stranger beside me? Who was this lump of flesh I called my husband?
He moved close to me, took my hand, whispered in my ear and put his face against mine. I tried to forget his self-important look and the inconsistency of what he said, tried to deny the evidence of my ears and eyes, but it was impossible. My memory was clear and vigilant, retaining every word. My mind was all too alert, forcing me to face images of the depressing reality of him. I could see right up close to me his teeth and his big flat rabbit’s ears.
I drew away but he put his sweaty arms around me, whispering in my ear in a hoarse, sad voice. I pushed him off me in annoyance and said angrily, ‘Why did you lie to me?’
‘I wanted to have you.’
‘That’s ridiculous. I’m not a piece of land!’
‘I’m the one who gives the orders! I’m your husband!’
The look of weakness and need was gone from his eyes and the thread that had been binding me to him was severed. A hard, overbearing expression rose to the surface of his shallow eyes: not the look of a strong man, but of a weak man when he develops an inferiority complex because he’s used to seeing himself as the strong one out in the streets and senses that he’s the weak one inside his own home.
I sat in my surgery with my head in my hands and admitted to myself that I’d made a mistake. I’d believed a man’s words in the dark without being able to see into the depths of him. I’d been seduced by his weakness and his wanting me. I hadn’t realized that a weak person conceals complexes and mean, contemptible characteristics under the surface which someone stronger would scorn and rise above. Yes, I’d done wrong. I’d disobeyed my heart and mind and done what this man wanted, entered into a marriage contract which looked like a contract for renting a shop or a flat. By doing that hadn’t I put him in authority over me? Hadn’t this contract made him my husband?
My husband! These words I’d never spoken before! What did they mean to me? A hefty body, taking up half the bed. A gaping mouth which never stopped eating. Two flat feet which dirtied socks and sheets. A thick nose which kept me awake all night long with its snorting and whistling.
What should I do now? Accept responsibility for my mistake and put up with living with him for ever? But how could I live with him, talk to him, look into his eyes, give him my lips, degrade my body and soul with him? No, no. The wrong I’d done didn’t deserve all this punishment; it didn’t.
Everybody does wrong. Life is made up of right and wrong. We only come to know what’s right through our mistakes. It’s not weak and stupid to do wrong, but to continue doing wrong.
People opened their mouths wide in astonishment and protest. How could she leave her husband? And why?
How dare they, these people who handed themselves over to me body and soul, whom I saved from ruinous illness and death? What right had they to object to something in my private life, or to tell me their opinions? I was the one who advised them what to eat and drink, explained to them how to breathe, sleep, live, multiply... Had they forgotten, or did they think that when I took off my stethoscope and white coat, I put aside my mind and intelligence and personality? How little they knew!
My mother had ruined my childhood, learning had swallowed up my adolescence and early womanhood and the years left to me of my youth could be counted on the fingers of one hand. I wasn’t going to waste them and no one was going to make me.
5
The little world that I used to build out of chairs and dolls when I was a child became reality. In my pocket was the magic key. I could come and go whenever I wanted without having to ask anyone’s permission. I slept alone in a bed without a husband, turning over from right to left or from left to right as I fancied. I sat at my desk to read and write or to ponder and think or do nothing at all.
I was free, completely free in
He moved close to me, took my hand, whispered in my ear and put his face against mine. I tried to forget his self-important look and the inconsistency of what he said, tried to deny the evidence of my ears and eyes, but it was impossible. My memory was clear and vigilant, retaining every word. My mind was all too alert, forcing me to face images of the depressing reality of him. I could see right up close to me his teeth and his big flat rabbit’s ears.
I drew away but he put his sweaty arms around me, whispering in my ear in a hoarse, sad voice. I pushed him off me in annoyance and said angrily, ‘Why did you lie to me?’
‘I wanted to have you.’
‘That’s ridiculous. I’m not a piece of land!’
‘I’m the one who gives the orders! I’m your husband!’
The look of weakness and need was gone from his eyes and the thread that had been binding me to him was severed. A hard, overbearing expression rose to the surface of his shallow eyes: not the look of a strong man, but of a weak man when he develops an inferiority complex because he’s used to seeing himself as the strong one out in the streets and senses that he’s the weak one inside his own home.
I sat in my surgery with my head in my hands and admitted to myself that I’d made a mistake. I’d believed a man’s words in the dark without being able to see into the depths of him. I’d been seduced by his weakness and his wanting me. I hadn’t realized that a weak person conceals complexes and mean, contemptible characteristics under the surface which someone stronger would scorn and rise above. Yes, I’d done wrong. I’d disobeyed my heart and mind and done what this man wanted, entered into a marriage contract which looked like a contract for renting a shop or a flat. By doing that hadn’t I put him in authority over me? Hadn’t this contract made him my husband?
My husband! These words I’d never spoken before! What did they mean to me? A hefty body, taking up half the bed. A gaping mouth which never stopped eating. Two flat feet which dirtied socks and sheets. A thick nose which kept me awake all night long with its snorting and whistling.
What should I do now? Accept responsibility for my mistake and put up with living with him for ever? But how could I live with him, talk to him, look into his eyes, give him my lips, degrade my body and soul with him? No, no. The wrong I’d done didn’t deserve all this punishment; it didn’t.
Everybody does wrong. Life is made up of right and wrong. We only come to know what’s right through our mistakes. It’s not weak and stupid to do wrong, but to continue doing wrong.
People opened their mouths wide in astonishment and protest. How could she leave her husband? And why?
How dare they, these people who handed themselves over to me body and soul, whom I saved from ruinous illness and death? What right had they to object to something in my private life, or to tell me their opinions? I was the one who advised them what to eat and drink, explained to them how to breathe, sleep, live, multiply... Had they forgotten, or did they think that when I took off my stethoscope and white coat, I put aside my mind and intelligence and personality? How little they knew!
My mother had ruined my childhood, learning had swallowed up my adolescence and early womanhood and the years left to me of my youth could be counted on the fingers of one hand. I wasn’t going to waste them and no one was going to make me.
5
The little world that I used to build out of chairs and dolls when I was a child became reality. In my pocket was the magic key. I could come and go whenever I wanted without having to ask anyone’s permission. I slept alone in a bed without a husband, turning over from right to left or from left to right as I fancied. I sat at my desk to read and write or to ponder and think or do nothing at all.
I was free, completely free in
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