The First Wife

by Paulina Chiziane

  I slowly savor breaths of air and surprise. Memories of torture flow through my mind while night dissolves into fragments of light. I begin to dream. Lu’s words are bitter but restorative. Women should be better friends with each other, show more solidarity. We are the majority, we’ve got strength on our side. If we join hands, we can transform the world. Wars to conquer a love that is finished consume our time and the best of our energy. We naively seek to conquer a world that has already been conquered by the terrible forces of destruction.

  “Rami, in this world, whoever is good ends up in hell. I’m bad, Rami, and I live in heaven.”

  “You’re not bad, Lu!”

  “Yes, I am. I think first and foremost of myself. I defend my interests, without weapons, but I still defend them.”

  I think about myself. My male children get to eat first at mealtimes. Like their father. They eat the best bits of the chicken, and their sisters are left with the wings and feet.

  “I understand, Lu. But you haven’t yet said anything about Vito.”

  “I don’t know, Rami.”

  “Lu, fight these fears of yours and go and seek out the love that’s waiting for you. Say yes to love and allow your deeper scars to heal, my dear Lu!”

  “I’m not scared of love, I’m scared of suffering.”

  “You’d rather drift through the night so as not to be dazzled by the morning light. You’d rather be a firefly out on the savannah than be whipped by the endless rustling of the waves. You fear love because of the pain.”

  I give the matter some thought. I teach the boys to have self-esteem, I’ve never said anything about loving their neighbor. I teach my daughters about loving one’s neighbor, but don’t have much to say to them about self-esteem. I transmit the culture of resignation and silence to the women, just as I learned it from my mother. And my mother learned it from her mother. It has always been like this since time immemorial. How could I ever imagine I was paralyzing the flight of the girls from the time they were born, blindfolding them before they’d even known life’s hues?

  “Think of life and forget the past. Get married. And conjugate the verb ‘to love’ in capital letters. You’ll have more prestige and better status in society.”

  “I had my bride price paid, I’ve been given recognition. What more do I need?”

  “The law is stronger than tradition.”

  “I’m fine as I am.”

  “You’re not at all fine. When you think about it, what are you, the four of you? Why put up with these ridiculous meetings with the other wives when you can have your own space? After your week of conjugal bliss, solitude when he’s gone.”

  “Ah, Rami.”

  “I’m protected by the law, I can use it. And what about the concubine? And the third wife? Marriage has its benefits, Lu.”

  “I’m not interested in marriage.”

  “You’re afraid of a failed marriage, like mine.”

  “Rami, in my family, no woman was ever led to the altar. It’s our fate.”

  “Don’t you think it was God who sent this man to compensate for the loneliness of all the men in your family? With Vito, you’ll have the father you never knew. The emigrant brother who is far away. The love you always dreamed of and a companion for all the hours of the day.”

  I see two serene tears on Lu’s face. She gazes absently for a moment. There’s a window opening in her subconscious. She must be thinking of the village she left behind. Of the harrowing childhood she suffered. Of the world that awaits her, of the love she has and doesn’t want to give. The window opens and her words are uttered with some difficulty.

  “When I was little, I was raped by soldiers in the bush. I didn’t become pregnant, thank God. Some years afterward, my mother gave me away as a wife to an old man in our area, in exchange for a cotton blanket to cover my brothers, as it was very cold at the time. The old man was good, he was like the father I never had. But his old wives treated me badly, and lumbered me with all the heaviest tasks: fetching water from the river, for a family of seventeen people, grinding corn, looking for firewood out on the savannah, making charcoal. I ran away from the old man, I wandered through the bush, living on wild fruits, until I reached the city of Beira. I sold myself for sex on street corners when I was fourteen. I was treated badly by society, by clients, by the police, who locked me up in a cell more times than I can remember. I came to the capital by hitching a ride on a truck. I met Tony on a street corner in town. We had a child together and then another one. Ah, Rami, I’m a wild plant educated by the wind and the four seasons.”

