The Happy Marriage

She left the trail of her perfume behind her, and since the painter was a daydreamer, he became melancholic.

His feelings for that young woman were unlike any he’d experienced before. He’d desired other women and had done all he could to be with them, and for a time, be it a few days or a few weeks, he’d fallen in love with them; but none of that had happened with Imane. He needed her, and not just so she could look after his health. He needed to see her, to hear her tell her stories, to confide in her. It was all he wanted.

XXVII. Casablanca, February 12, 2003

I believe we can save our marriage. We could make a fresh start. You must give me a chance! Let us face this together.

— INGMAR BERGMAN, Scenes from a Marriage

By the time his lawyer came to see him, so they could take stock of how the divorce proceedings were going, the painter was fully immersed in his work. He was painting a crinkled linen tablecloth that he’d reproduced in all its minutiae with a painstaking attention to detail. It was impressive work.

“If you didn’t replicate the pleats and folds with such accuracy, nobody would know the difference. Besides, you’re the one who rumpled it up, right?”

“That’s right, I did, I realize that, but that’s not the way I do things, it would be like tricking people, and I wouldn’t even need a tablecloth in front of me to paint it. I can paint any kind of tablecloth, but this painting depicts this particular tablecloth and you couldn’t confuse it with any other tablecloth on earth. And once I’ve finished painting it, what you see in front of you won’t be a tablecloth, it will have transcended it and become something else.”

“I see. So you could call your painting ‘This is not a tablecloth.’ ”

“That’s not very original.”

“Forgive my impertinence.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not the first person to tell me that. Look at it this way, it would be as if you reused the same defense speech that got your client acquitted in one case in a completely different case, that wouldn’t do, now, would it?”

“No, you’re quite right.”

“So, is there any news? I’m ready to hear the good and the bad.”

“Well, truth be told I don’t think your wife wants to get divorced.”

“That’s the last thing I needed!”

“Given what her lawyer has asked for, one would think she’d made such shocking demands in order to change your mind about the divorce. Going by the last letters I was sent, her requests are nothing short of exorbitant. She’s asked for literally everything that you have, for the children’s sake, in addition to a compensatory allowance of several million dirhams. If you accept her terms, you might as well buy yourself a little tent and find a little nook sheltered from the winds where you can spend your last days.”

“Do you think I’ll have enough left to buy that tent as well as a few things to keep me from dying of cold in the winter?”

“Well, I’ll buy you one if you like! But jokes aside, you need to take action. I can see only one way out of this. If you trust me, we’ll file a request for divorce here in Morocco, where you’ll have the upper hand. We must act quickly since the way this will pan out will depend on the laws of the country where the request is first lodged. It’s a matter of precedence. Ever since the new Moudawana came into effect, the rulings of Moroccan courts have gained international recognition, so you won’t be running any risks from a legal point of view. Try not to worry too much. You know, I’m fully aware that you were planning to offer your wife — the mother of your children — a comfortable pension, as well as the house and even a hefty lump sum. The courts will recognize that your offer is more than reasonable.”

“Let me have a little more time before I give you my decision. First I must finish this painting. If I have the strength to work all day tomorrow then I think I’ll be able to complete it, then when my nurse Imane comes over she’ll be the one to say whether I’ve pulled it off or not. In fact, my decision on this matter rests on this particular painting, which unlike my other paintings will have a name: Break Up.”

The lawyer couldn’t understand why such a famous painter would rely on a simple nurse’s advice, but he didn’t let on what his thoughts were. He lowered his voice and whispered:

“Please reassure me, nothing happened between you and this girl, right?”

“Nothing at all. She’s good at her job and I trust her taste because she’s neither an art critic nor a historian. She’s just a simple girl, charming and efficient. I’ve been able to feel alive again ever since she started taking care of my therapy.”

“Does your wife know?”

“Of course, she’s already tried to fire her twice.”