The First Wife

by Paulina Chiziane

  Men also harass women. So as to keep them at home to wash their clothes. Obey them. Lay the table and take out the china. Bear children and fill the house. They say a strong man doesn’t weep when his wife leaves him. A solitary man sets off along his path, takes two steps and feels a pain in his knees, and so abandons his journey because it’s too long. He makes an excuse, saying that there’s no life, only stones beyond the horizon. And so he finds consolation and companionship in alcohol, solitude provides bad counsel. A man without a woman is as substantial as the wind. He’s seen as irresponsible, women reject him because they don’t consider him manly. A solitary woman says the world is a dunghill, that no one understands her. She’s bitter. She rants at everything and at nothing. And she says that flowers are weeds. That all the glint of sunshine does is cause you injury. That darkness and night are better. She seeks death in life. She’s a walking corpse.

  I’m lying in my bed and I hear the bedroom door creak. Someone opening it and coming in. My God, I’m going to die, it’s Tony on the warpath. What does he want here, if this is Saly’s week? I wasn’t expecting him at this hour. He’s not supposed to be here now. He wants to make me get up and prepare a coffee and a whiskey for him, today of all days when I’m feeling so tired. I’ve been all day on my feet, I had a lot of clients to attend to. Too bad for him, I’m not going to get up, I’m not in the mood for putting up with anyone today. I look at him. The expression on his face is very serious but it doesn’t suggest any anguish. Something very serious has brought him here. I know that look, that smile, those gestures. Something’s not right in that heart of his, I can sense it.

  “Rami!”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve come to a decision. Let’s get a divorce.”

  “What?”

  Tony’s decision strikes me like an earthquake. I feel as if the huge mirror within me has been shattered by a stone. My tears flow, dripping to the floor, shards of broken glass. Ah! These eyes of mine are a limitless source of weeping that never run dry. A divorce never appears suddenly. There’s always a ritual to its appearance, with angry quarrels, aggression, insults. I accepted and even surpassed the limits of violence to avoid such a step being taken. The ground is shaking under my feet, making me utterly dizzy. I lie down. Ah! The ground is solid after all, it’s my knees that are shaking.

  “Why a divorce now?”

  “I want to assure you of one thing: It’s not for lack of love. It’s a punishment. Pure revenge. I want to place you on the same level as the other women. Your recent behavior has been unworthy of a spouse. Just because you are registered on my documents, you think you’re some sort of a queen. Instead of educating the other wives, you encourage them to adopt malicious attitudes. I’ve got to put an end to this. I’ve organized everything: It’ll be divorce by mutual consent. You’ll sign the papers, and my lawyer will come and see you in a few days.

  He goes on and on. I’m not listening. I’m in the future, I’m on the moon. I’m in the world that awaits me when my divorce goes through. I shall be a muddy stain on the immaculate white sheet of my mother’s family. I shall be a spot of absolutely indelible cashew juice on my father’s white shirt. Society will look at me with scorn, pity, malice, like birds that scavenge at night. I shall be flogged with sticks and stones, like a snake greedy for sex, flesh, blood, and forbidden pleasures. I shall live between the earth and the moon. Between the dross and the street. An outcast. Old friends will take me to the bar, but not to dinner. The bar is on the street corner, dinner is with the family, and people go out to dinner as couples. I shall live in places where mice hide, so as not to be chased by cats, because a divorced woman is flesh for any dog. A divorced woman is a witch, she makes love potions in order to attract rich gentlemen and steal their cash. She’s a murderer, she kills the wives of her lovers so as to take their place. She’s a thief, she steals husbands, she uses and abuses. She’s a cannibal, she devours men and other people’s loves.

  “But Tony!”

  “You’re meddling too much in my life. Your zeal is too much and is damaging me. I’ve been angry with you ever since my birthday and the whole rigmarole that led to me having to take on the commitments of a polygamist, which I didn’t even want. The orgy of revenge was the last straw. I’ve had enough, let’s get divorced.”

  “I’m not going to sign the divorce papers.”