  I’ve heard many tales of hardship down at the market on the corner of the street, but Lu hadn’t yet told me hers. Any woman who has passed by the gates of hell weaves herself a suit of armor to protect her against life’s claws, and wraps her heart in a layer of ice. A song of comfort wells up from my heart: Look at love as it smiles. Shed your armor, let the sun melt the ice that tortures your heart.

  “My dear Lu. Birds build their nests on top of trees. Women marry in order to build a home. Anchor your roots in the deepest part of the ground. Stretch your branches to reach out to other nests in the shade of your tree, Lu, get married.”

  “I promise to give the matter some thought. Tomorrow.”

  “Your past is only the shores of a raging river. Tomorrow only exists in the dreams of those obsessed by the future. When tomorrow arrives, it turns into today. Time is a game of light and shadow, and eternity is the present moment.”

  “I understand.”

  “You’re going to be happy, Lu. Vito is a special man, affable and sincere. And he loves you. Get married and love for real.”

  “I don’t know, Rami, but I’ll think about it.”

  I think about my Tony with some emotion. Not everything he did was wrong. He was a Samaritan. A good Samaritan. He came across a woman selling her body on the street. He bought himself a portion, tasted it, and enjoyed it. So he bought the whole thing, guaranteeing her board and lodging for a few more days. Women are poor. That’s why well-fed old men point their rotten beaks toward the forest of temptation and peck away at the girls, ready for harvesting on their stalks, letting a few crumbs of bread fall to the ground. God passes by and sees what’s happening, but has nothing to say about the misery experienced by these creatures he has made.

  36

  My house has become a place where everyone comes to vent their frustrations. My children don’t like this, but I don’t mind. They put up with my whims in silence. Hardly have the womenfolk arrived than my kids go out. This state of affairs must be very painful for them.

  It’s Friday today. They’re all arriving for yet another conjugal parliament. Tonight, Tony is switching to Ju’s house. They all turn up punctually, because I don’t allow late arrivals.

  The meeting starts on the dot, English style. Saly’s the one handing over and gives the same details as always. Tony’s well, he’s slept well, doesn’t need to take any medication, I always rubbed the ointment into his knees at the right time, etc., etc., etc.

  “How did you serve him his food?” I ask.

  “On my knees, of course.”

  “That’s good. It’s on one’s knees that one gives thanks to God. It’s on one’s knees that one serves kings. It’s on one’s knees that one should give thanks to husbands.”

  They laugh.

  “I’ve learned to be submissive like Shangaan women. Kneel down to give him a glass of water, kneel down to invite him to the dinner table, kneel down to serve him his coffee, kneel down to receive a member of his family, kneel down at his beck and call, kneel, always on your knees.”

  “Saly, now tell us about the gentleman’s behavior. Was he well behaved? What time did he go out and what time did he get home? Did he eat all you gave him?”

  “I gave him everything a man could desire. I gave him food he could eat with a spoon and he swallowed the lot: okra, dried fish, mealie pap, and all the northern spices you can get in the markets down here. If he
didn’t eat with pleasure, at least he did it to please me.”

  “Bravo,” I reply.

  “Not everything went as well as it seems, Saly,” Lu criticizes her. “He turned up at my house without warning at nine o’clock at night. I don’t like surprises and I like to receive my husband at the appropriate hour. You forgot to phone the others to tell us he’d left the house. I could have been busy in some meeting over work. I could have been busy with something else, just as I could also have been away. Oh, Saly!”

  I throw Lu a knowing look. While the king is tied up, we’re more free for the occasional frolic. Only Lu knows her secrets, although she’s shared some of them with me. But is it only Lu who has secrets? I don’t think so. We all phone each other when he runs off. It’s a sign. The lion’s at large on the streets and no one knows where he’ll end up. He needs to be kept under control. Bound and gagged. With him under wraps, we’re the ones who are free.

  “So how was the weekend? Did you go dancing?” Mauá asks.

  “No, we didn’t. He was tired and I took pity. Apart from that, you know I’m not too keen on dancing.”

  “Pity?” Ju complains, suddenly aroused. “The man’s strong, Saly, he doesn’t need your woman’s compassion.”

  “Aren’t you people human? Haven’t you got the tiniest bit of consideration? Can’t you see what a polygamous man has to go through?”

