The First Wife

by Paulina Chiziane

  “What an awful system!”

  “Polygamy has its advantages.”

  “Advantages?”

  “Yes. When the wives agree with one another, the man can’t abuse them.”

  “You’ve got two husbands now, Aunty. Is that to make up for those polygamous times?”

  “One is the father of my children. The other helped me to raise them.”

  “Both of them in the same house and the same bed?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I left the royal house when the king died, and then married Marcos, the father of my two little girls. He left me and set off along the byways of this world. He carried sacks, slept on the quay, he was the lowest of the low, and then finally, he worked in the gold mines of South Africa. He was left with gilded lungs from so much dust, and this turned his saliva into blood. The doctors told him it was silicosis. He was deported. He had no home and no food. All he had were these two daughters that Tomás, my new husband, helped me bring up. Tomás took Marcos in out of charity. They became close, like twin brothers. Now they are inseparable.

  “But then, how does the relationship work?”

  “What relationship, my dear? What are you talking about?”

  “Aunty, I’ve heard some strange things.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, come on, Aunty! You know what I’m talking about.”

  “I’ve also heard things. That dissolute, Marcos, is known to like men.”

  “But …!”

  “Let’s not talk about this anymore, my dear. In the eyes of the world, I’m the shameless one with two husbands in the same bed.”

  “So, don’t you do anything about it, Aunty?”

  “What for? Let people say what they will.”

  10

  I drink a glass of wine. Happy birthday to you.

  Children’s voices float through the air like kites in the wind. Luísa’s son is two years old today. My ears are filled with gentle sounds like flowers falling on a tomb. Crowded round a cream-filled cake, the children try out their voices to see what tones they can reach. Then they take a deep breath and draw in pure, clean air. Their sounds are stronger than the wind and touch the most sensitive points of the sky’s navel. For them, life is a soapy bubble, swept along on the crest of a wave, all is lightness. They don’t know that all that is born dies. That all that grows ripens. They don’t yet know that life offers more thorns than it does flowers. How I wish I could be a child again.

  I drink another glass of wine.

  I like this birthday boy. He’s handsome, like my husband, Tony. He reminds me of my little boy, Betinho, when he was a baby. It’s as if both had come out of the same mold. They’re alike. Identical.

  I drink another glass.

  I observe everything around me. The curtains have become unfastened in one corner. In the hall, a lamp bulb has blown. The sofa I’m sitting on has a broken leg, and perches on a brick. This house needs a man’s hand. My Tony spends most of his time over here. Between these four walls, he produced two children with this woman. Why doesn’t he use his strength as a man to carry out some repairs on this house? Luísa’s women friends and neighbors wander wherever they want here, talk out loud and say anything they like, pry into everything without asking. It’s a house without any order to it. A woman’s house. A man is needed here to impose respect on this house.

  Another glass of wine.

  This Luísa’s a bit crazy. Didn’t she phone to invite me to her son’s birthday party? I said no, not in a month of Sundays. It just doesn’t make sense to go to the party of the son of a rival. But here I am. I don’t know what spell, what piece of wizardry, dragged me here. I passed a shop and bought the little boy a toy car as a present. But I don’t regret it, I’m having fun. I’m getting to know new people, and socializing. I’m showing these rivals that I’m better than them and don’t harbor resentment or grudges. It was a good opportunity to get to know this Luísa up close, the world she lives in, her circle of friends, and even something of the spell she has managed to cast on my husband.

  Night is falling and the party comes to an end. The children disappear like a flock of birds returning to their nests at sunset. I pour myself another glass of wine. The last one.

  The doorbell rings, and the door is opened to let in another guest. A man. But who is this marvelous man who is holding a bouquet of flowers like a bride? Who is this man who has followed the twisting streets to reach this little hideaway, under the romantic cover of dusk? Who are these beautiful flowers for, if the birthday party is for a two-year-old baby who’s only interested in a toy, a chocolate, a cream cake? He must be a thief. A beautiful thief. A stolen kiss is given and received in the darkness of dusk.