  “Yes, you are. And in doing so, maybe you’ll lose your superior airs.”

  “Superior?”

  Superior, me? I’ve never felt superior to anyone else just because I wear this band of gilded wire on my ring finger. I’m on the side of those women who fight, who win, women who lose, who hesitate, who fall. I’m just another woman who hugs the air in the kiss of clouds and laughs as sweetly as doves cooing as she greets the sun on each new day. I’m a woman like the rest.

  “Rami, my life was good. I did whatever I wished. I visited women when I felt like it. I would take money out of my pocket and pay them when they deserved it. Now that you people have got these business ventures, you think you’re ladies, but you’re no better than whores. You think you’ve carved yourselves some space, but you’re no more than a hole. You think you’ve got rights and a voice, but you’re no more than dumb ducks.”

  “We’re earning money to improve our lives, Tony.”

  “That’s why you’re insulting me, because you’ve got money. That’s why you abuse me, because you’ve got businesses. That’s why you lack respect for me, because you think you’re ladies. But I’m a rooster, I’ve got my head held high, I crow, I’ve got a talent for crowing loud. So you’d better be aware that your fate is to cluck, lay eggs, hatch them, and keep your eyes on the ground while you scratch around to catch the odd worm or grain husk. No matter how much power you may get, you won’t be any better than a race of clucking hens forever begging the protection of a rooster like me in order to gain some recognition in life. You’re bats in the night twittering sadly, and your voices, perpetual lamentations.”

  Oh, God! We women, beggars for love, for embraces and kisses, we beseech you, pour your blessing into our hearts. Give us a little justice, we who plant corn, reap wheat, who fill the planet with life, with bread and light. Give us too a stone stair that we may step up from the ground, contemplate the heavens, and breathe in the pure air of the stars. Give us the strength to advance in step with sister nature, dressed in our uniform of sweat and calluses in the never-ending struggle for bread, for life, and for justice.

  He wants to divorce me to marry who? Only women divorce to be alone. Men divorce in order to marry someone else. I’ve always been obedient. Fulfilled my duties. Today, I’m going to disobey for the first time. There’s not going to be any divorce. He wants a divorce? Over my dead body! I close my eyes as if they were dikes to stem the flow of tears that is turning into a cascade. I can’t stop myself from weeping. I’m a good person. I’m pure in spirit. I’m the one who always dreamed of a world in blossom. Even my rivals I treat with love. I had opportunities to be another, independent woman. I rejected them. I chose marriage as a profession. In her matrimonial career, a woman never rises through the ranks. She sinks. I’m of an age to mount the throne and devote my life to being queen, and here they are trying to take my royal seat away from me. What will become of me? If Tony chases me out of here, where will I go and live with my children? Seek a new husband? With so many children?

  22

  One fine morning, a dapper-looking man knocks on my door. He’s plump. He’s carrying a black briefcase and his shoes are well polished. He wears a white shirt of good quality material, a tie with golden swirls and bright red dots. The well-fed sort, who drives around in a car and doesn’t need to ask any favors. I open the door.

  “Are you Rosa Maria, madam?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please sign here.”

  “Sign what?”

  “I’m the lawyer dealing with your case.”

  “What lawyer?”

  “Dealin
g with your case.”

  “Look, with all due respect, I must tell you that we don’t need an intermediary to deal with my problems. I suggest you leave.”

  “Madam, as a lawyer, I must advise you to sign these documents and settle the matter peacefully. Otherwise you’ll have to go through a painful, litigious divorce process. You should be aware that your husband accuses you of moral abuse, mistreatment, and psychological violence. The poor man has been made profoundly unhappy because of you.”

  “Do you know he’s polygamous?”

  “That’s not the issue. The fact is that you, madam, are the main party responsible for this situation. Because you didn’t look after him appropriately. You didn’t enable him to fulfill himself. You didn’t satisfy him. You didn’t complement him. You didn’t please him enough. It’s your fault and you should account for your crimes. You didn’t know how to hold on to your husband and what’s worse, you offended him.”

