The Happy Marriage

One day, the painter had had the opportunity to watch a film that told the story of a young beautiful teacher who had started to teach at a college. The teacher was married and had two children, one of whom had Down syndrome. The teacher eventually made the acquaintance of an older professor who taught at the college, a middle-aged woman who lived alone with her cat. They quickly forged a friendship and they gradually became inseparable. The older teacher became a mentor to the younger one and guided her steps not only professionally, but emotionally too. One evening, the younger teacher succumbed to the amorous advances of one of her pupils, a handsome teenager. The older teacher surprised them in the act and started to blackmail her mentee, who didn’t actually share the older teacher’s feelings for her. The older teacher believed that her mentee was under her thumb, but an incident involving her cat and the child with Down syndrome finally put an end to their ambiguous friendship. Feeling betrayed and abandoned, the older teacher started a rumor that the younger teacher was a pedophile and that she was having sex with one of her pupils. A scandal broke out and the young teacher was sent to prison, but this turn of events eventually freed her from that perverse woman’s clutches.

The painter couldn’t stop thinking about Lalla’s relationship with his wife. He purchased the DVD of the film and asked her to watch it. Which she did, but in the end she told him: “I don’t understand why you wanted me to watch that film!” She clearly hadn’t noticed how similar the two scenarios were, and didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned. The painter smiled and decided he would abandon all hopes of ever freeing her from that evil woman’s influence. Someone had told him: “You’ll see, she’ll get tired of it one day and leave her, you must be patient and give it a little time!”

Other problems came up and his wife’s relationship with that witch took a back seat to those. He’d understood that what mattered the most was that he save his own skin, and that he leave that relationship, where he no longer had a place or any standing.

XI. Casablanca, April 2000

Dreams, life it’s the same thing. Otherwise life isn’t worth living!

— MARCEL CARNÉ, Children of Paradise

Imane wasn’t just a nurse, she was also a physiotherapist. She would massage his listless legs and arms, doing so both tenderly and energetically. The painter loved those moments and could assess the progress he was making, however tiny those improvements might have been. She was even a bit naughty, and would flirt with him using her eyes, smiles, and charm. He’d grown attached to her and had been very pleased to hear her tell him her story one day, just like she’d promised.

One morning, during the time Imane would come for her first visit of the day, the painter had seen a man and a woman wearing white coats come into the house. Their faces were lined, stern, and forbidding. The woman had told him: “I’m your new nurse, and my brother is your new physiotherapist. Your wife sent us!” He’d protested by banging his cane against the floor, but the words hadn’t managed to leave his mouth. It was the first time that his wife, with whom he hadn’t spoken since his accident, had intervened in his life without taking his condition into account. He’d sent them away, and had told the Twins to pay them and tell them to never come back. He’d also wanted them to call Imane and inform her of what had happened, but he’d been so shocked by his wife’s unexpected meddling that he hadn’t had the courage to do so, and was waiting for the storm caused by that unpleasant visit to subside.

Imane’s return, which he’d managed to bring about thanks to the loyal Twins, had both pleased and worried him. He wanted to celebrate it, there was a joy within him, which he could not show due to his deformed features. But his eyes betrayed him. Imane had told him how two days earlier she’d been visited by his wife, who’d spoken to her in a forceful and threatening manner. Imane hadn’t wanted to get into a fight with her patient’s wife and so had preferred to give him up. She’d even hoped to write him a letter expressing her sympathy and say how sorry she was. “From here on out,” he’d told her, “you’ll answer only to me! If my wife ever speaks to you, just tell her that I’m the one who hired you and I’m the one who decides.”