The Happy Marriage

“Why don’t you treat me like I was your brother? Make an effort, look at me, I’m not a monster like you think I am, no, I’m just different from other people, I’m an artist, and I need support and understanding, I don’t need you to admire me, that would be too much to ask, and besides, there are some things that one cannot ask for. Just be a little more attentive toward your old husband. He’s not nasty, he’s actually a good man. I too could have a cough or even angina, but you wouldn’t offer me a glass of water with some vitamin C in it, it’s not a big deal, but it’s the little things that would make me happy. In fact, that’s the weak point of our marriage: the lack of happiness! Making the other person happy and vice versa. Unfortunately, both of us have crossed a lot of lines. We don’t respect each other anymore. I’m sorry about that, and I’m just as guilty as you are. I don’t think I’ve ever been disrespectful toward anyone. I’ve been awkward, fickle, not as attentive as I should have been, but I’ve never tried to be disrespectful toward you. But sometimes your anger and the brutality of your actions have pushed me to use words I didn’t even know I could use, words that have never been a part of my vocabulary. You’ve managed to bring out the worst in me, and I’ve done the same to you. I’m not accusing anybody. I’ve always tried to avoid conflicts, but now conflicts have rooted themselves in our marriage and replaced love and passion. One day I’ll leave, and on that day I won’t look back, because when I leave it’ll mean that you’ve brought me to the brink of a precipice, and if I stay, you’ll end up pushing me over. Finally, I know that on that day, you realize that you’ve been living with a stranger, an alien, someone that you didn’t share anything with, a marriage that nothing good came out of, except for our children. We’ve deceived ourselves. It’s neither your fault nor mine. Maybe I have a bigger share of the blame. I should have distrusted my instincts more, but it’s true what they say, love blinds all men! We cannot change our destiny, and we let our illusions fool us. But yes, things will be all right in the end, you’ll grow and become more mature. We’re very different from each other, especially when it comes to our backgrounds. We come from two planets that couldn’t be further apart. I knew that to start with, but I gambled on the chance that our love could overcome that. But deep down, we’re still strangers to one another. I suffer through this estrangement with regret, while you’re just tilting against windmills. By the time you realize this, it’ll be too late, and you’ll have destroyed everything.”

That day finally arrived in the middle of November of 1999. He’d been in the middle of work when she’d burst in like a Fury and thrown his laptop in his face. The laptop had broken into two, and she had then thrown a heavy bronze paperweight at him, which had struck his left shoulder. She was hurling abuse at him in three languages — Berber, French, and Arabic — unleashing a torrent of insults:

“You’re going to pay, you’re going to pay, I’m going to destroy you, I’m going to ruin you, I’ll burn all your shitty paintings and throw them in the trash, you’re nothing but a monster, a pervert, a miserable husband, a shit father, and a cheat, you’re just like your father, a loser, a two-faced bastard!”

At which point he felt truly shocked — both physically and psychologically — and was overcome by a sudden fever. His blood grew hot and began circulating rapidly, his face moved as though his skin were being stretched, the brush fell from his hand, and his arm became stiff, everything went blurry, then he’d fallen on the floor, hitting his head on a space heater, scraping his skin, which started to bleed. Worse: his eyes had rolled back in his head and he couldn’t move his legs or his arms.

She panicked and called the emergency services. He was taken to the nearest hospital. He’d had a stroke. That was the diagnosis. A cerebrovascular accident. Hemiplegia in his left side, with complications on his right side too. They would have to wait before confirming the extent of the damage.

The doctor had spoken very quickly. He was very moved. He knew the painter by reputation and had thoughtfully asked the secretary in the department not to inform the press.

His wife had asked for another bed in the room so she could sleep next to him. The doctor had told her: “It’s better if he sleeps alone, just as a precaution, we’ll be here, don’t worry, we’ll call you as soon as he wakes up.”

Luckily, he couldn’t remember anything about that day. It was as if it had never happened.