The Happy Marriage

Ava understood that she’d entered the painter’s life at a time when nothing had been going right with his wife. He was afflicted, miserable, tired of fighting against headwinds and still hopeful he could put an end to it all and free himself. He’d told his wife as much and she’d answered him: “That’s not my problem! You’ve put children into this world and now you have to endure the responsibilities!” He’d tried to explain to her that there was a way in which they could separate without hurting the children, that one couldn’t force destiny, and that all their attempts to reconcile had failed, but she’d refused to hear a word of it, and he’d been left utterly dismayed by her determined obstinacy. He was fighting all on his own. His words simply vanished into thin air, like dust. She refused to listen to him and she would push him away before he’d even had the chance to reach out to her. She only gave in a little when presented with facts, and even then she would suspect the influence of some sorcerer or evil female mastermind hell-bent on wrecking her home. She would become ill and shut herself away in her room, letting the house fall apart and telling the children that she was suffering because their father was a monster, crying, losing weight, and making the atmosphere unbreathable. The doctor had taken him aside and told him: “She’s using depression as blackmail, but she must take care lest she actually becomes depressed — that is, unless it’s already happened!” She would take her medications, but would refuse to see a psychiatrist.

This was around the time that his work had met with great success at the Venice Biennale. Several galleries in Europe and the United States wanted his work. He needed to produce more paintings, but he was preoccupied by the breakdown of his marriage. His wife had found out about Ava’s existence, but hadn’t managed to learn more than that. She didn’t know her name or where she worked. She’d begged him to tell her who she was, but he’d held steady and refused to say a word, minimizing the affair since he didn’t have the courage to come clean at the risk of provoking another huge upset. In her irrationality, his wife was highly capable of causing a lot of damage. She would throw everything she could get her hands on at him, calling him names so as to make him feel guilty. The children witnessed all those theatrics and would ask themselves what their father was guilty for. He would refuse to involve them, but his wife would do so in his stead and upset them. She felt betrayed, and was doing everything she could to avenge herself, wanting to inflict five times the harm that had been done to her. He would remain silent and then run away, abandoning her to her distress. He didn’t talk about it with Ava; they could only enjoy a few moments together, and he was keen to live them to the fullest. He felt a strong desire to leave his wife, but his weakness — or rather what his wife called his “cowardice”—prevented him from making such a decision.

The mystery of the night was compounded by bouts of insomnia, a cruel kind of suffering that left his body and mind feeling battered. He also had high blood pressure and tried to look after it without managing to keep it entirely under control. He experienced peaks that rose to worrying levels and then returned to normal. The night scared him, as did the risk of apnea. He dreaded the coming of night and the moment when he would have to go to sleep. He slept in his studio, but tremors ran up and down his limbs, enervating him. He would get up, pace around the meticulously tidy space where he stored his canvases, his equipment, his collection of art books, and his documents. He would drink some water, take a second sleeping pill, go back to bed, and wait. Nothing would happen. He could follow the progress of the clouds through the sky of Paris through the skylight on his roof. Exhaustion would assail him toward dawn and he would then finally be able to sleep for an hour or two.

He’d acquired the habit of calling Ava every morning at the same hour, just before she left to go to work. He would wish her a wonderful day and spend the rest of his time waiting for her.