  “He doesn’t have to go through anything, Saly, the man’s strong,” Lu says.

  “Listen, he’s no spring chicken. He’s over fifty.”

  “The man isn’t growing old, Saly, he’s still young,” Mauá replies.

  “Think hard, girls, just think. Have you seen the energy he uses up on us?”

  “The man doesn’t use up anything, Saly, he renews his strength,” Lu chips in again.

  “I didn’t go dancing because I wanted to spare him the trouble.”

  “Did you skip dancing just to spare him?” Mauá asks with bitterness. “There’s no point in sparing a horse. While you spare him and look after him, some smart dame will come and steal your mount. A man is strong, he’s made of iron, he’s tough, he doesn’t grow old. While he’s yours, use him.”

  I find Mauá’s words deeply offensive, as if they were addressed to me. I looked after, I nurtured, I spared my poor Tony. I washed the horse. I put up with the smell of his shit. I groomed him. I respected him. He had such a shiny coat as he trotted along that he ended up luring these bloodsuckers who, as they mounted him for their romantic little ride, unseated me. I was the stupid one. A good little woman. So daft that I ended up in these shareholders’ meetings just to get a weekly slice of all that was mine.

  “Very well. Next time, I’ll go dancing, if that’s what you want.”

  Tony fulfills his role as passionate lover of us all, doing his best to please us with all the stamina that his male faculties allow. He spends his weekends rushing from one disco to another, from one dance to another. With Saly and Mauá, he frequents clubs specializing in rock, zouks, rap, and raggy music. They’re of the younger generation and they dance this type of thing. With me and Ju, he goes to slow dances, soul music, pop, blues, and jazz. We’re of the older generation from the time when folk danced hugging each other, cheek to cheek, sweatily, in the tropical breeze. Rock was also popular in our time, but we didn’t dance to it. We’re fat and busted. Lu is somewhere between the two generations of dancers. She doesn’t mind going to either. But what she really likes is to sit al fresco at a steakhouse, with her double martini, watching couples gliding across the dance floor. It’s we who pay for our weekend expenses as our business concerns make enough money for that.

  We besiege him closely and surround him with affection. We suffocate the man with love. With food. With dances each weekend. The swelling on his knee increases and subsides with ointments, tablets, massages. We plunge him in baths, in oils, in soft clothes and perfumes, and he never tires of praising his wonderful spouses. We feed him his daily bread, day after day, each day anew. We give him the care and attention worthy of a king. He is our Balthazar, our magus. He no longer reads the newspaper, he doesn’t have time as he’s always busy in his ladies’ quarters. His eyes and ears are full of lights and images that make him feel dizzy. Sometimes he wakes up not knowing in whose bedroom he is. He confuses his wives’ names. He says Ju when he wants to call Lu. He says Saly when he wants to call Rami. With Mauá, though, he never makes a mistake.

  “Don’t forget to take him to the hairdresser’s on Wednesday, Ju. The ointment is important, don’t forget to apply it after he’s had his bath. At half past six.”

  Ju scratches her nose and looks away.

  “Ju, it’s you I’m talking to,” Saly insists. “Aren’t you the one receiving your husband this week?”

  “Couldn’t you keep him another week?”

  “He’s been with me for three weeks already.”

  “He’s not leaving your house because you don’t dance. He likes being shut away there because he can relax with massages, little treats, and have a fuss made of him. I don’t have time for all that anymore,” says Ju, to everyone’s surprise.

  “What are you accusing me of now? I’m very fond of him and feel sorry for him. He’s got to take care of his work, service his wives, almost all of them young, and pay attention to the kids from time to time. Don’t you think that’s a lot of work for one man alone?”

  “Don’t you want to keep him all for yourself?” Ju asks, to everybody’s astonishment.

  For us women, a man isn’t a trifle, he’s a burden. A husband isn’t a companion, he’s your owner, your boss. He doesn’t give you freedom, but ties you to him. He doesn’t help, but makes things difficult. He doesn’t give tenderness, only hardship. He gives you a spoonful of pleasure and a whole ocean of distress.