  The man’s presence transmits the energy to me that I need in order to live. Those flowers bring the perfume to my sense of smell that I need in order to breathe. The man wears a smile on his lips that makes me excited. I invite the man to sit down next to me. He plays hard to get and I insist. He obeys me.

  “Handsome man, I’ve never seen you before. Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  Luísa is awkward and whispers something in the guest’s ear. She does the introductions. She stammers.

  “You’re Luísa’s lover, aren’t you?” I take him to task. “Yes, you are. You should know, my good man, that Luísa is a woman with commitments. She stole my husband from me and they had two children together. But then who is the man who wouldn’t let himself be stolen by this beautiful thief, my good sir?”

  The man prevaricates, but stumbles at every step, and I conclude: He really is her lover. I’m furious. This Luísa, apart from being a betrayer, is a hussy. Barely is her husband away and she jumps over the fence as fast as she can. Adulterer! Suddenly, I feel like screaming and causing a huge explosion. Then I think for a bit: What for? I’m here at this children’s party to enjoy myself and not to defend the conjugal interests of another adulterer. And apart from that, this woman doesn’t have any formal property rights, she’s not registered anywhere, she’s free. Beautiful as she is, sensual as she must be, why shouldn’t she make the most of life?

  I drain my glass of wine.

  “Do you know my husband, sir? He’s Luísa’s husband. A handsome man who allowed himself to be stolen away by this thief’s charms. But I’m not angry, I feel no resentment. Although she’s a rival, she avenged my jealousy. Do you know Julieta, my good sir? She’s got a pretty face, but she’s all dried up, all skin and bone. Bone without any marrow, bones that wouldn’t make a stew or a soup. I’m an abandoned woman. A bitch without an owner, my good sir. All because of Julieta and Luísa. But Luísa’s pretty, don’t you think?”

  The man doesn’t answer, he just looks at me. With pity and tenderness. A tenderness that makes me want to fly. He smiles. A smile that bathes me in mad thoughts. I’m struck by a thousand sensations. Heat. Cold. Hunger. Fire. Thirst.

  Dear God, my body is being knocked sideways by a rush of blood. I feel desire rising in my heart. I fidget desperately this way and that, the chair can no longer hold me. My skirt makes me feel an inner heat, I feel like taking it off. Maybe it’s the wine. I didn’t have much wine, but I’m drinking large quantities of aphrodisiac springing from this stranger’s sultry eyes. I forget all the rules of good manners and sink fast. I’m a rushing river, flowing toward the cascades, I’m plunging over a precipice. Where will I come to a stop, dear God? I’m in the abyss, I’m sinking. Shame, my own shame, don’t leave me alone, adrift in this life. Where are you going, shame, leaving me all alone like this? I can’t control myself. Shame is forsaking me, leaving me defenseless. I struggle with all my strength against the madness that is destroying me. In vain. My God, what is this change that has overcome me? Prior to this, no other man ever seduced me. Only Tony. My Tony. Where is my Tony, who has left me to journey alone in this perilous world?

  Luísa drags me to her room. She undresses me. She lays me down. I w
on’t be going back home today, I’m sorry. The bedroom is simple and the bed a modest one. A woman’s bed. It needs a man’s touch here to give it the consistency of a love nest. In this bedroom, in this bed, Tony made two children. Why doesn’t he lend his man’s strength to make this room more comfortable?

  I ask for another glass of wine. Luísa refuses me. So I then raise my tearful voice in a prayer, and ask God to give me this ultimate comfort; like a woman condemned to death, I’m hanging on a cross at the top of a hill.

  This man is God, he answers my prayer and comes to me. My arms open like flowers bursting into bloom as they are caressed by the sun. All the stars in the Milky Way spread over my bed and I dance to the sound of my silence. I close my eyes and soar into flight. This man has the infinite power to make me live. And die. And make me escape to other planets while my body remains on Earth. I fall asleep on the moon.

