Husband and Wife

Let me tell you a story I know of. It doesn’t have a moral to it, nor is the end understandable, but it’s something I’ve silently witnessed over the passage of time that should be shared with you. Maybe you can make sense of what I’ve seen, maybe you can tell me what it all meant.

Back in that tiny village I used to frequent, there was this married couple. The wife had stars in her eyes, everyday without fail; she always looked to the horizon, no matter what time of day. If it was dusk, she saw the setting sun with a smile on her face. If it were the witching hour; the hours of midnight till dawn, without a doubt, she’d sit out of their tiny cottage and marvel at the diamonds, the rubies, and the sapphires that dotted the velvet sky. The man who’d swept her off her feet, who had courted her with whirlwind intensity and finally gave her his name, he tried to understand this unusual behaviour, had tried to sit with her, tried to see her visions, yet he could not. She never held it against him, this inability to comprehend the secrets she saw and felt.

The husband bartered his energy and health with the wealthy lord of the land; for a period of four days he spent at the lair, repairing what needs be, toiling out in the fields when it was planting and harvesting season. In return, he and his wife had a roof over their heads, adequate supply of grains and meat and fruits and clothes. Best of all, for every four days he worked, he was given an equal amount of resting days. Four and four.

At first, they were happy. In the early days of their youth, I often saw the wife greeting her man after a hard day’s work. The smile on her face said it all, I think. But there was a violent streak in her; sudden hard kisses on his lips, cheeks, all over his face. Slaps across his biceps and chest for no apparent reason. There was never an explanation, no apologies for her behaviour. But always, the kisses came back, soft, loving and playful. Those words "I love you" came easily - too easily, I think. Too frequent. Could it be...?

I’ve seen her cook, this woman. The food she cooks is simple and humble, meals suitable for people of their status. I’ve seen her sweat and fret whether the dishes tasted good, surely it didn’t lack the essential ingredients, surely it didn’t upset the stomach? The worry, I think, upset him because it upset her. Don’t bother making food anymore, he finally ordered her one day, I shall provide. Then he strode out of their home, towards the landlord’s holdings. I think that was the first sign that the light in her eyes died out.

Peace reigned for as long as it could. Neighbours, friends and families who knew them swore that they were the most loving pair they’d ever set their eyes on. But soon, fights erupted. The silliest matter would suddenly escalate into stormy tears, issued ultimatums, shouts, and finally, somebody would leave the haven they had built together. Most of the time, it was her. In the middle of an argument, she would open the door and start walking out, unheeding his shouts to come back! and went where her feet took her.