  “Me?”

  The man’s voice is like dagger thrusts of fire in my chest. I feel as if my whole body’s ablaze. This man’s extraordinarily haughty. Arrogant. I allow Tony to walk all over me with his leathery feet, but not just any man.

  “Madam, you are Tony’s only legally recognized wife, have you forgotten?”

  “Look, sir, don’t oblige me to give you a piece of my mind. I think you’d better get out of here.”

  “Madam, it’s only a signature. It’s very easy.”

  “Get out of here and don’t come back.”

  “You are going to sign this, madam.”

  This lawyer’s an unpleasant character. Repulsive. I’m not a piece of cattle, I’m a woman. I’m not made of stone, I’ve got feelings. When people attack me, I fight back. I raise my hand and it comes crashing down on the lawyer’s face like a hammer. This fight gives me special pleasure, and I give his chubby cheek a good scratch. He takes two steps back, for he hasn’t realized what’s happening. He never imagined being slapped by a woman. He passes his hand over his sore cheek, where his black skin is slightly flushed. I advance. I’m a wild beast. A cannibal. I feel like chewing his tongue off so that he’ll never again utter an ugly word or insult a woman. Help, the man shouts, while calling for his mommy. I want to eat him alive. Although he’s fat, he’d fit nicely inside my stomach.

  The lawyer plunges deep into the sofa. He spends quite some time silently caressing his injured face. He throws me an irate look.

  “You’re going to pay for this, lady!”

  “Yes, of course. I pay a good price. I pay well, and I’m going to pay you right away!”

  “I’m a man of justice.”

  “What justice? Go on, tell Tony I’ll kill him, and I’ll kill you as well, if you two continue to molest me. A man of justice, what justice? Go on, tell Tony I’m waiting for him with a dagger in my hand. Let him come!”

  I give him another scratch. If he returns my aggression, there’ll be trouble, I promise. His head and his job will be on the line. He soon realizes the trouble he’s got himself into. He gathers his papers and leaves in a hurry.

  God help me! Forgive my madness. It’s the first time I’ve done something like this, I swear. But I must admit I enjoyed it. How wonderful! I feel light, as if I weren’t myself. My whole life has been spent avoiding blows or running away from blows. This is the first time I’ve raised my hand against a man, and a man of the law at that, something that gives me even greater pleasure. How good it was!

  I think about the divorce, and I have a rush of blood that causes me to faint and then come round, my heart thumping. The heat rising. I get the shivers and feel cold. I’ve got the summer in my body and winter in my soul.

  23

  I’m on the edge of a precipice. One step and I’m gone. Ah, my heedless love. I accepted everything from you, put up with it all: illnesses, desires, problems, complaints, shame, dirty tricks, squabbling. Now you’re breaking free, getting rid of me, exchanging me, humiliating me, in favor of other, younger, more beautiful women. I wish you happiness, my love.

  I go to my bedroom and engage my mirror in conversation.

  “Mirror, oh, mirror, what’s going to become of me?”

  The mirror rewards me with an image of tenderness and the clearest answer it has ever provided.

  “You won’t be the first woman to get a divorce, nor the last. Divorces happen every day, like births and deaths, but relax. There’s a big difference between the will of man and the will of God. What God proposes, man doesn’t dispose.”

  “And what is God’s will, dear mirror?”

  “And what is your will, dear twin?”

  If men and women had been made to die together, they would have been born together, from the same womb and at the same time. But each one of us is born on our day and at our own hour. Only love has the strength to bring people to union. Tony and I, two rivers, two parallel lines, become one during the course of our journey. Now, we’ve arrived at the estuary, and our paths have divided. Once again, we are two, each one flowing freely toward the ocean’s deep waters.

  “Dear mirror, I’m an earthenware basin with a crack in the middle and I can’t retain water anymore. I’m a shoe with a sole worn through that’s no longer any good for walking. I’m a failure. I’m defeated. I’m a woman abandoned because of conjugal incompetence. An old woman. Dross. Worthless.”

