Married But Available

by B. Nyamnjoh

  “Still, time and distance do make themselves felt. I know I was constantly aware of the clock ticking away throughout the whole two weeks I spent with Sexwale, and I felt pressured to make good use of every minute, worried that some questions might remain unasked or unanswered, some important thought not expressed, some gesture not made, some misinterpretation not cleared up... two weeks are treacherously short when the agenda is so complex, the urges so intense and the future so uncertain. Some things caught me by surprise, like my own feelings of intense sadness when all of a sudden I saw our shared future developing in an endless chain of short term stays, our relationship disjunct from the surroundings in which it thrived, semi-nomadic hearts, outsiders, partitioned lives... Had I not envisioned this prospect before? Perhaps not, though I find that hard to believe. But if I envisioned it, the scenario did not evoke in me the sadness that overwhelmed me on the day Sexwale took me to his favourite bar – what they call out there a pub. It still saddened me after I left for Puttkamerstown, but the sadness was not as intense as in Corkscrew, as the bar was called, if I remember correctly. I had become familiar with the feeling, I suppose, I was not surprised by it, I knew this prospect was a very real (though not entirely unavoidable) one and something that was better recognised than ignored. Besides, there was no point crying over spilled milk. Until some miracle occurred, I had to try to come to terms with my virtual mistress-status. I knew Sexwale disliked that term, but I think it was not so inaccurate.”

  “Virtual mistress? Was he married then? I’d understand that more readily in these days of internet, email, webcam, Skype and all, but not in association with the age of the letter to which your relationship belonged.” Lilly Loveless was surprised at the use of the word.

  “I was not married to him, and there was little regular physical contact to make the relationship grow,” replied Desire. “On this I wrote to him more times than I can recollect. The letters were usually variations of this: ‘Sexwale Darling, Long distances are not very good for relationships. Ours has survived it. But your silence is succeeding where distance has failed. Your silence tells me you are too busy, too busy to even send a letter. I do not think it is a crime to miss you. Your silence is taking its toll. Sorry if I bother you with my worries.’

  “I see,” said Lilly Loveless, nodding thoughtfully.

  “When I returned home, I wrote to Sexwale: ‘After a fairly uneventful morning of sleeping, washing clothes, chatting with neighbours, tending my plants and flowers, etc. I’ve once again installed myself on my sofa – with a pot of Mimbo-Tea, this time – to write to you. How far away you seem already, after one night’s separation! How I wish I could wake up in your arms every day like I did in Muzunguland; that first morning there of slowly waking up with you, talking, feeling, at that moment, everything seemed to fit, it felt like home, warm and trusting and safe, familiar. So many memories, questions, contemplations are flooding my mind now – it’s difficult to make sense of it all, let alone put it into words. There are many things in our relationship that I find trying – a web of interconnected things like our separation, personality-clashes – but my strongest feeling now is that I love you completely. The words ‘I love you’ sound so ordinary, so superficial, but I know no others to describe my intense longing for you. Feelings I had before the visit have, I think, deepened and broadened – I think I know you more now, and the more I know you, the more I love you. That gives me a very deep, satisfied, peaceful feeling. But it also frightens me, for the more I show you of myself, the more painful rejection by you will be if you decide that you’ve had enough. Sometimes I’m really afraid that your feelings for me will have changed, and I feel constantly in need of reassurance. I do not like to feel this need, but I cannot deny its presence, either. Love is such a complicated affair! Do you ever feel that need for reassurance? How can one really be reassured?’