  The sun has risen. I open my eyes with difficulty. I can hear distant humming, and there’s a hammering in my head. I look at everything around me. This room isn’t mine, nor is the bed, nor the clothes I’m wearing. Can it be that I’m on the moon?

  Then I remember. It was all my fault. My whole body shakes like an earthquake. From fear. From shame. I slept with Lu’s lover! That parched woman was me, in the middle of the desert, chasing a raindrop. That depraved woman was me, drinking wine, glass after glass, like a whore. Like some tramp, I gave myself to a stranger. Could it be that Luísa set this trap? Who is Luísa? Who is the stranger? I was as firm as a rock. Incorruptible. I always lived on a higher plain than other women because I was someone who stood for all the virtues. I have tainted my fidelity, a breach has been opened up, a wound that will never heal. I’ve pulled down the pillars that held my values in place, I couldn’t resist the temptation. I wish I had some detergent to rub this stain away. A deep cavern in which to hide the weapon used in the crime, but the weapon is my body, ah, my body, my enemy! How could I resist your appeals? Cursed flesh, what have you done to my soul? It’s hard to remain faithful when one’s body is on fire. This forced abstinence is hard, dear God, it’s hard being a woman.

  A voice of wisdom gives me counsel: Never say I’ll be back in a minute, I’m just going to the end of the street. Because a journey has no length. You take a step and are involved in a fatal accident. You meet a mugger. You tread on a thorn. You experience sadness and pain. You take another step and you find a flower. A great treasure. You make a lifelong friend. You meet the great love of your life. A journey is as mysterious as all the fissures of fate. That’s why they always advise you: Woman, always take your capulana with you, to cover you if there’s sun. To be your shroud if you die. To cover your bed if you find love. To cover your face if you are ashamed. To cover your naked body if you lose your clothes, and hide your shame from the eyes of the world. I came for a humble birthday party and ended up succumbing to forbidden love. I didn’t bring my capulana. How am I going to wipe away these tears of shame?

  Luísa appears, smiling, in the doorway. Carrying a tray, she looks like a servant. She’s bringing me hot coffee. She’s like a mother with a bib in her hand, fussing over her little child.

  “Did you sleep well, Rami, sister?”

  I manage to get up with difficulty, my arms shaking. I swallow the coffee at one go, and feel more lively.

  “Luísa, how did this happen to me of all people?”

  “Oh, Rami! That man isn’t a child. You are a woman in need, neglected, abandoned, it’s obvious. He helped you. There’s nothing wrong in that.”

  “What happened was rape. I was raped.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Yes. I was unconscious, drunk, the man took advantage of my weakness.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I invaded your space.”

  “I’m not possessive. I come from a region where solidarity knows no borders. I come from a place where one lends one’s husband to a best friend to have a baby as easily as one lends someone a wooden spoon. In my part of the world, a husband lends his wife to his best friend or to a respected visitor. In my village, love is solemnly shared in common as if it were communion bread. Sex is a glass of water to slake one’s thirst, everyday sustenance, necessary and indispensable like the air we breathe. If we already share a husband, sharing a lover is all the easier. So we’re quits, Rami, aren’t we?”

  “I feel so ashamed!”

  “Look, Rami, you haven’t committed a crime.”

  “This was adultery.”

  “Adultery? How long have you been waiting for someone who never comes? You southern women waste your time with such stories and prejudices. You renounce life, and may we know why? What’s all this fidelity if he’s already left you? Even widows get some relief at some point. And you’re not a widow, Tony’s alive, he’s happy, going about his business somewhere out there.”

  I want to tell her no, that I won’t agree to all this, that I’m a decent woman and all the other adjectives women like to use when describing themselves. But I can’t. Her arguments are stronger than mine.

