was Mufadzi dressed in a sequined dress, wearing a blond wig like Marilyn Monroe, and his lips shining with the red lipstick. 

“Do you need any more evidence that it was me who left the stain on those cigarettes?”

She wanted to run, but Mufadzi motioned for her to come closer.

“It’s me.” It was almost a whisper. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

She moved closer until she could touch him.