  “‘So many gestures and words can be ambivalent: like a caress – sometimes it’s an expression of a warm feeling for the other, but it can also imply a demand: see me! I’m here! Respond to me and show me that it is me that you want! Speaking of caressing: did I tell you (I think not) that I like it so much when you run your fingers through my hair – like when we were sitting in your garden, like sometimes in the early morning, like the first evening at the restaurant... and when you held me and stroked my back, I can think of nothing else in this world I would rather have than that – like after the shirt-washing scene in the bathroom. I don’t know exactly why, but you are also able to infuriate me as almost nobody else can. You’d win an Oscars both ways with me, I think. Saturday evening at the restaurant was not an easy one. But the fact that we were able to talk about it made me very optimistic – I think we can go a long, long way together if we are able to talk things through, keeping in mind our common goal, finding ways to understand and accommodate each other. It is so important to understand our own and the other’s behaviour and feelings! I want no stone left unturned, so that we can come closer and closer...’

  “One thing we did during my two weeks in Muzunguland was try for a baby. When at the end of the month I saw my period, I had to share my disappointment with Sexwale: ‘I’m very sorry indeed about the little Sexwale. I wanted it very badly, and was thinking of it all the time, ever since leaving you in Muzunguland. I was very disappointed this morning to find out that we had not succeeded. I had imagined having a reminder of you with me for the rest of my life through the junior Sexwale, and that was a prospect that made me so very happy. I admit that I was also frightened at times by the responsibility I had taken upon myself, to be a single mother, with less than what one could meaningfully term an income, lacking a family on which to rely for support, and with an altogether uncertain future, even as regards a roof above our heads. But I also felt determined and strong enough to fight the various battles that my little Sexwale and I would encounter on our path. Of course it might well be a matter of timing – we were together in the second half of my cycle, when chances of conception are small – but I also worry that maybe I am infertile altogether. I hope not, but I am irrationally pessimistic in this respect, expecting the worst so as not to be disappointed in the future. The girlfriend of one of our colleagues here at the university – Dr Munyinge Trouble – is pregnant and I found it irritating to have her around his office next door to mine, rubbing her swelling belly all the time and talking about the pregnancy. She cannot know how her own happiness heightens my sadness, and yet I found it hard not to be annoyed with her. Only a day or two earlier I had imagined the little Sexwale and the little Munyinge (I don’t like the surname Trouble) playing together in our big flower garden to be.’”

  Lilly Loveless could see that Desire didn’t understand ovulation, which could occur early or late in a cycle, though most women ovulated between days 10-16. If she made her trip after she had ovulated, there would be zero chance that she would get pregnant. “Why do you think you could be infertile?” asked she. “If it is too personal, you don’t have to tell me,” she added when Desire hesitated.

  “Yes, it is personal,” said Desire. “Let’s keep it at that.”

  “So how did Dr Sexwale take this news?” asked Lilly Loveless.

  “He was devastated, and told me so in a phone call. His letters dried up all of a sudden, mine as well, somehow. Then one day he wrote. I replied: ‘You write that you felt you might have lost me to someone else, thanks to distance, but I can wholly reassure you that that is not the case, and though I at times feel quite lonely, I have no inclinations to pursue a romantic relationship with anyone for the time being. In all honesty, I must say that there are two reasons for that: you and Ernest. As you know, I had considerable difficulty dealing with the break-up with Ernest. I have never been so wounded by a (failed) relationship as in the Ernest case, and have become very cautious because of that, intending never again to allow myself to be hurt so profoundly. I am well aware that that sometimes makes me hesitant towards you. My feelings for you are too strong for
words, I miss you horribly and think of you all the time, but I am very afraid also, of allowing myself to become attached to what may prove to be an illusion, or perhaps just an impossibility: this distance between us complicates matters awfully. I find it very difficult to think about our future together when there are no realistic possibilities for us to be together in a normal situation, and at the same time I am so afraid that your patience will run out and that you will give up. This must sound very contradictory and vague! I suppose in a nutshell I am trying to say that I love you and miss you dreadfully, but that I am also afraid, afraid of being rejected by you, and afraid that this fear, compounded by our physical separation, will prevent this relationship from blossoming.’”

  “What did he say?”