  Ju’s question surprises most of us.

  “You want him to move out?”

  “It just doesn’t suit me. I don’t have time to give him any attention. The volume of work has increased for me and I’ve been busy right through until late at night.”

  “So who hasn’t got commitments, Ju? None of us wants to take care of Tony just like that, without any forewarning.”

  “A man in the house represents double the work,” says Mauá, “there’s no time. We need to follow through business deals and earn money where we can.”

  “Don’t any of you love Tony anymore?” Saly yells. “What’s wrong? He’s been in my house for more than a fortnight without me being able to get rid of him, and you people complain. Didn’t we agree to share, a week here, a week there? I need some time as well. I want to look after my business interests, earn money to raise this son of mine, and plan for my future. If none of you want him, I swear, I’ll chase him away in a hail of stones. I can’t live with him forever and a day.”

  “Calm down, Saly,” says Ju. “I’ll take him, but I’m warning you right from the start. Looking after him has become too much trouble. Cooking his lunch and dinner. Laying the table, clearing the table. Putting up with his whims that you people seem to have got used to, that’s something I’m not going to do anymore.”

  I think about Lu’s words. Changing the world. The world is in a permanent process of change. It changes silently. Only Tony hasn’t noticed the change. He’s still dancing the man’s dance, in which everything is permitted. There’s mischief in the air that tastes like nectar. There’s a poison-bearing flower in every kiss. Torture carried out with sweetness, drip by drip, falling on the hardened stone. He hasn’t yet noticed my silent vengeance, nor does he see the lionesses who devour him with delight. Ah, dearest Tony. You live for women, you’ll die at their hands.

  37

  Night is falling. The doorbell rings. Who’s come to see me at this hour? I open the door. Ah, it’s the beloved Mauá, with her sensuous walk, like lilies swaying as the breeze blows across the fields. She’s dressed in yellow, green, and red. She’s done herself up in all the colors of spring. Her yellow headscarf look
s as good as a queen’s crown on her. She smiles at me. But in her soul, she carries that black sheet which she throws over me so that I am totally invisible to the man I love. She has come to dazzle my night. She has come to give me yet more nightmares. It’s she who wears that smile of triumph over my anguish. She has the power to outshine my existence with the light of her presence. She is the mysterious mermaid who enchants men with her marine bewitchment. Suddenly, I feel besieged by this aggression. Her smiles drip onto my face like snot.

  The doorbell rings again. I tell Mauá to answer it. It’s Saly. His leisure time tidbit. She comes bearing the gift of her mocking demeanor. She perches on my sofa and offers me a smile with lips moistened by my Tony’s kisses. Soon afterward, there’s yet another knock on the door. It’s Ju, the betrayed one. A bag of bones. A ship wrecked in darkened waters. A black tide advancing haphazardly, blown by the wind. A bilious smile. Harsh. Lusterless. A sour fruit grown in rocky soil. There’s a lot of fire concealed in her, for sure. She’s got a malign spirit that doesn’t allow the honey that flows through her veins to manifest itself. She’s a malign spirit according to my Tony as well. Her kisses lack salt and sugar. He says her bed lacks everything: things to hold on to, fish-scale tattoos, passion. Without anything back or front, she’s a dried-up wooden plank. All she has for me is a beating heart, he says. An exceptionally beautiful woman, but without any magic. Her voice lacks melody, with its manifestations of sorrow and anger. Her eyes lack a gleam, only tears abound. Ah, she’s a tiresome woman, this Ju. If it weren’t for the kids we’ve had together, I’d leave her, he repeats.

  He always said things like this to me. He used ploys to avoid my kisses. He used to tell me: You smell of onions. Your mouth smells of garlic. You like garlic too much. You’re ruining the kids with this taste of yours for garlic. And he would dodge past me without a kiss for me. And I would ask him: Is that why you’re moving away from me? He would say yes. That I should smell of the scent of lemon. Sometimes he would come and tell me I smelled of menstruation. That I smelled of childbirth. That I smelled of milk and baby’s wee. My body only smelled of things that made him feel sick: raw meat, fish, onions, and beans.