  “But the world doesn’t begin with you, my dear twin. Nor does it end with you. There are women suffering much more than you in this world. If the divorce goes ahead, it’ll be because it was written in the book of life that you and Tony were not to die together.”

  The image I see is my certainty, my subconscious mind, reclaiming sayings and knowledge hidden away in my memory. Within me there’s a deep sense of emptiness. An endless ache.

  I go back to my bedroom and lie down for a bit. In this bed I had dreams, I bore children, I wept over the long absences, the jealousy, the disappointments. The end of it all has arrived and the bed will be no more than a stretcher, on which to rest from my weariness. Me and no one else. The bed has now grown in size and seems different. There’s a cool breeze and I close my eyes. The doorbell rings.

  I open the door. It’s my four rivals. The news of our divorce has left them in a state of complete shock, as if it were some seismic shift. They come with a whole list of questions. I answer them.

  “It wasn’t I who took the decision to seek a divorce. I’m leaving the road ahead clear, my post vacant. I’ve been thrown out.”

  Ju places her hand on my shoulder. Her embrace has the feel of despair. The strength of her despair. Her body is cold, her arms are shaking.

  “What’s happened for him to act like this?”

  “I’m damned if I know, I …”

  “You can’t accept it, Rami!”

  “Don’t come here asking me to put up any resistance. I’m not the one who left, it’s him. You’d do better to tell him to come back. I’m the victim. I loved so much, I got trodden on, I want to get out of this prison cell. Love is a cancer. The more they reject you, the more it grows.”

  “Rami, are you going to accept the divorce just like that, without contesting it or anything?” Saly asks with a concerned air.

  “He’s closed the door,” I answer. “He hasn’t left me with any hope whatsoever. There’s no point in prolonging this suffering.”

  “Rami,” Lu says, “if Tony leaves you, he’ll leave us sooner or later as well.”

  “Women aren’t all the same, each one has her luck or fate.” I try to reassure my rivals. “Each one was born on her day and has her own destiny.”

  “So what’s going to happen now?”

  “Wherever I may be, God will be there as well. I won’t have the arms of a man to give me affection, but the wind will be there to refresh my soul. I shall drink the early morning dew just like the grasses of the savannah. This love of mine drove me mad, punished me, perverted me, consumed me, ravaged my whole life. I left the field of combat with nothing to show for it
, I lost my weapon, I lost my lance, I lost my strength, I lost hope. Ah, dear God! I lost myself.”

  “Rami, you are my security.” Ju fell into a delirious fit. “If you leave this group, it’s the end of me. My children were mushrooms that the wind caused to grow. They were orphans, born out of loveless sex. My children only knew bread, they never knew love. They knew their father from the photos and the fleeting visits that always took place at night, when he would come and fertilize my womb. They knew their father from behind the wheel of his car out on the road, and they would show him to their friends: See that blue car? The gentleman behind the wheel is my father. And when their friends asked which blue car, my children would reply: Oh, what a pity, but he’s gone now, our father and his blue car. With the rota system we set up, I managed to have him for a whole week. I felt the joy of washing his clothes. Laying the table for him. Having lunch with him. My eldest children were surprised, for they’d never, since the day they were born, sat down at the table with their father.”

  From Ju’s inner being, a river of tears flows, weeping in the desert for the drop of dew that has disappeared in the direction of the noonday sun. Ah, Tony, devourer of hearts, slayer of dreams. Tony, a catfish, slipping through his captors’ hands. Tyrannical, inaccessible king. Poor, deceived, wounded, vanquished Ju. Her smile made to light up the world, extinguished under a snot-laden crust of leprous slime. Her body made to enchant the catwalks of the world, now covered in scars and rags. That heart of honey turned into one of vinegar and bile.

  “How did you get as far as producing six children without any pleasure, with a man who never loved you?” Asked Mauá, with pity in her voice.

  “I never stopped hoping to keep him with me. But instead of keeping him, I tore myself to pieces, procreating.”