  “He didn’t reply immediately, but eventually he did. At this point of our relationship, letters were drying up, but the postal system was not to blame. Tensions and questions were more visible, at least, from my standpoint in the relationship. I found myself revisiting issues and scenes, reading new meanings, and writing questioning letters: ‘You are not as open a book as you claim to be. Not mentioning having a son from your secondary school days is a case in point! These would be very sober letters indeed if, as you seem to suggest, we were only to share with each other those details of our lives which were explicitly asked for by the other party: if that were the case, you would not know about my friend Alice, for example. Rather than wait for you to prompt me to tell you things that you might imagine to be relevant, I prefer to volunteer information which I myself find worth sharing. The letter-writer or the person speaking ought to take responsibility for the subject matter, and not let the contents be determined solely by the suggestions of the reader/listener. Not so? How am I to know which questions to ask? How am I to be certain that I have not neglected to tackle an issue which is important to you, but which escaped my attention or lies beyond my understanding? I’d rather leave the initiative to you in that regard. And my interest in the lady in red who kissed you at the Corkscrew, as you very well know, was not motivated by any personal interest of mine in her affairs, but was, rather, rooted in a not altogether surprising or unrealistic fear of losing you to a rival who had the advantage of being physically close to you and to whom you, through your own admission (even if under duress) are attracted. Nor, for that matter, can my interest in her be seen to negate my interest in other people in your life. It would no doubt appear odd to you if I considered your occasional questions about Ernest reason to remain silent about other people and happenings that occupy me. I think we should strive to attain complete frankness: in a long-distance relationship like ours, complete trust, openness and honesty are of even more paramount importance than in relationships where distance plays no role.’”

  “Good,” said Lilly Loveless. “And what did he have to say for himself, in reply?”

  “If he bothered to reply, that is,” Desire corrected. “As I waited for a sign from him, I reread some of his letters for unanswered questions or unattended issues. When I found one, that was reason to write. In one instance, I wrote: ‘In one of your letters to me you made reference to unanswered questions, posed in your earlier letters. There is one question which has been on my mind ever since you posed it, somewhere in June, I believe, and that is: whether I could stand you as a husband? I have not answered sooner, because really I don’t know how to, but I realise that I am obliged to answer, and really ought not to have kept you waiting for so long. The truth is, that I cannot imagine being married to you, or to anyone else for that matter. I have contemplated the question often, but my imagination doesn’t reach far enough for me to envisage a situation of being married to you: Where? What kind of life am I to consider? What about your past and current life? Would I not lose you if I married you? What would you expect of a wife like me?...

  “‘Many interruptions later... Before going to sleep last night I reread a whole pile of your letters, and that made me long for you more than ever. You and this letter were constantly on my mind all day at the university today, and I couldn’t wait to get back home to finish the letter – I realise that you have heard too little from me the past months and feel badly about my failure to get myself organised enough to write to you regularly. Although, to be fair, it must be added that it takes two to tango.

  “‘I found the letter in which you asked me if I could stand you as a lifetime partner. But how can I possibly see into the future? I want you now and cannot imagine that I would stop longing for you, but I am realistic enough to know that in relationships, there are no guarantees. You say that if you were to marry me, I would need a lot of taming, domestication, harnessing, and so on. But of course you know as well as I do, that I cannot be tamed, domesticated or harnessed in the way you imagine, or the way one would do to one’s cat, dog, goat or horse. If that could be done, you would lose the Desire that you know now, and we would both end up losing. But marriage is not, to me, the most important thing. That is not what I am after, at least not now. Not because we irritate each other at times, but simply because I don’t really believe that marriage offers any added value to our relationship. Of course I sometimes feel jealous of your being out there in close proximity to the lady in red, but that wouldn’t change even if I had the same geography as she. It is more important to me to know what I mean to you regardless of the institutional framework. I wouldn’t want to bind you to me by marriage. Rather, I long to know that we have an emotional bond that will be strengthened and renewed time and again because of its own strength.