  “I know I’ll never be Tony’s real wife,” she says, “which is why I live every day as it comes. A bit of love here, a smile there, little by little the hen fills her belly. When you can’t have a downpour, a bit of drizzle will do. In the absence of drizzle, a watering can is enough to moisten the earth. Have you ever been hungry, Rami? If you don’t have any green vegetables, you eat thistles, cacti, roots. Has no one ever told you that if you don’t have any water, your urine will keep you alive if you drink it? Those women who sell their bodies are people just like us, Rami.”

  “No, I’m not like them, I can’t be like them.”

  “Yes, you are. You suffer just like they do. You suffer more than they do. You’re a wife only on paper, you’re in fact the greatest spinster of us all. That’s why I lent you my lover.”

  “I’m a married woman, Lu. Even you shouldn’t betray him. You have a commitment to him, don’t you?”

  “Big deal! This Tony we’re fighting over, what do I get out of him, Rami? I ended up accepting my humiliation at being his third wife, without any legal right or status, just in order to get a few crumbs, just crumbs. There are lots of men in this city. But what men? Was I to go and get me a countryman, a truck driver from my home village? I want a house with electricity, a television and telephone. I want my children to have a good name and opportunities that I never had. I want a different future for my descendants.”

  I envied Luísa. A practical, down-to-earth woman, fulfilling the laws of nature. She was born in a straw crib, but she has a dream and sweeps the stones from in front of her with an iron fist.

  I drink another coffee and am more light-headed. I take a cold shower and feel refreshed. I go back to bed and close my eyes to reflect on things. I dream. In vain, I try to visualize the man who made me fly. I don’t even recall the shape of his face. Or his name. Much less where he was from. What I do recall is his voice, singing a lullaby in my ear. I imagine beautiful fantasies about him and journey as far as the stars. I hear a voice calling for my body and I open my eyes. Dear God, am I suffering some sort of acoustic mirage? They say alcohol produces buzzing sounds, voices, hallucinations, I must still be drunk. Within me, I feel those signs of madness that psychiatrists love to interpret. Lord, is it possible to go on being drunk after a night’s rest?

  I glance around me and once again fall to the bottom of the well. The beautiful stranger stands before me. I flutter like a dry leaf, the heat in my body shows me no mercy, it devours me. I crackle, hiss, burn. I still try to summon up the strength of my shame, but I see no sign of it returning. I’m an ant imprisoned in a tower of honey, nothing can hold me back.

  “Rami, good morning!”

  The stranger greets me. I am pleased. That young head with a few wisps of white hair pleases me. That manly voice and that smile please me. I am even more pleased by the heat of this latest embrace. I close my eyes. I retain that little piece of air, the delicious
mystery of his breath, in my lungs. I travel through space. Drops of rain fall from the abundant sky onto my body, and douse the flames that devour me. My feelings of solitude, anguish, rejection, float like jetsam in the torrent of honey. Once again, I am a river. I listen in silence to the gentle murmur of waves in my blood. I travel on high, I’m a star, I’m light, I shine. I’m a rainbow, I contain all the colors of sensuality, I am floating in space, I’m on the moon. My voice unleashes sweet, light tones like honeyed breath. I look down on the world from above. The Earth is a planet of thorns, and a stolen kiss is its most precious relic. There are no beautiful or ugly women when they make love in the dark, nor frigid women when fire exists.

  I awaken with my body in ashes. I think about justifying my attitude. What for? It would be a monotonous ditty, a litany of wild lamentations and expressions of regret over my shameless behavior. He makes conversation. He encourages me.

  “I like you,” he says. “I like Lu as well. I like both of you. You are wonderful, Rami. How can a man despise someone like you? You are beautiful, and you are young. You’re at the stage of your life when you need to experience the most passionate emotions, and there you are weeping like a widow.”

  “You’re just saying that to please me.”

  “You’re a true lady, a mother. How I wish I had a wife like you.”

  I’m annoyed and sulky. Men are all shameless and this one abused me in my fragile state.