  “‘But love is such a murky thing: what is it, really? The more one wonders, the less one finds answers, it seems. I feel so many things about you: I feel wanted and admired, but also challenged, and confronted with myself (who am I really, who are you, is it possible to ever know that?) I love to talk with you, to exchange ideas, to hear you talk and laugh, to feel that you are hearing what I say and responding to me. I admire you, I think you are very clever, and wish I had some of your wit and insight. When together with you, I have never experienced a dull moment, and that is rare, as I very easily become bored with most people. But you appeal to me in so many ways that I feel addicted like a mimboman to his mimbo: the more I think I know of you, the greater my hunger to dig deeper, and the greater my inclination to share more of myself with you, too.

  “‘Day to day life, as in a marriage situation, doesn’t attract me, because mundane irritations get in the way of what I really want, which is a far deeper and more meaningful way of being together, of communicating at a level unobstructed by habits, obligations, time schedules, a relationship in which openness, trust, warmth and a real sense of togetherness play important roles... and yet I see myself contradicting myself, too, because I also feel that normal life can make it possible to attain that deeper level of communication. And I also know that, for example, I very much enjoy seeing you in your professional environment as when you were my mentor here at Mimbo, and would love to be closer to you in that sense, too. The memory of seeing you at your office at Mimbo, or teaching, or typing away on your laptop, or organising seminars on campus – all those memories fill me with a feverish yearning to be with you, to admire you while you go about your business in your charming and friendly manner, knowing that at the first possible opportunity I will be lying next to you, skin to skin, completely enveloped by your presence, breathing you into my system. Oh, how I wish we could be together again here in Puttkamerstown, even if just for a short time, so that I could be reassured by your touch and your voice. This unrequited wish makes me castigate a world order in which for an African scholar to prove their worth, they must migrate to a university in Muzunguland. Do those who encourage this practice realize the intellectual and emotional haemorrhage they are causing Africa?’”

  Lilly Loveless put several stars against this particular question in her notebook, but did not interrupt with a request for Desire to elaborate.

  “‘Writing like this makes missing you a painful thing. I’ll
stop now and post this to you straight away: it always gives me a good feeling to know that there is something on its way to you. You asked for answers: yes, I can stand you as a life time partner (your words). Far more than that, I want you as a partner for as long as I can imagine. I hope I have given you some idea of what I feel that such a partnership entails. I would like to hear what you think of all this. Have I answered your question(s)? How do you feel about it? Are you still with me? I have been thinking a lot about this relationship, and one thing I realise is that it requires a serious effort and investment: because of what I want from it, and because of the parameters within which we are compelled to operate. I feel very bad about having invested so little during the past months: I know that without regular communication, we are destined to fail, and I truly regret us having kept each other waiting for so long, so often. On that note, I better get this letter in the mail now, and intend to get back to you very soon again. Please stay well and stay with me. I really miss you (why does that always sound so much less poignant than it is?).

  “I remember a letter in which I detailed to him how my neighbour in the village was pestering me with overtures of marriage: ‘One of the letters I received from the village the other day was a most curious one from Heasey-Seesey, in whose rat- and cockroach-ridden house I stay when I go home, as mine is still under construction and will be for a long time because of the miserly salary I receive here at UM. The gist of his letter is nothing less than an all-out declaration of his no longer secret love for me. He claims that he has been in love with me all along but was restrained by the fact that I am too educated as a woman. Having watched me at close range since I started building in the village and going out with him now and again for palm wine, he has reached the conclusion that I am modest enough for him to consider marrying me. He envisages me marrying him and continuing with what I am doing in the city as his city wife, while he looks around for a second wife, his village wife, who will sell palm wine and bush meat on market days, and make as many children for him as God and his ancestors will. I am kindly requested to reply quickly, so that we can make good arrangements soon. (Whatever for, pray tell?) As usual, Heasey-Seesey is distressingly vague, placing the responsibility for interpreting his confusion in my hands: You are a big girl and should understand these things, he says. The only thing that he is clear about is his professed love for me. You can well imagine my astonishment. This letter now is proof again that our miscommunication is so extreme that Heasey-Seesey is not even able to perceive it.’