letters, but I wonât write back. If I have to choose between exchanging letters and talking to Chris on the phoneâif conversation is unavoidableâIâll choose the phone, if only because that can be finished quickly and no traces of it remain. Itâs as if my life with him is nothing but a hole in the sand. Eva collects all the kitchenware that sheâs used to make the cake, puts it into the dishwasher, and says, âYouâre mad! Everything youâre saying is just rhetoric⦠completely disconnected from real life.â
Throughout all our years together in Kenya, Chris persists in repeating that he loves me and could never live with another woman. Despite this, he keeps protesting against everything I do or say, using my changeable moods as justification. Perhaps heâs right. I often feel that I canât decide my position on things; Iâm not sure how to see the world. How do you describe twilight, for example? Is it when darkness begins or is it what remains of the light of day? Or is it both at once? At times Iâve understood the differences between us as between two contrasting personalitiesâthe first builds a sense of stability by believing that what he was told and taught is absolutely, indisputably true. He believes that what heâs learned is enough. The second person, on the other hand, has lost all hope of stability, to the point that existence itself is a source of doubt and questioning. Iâm this second person.
My inability to plan summer vacations enrages him. Heâll ask me to decide how and when weâll travel to Australia to see his children in Sydney and to see my parents in Adelaide. Or heâll ask me to plan a trip to another country. And Iâll always answer, âWeâll figure it out tomorrow.â He thinks my answers mean I donât care, but Iâm never entirely certain if tomorrow will come. I tell him that life in Lebanon never allowed me to plan more than a month in advance, how does he expect me to decide how weâll spend the summer holidays when itâs still February? I tell him that planning is a whole culture that Iâm not used to and he has to understand this. I tell him that my brother Bahaâ was getting ready for a relaxing trip to Istanbul, his ticket in his pocket, when he was killed. In my excuses heâll find another reason to prolong the conversation. My pleas just provoke him and he doesnât understand themâlike all people whoâve never lived through war. Heâll tell me that Iâm far away from Lebanon now⦠now itâs time to forget, to get used to my life with him in Australia or Africa. Sometimes heâll explain away my bad moods by saying that they come from the dark clothes I wore after Bahaââs death. But this too is a way of life thatâs hard to changeâI no longer know how to buy brightly colored clothes. Why do you wear this dark dress? You look miserable in it. Why donât you eat cold meat and sausage with me for breakfast? Is there something troubling you? Did Olga say something on the phone that upset you? Did you visit your doctor today? Which oneâ the psychologist or the gynecologist? Howâs your Arabic teaching? Your English teaching? Heâll repeat these questions over and over. When my answers are improvised and short and donât add or change anything, he leaves.
Iâve often decided that I should make more of an effort to improve my situation and my relationship to the world, as well as my relationship to Chris and our social life. After weeks of this effort, though, heâll suddenly tell me that thereâs no point in exhausting myself, he knows that I have no desire whatsoever to go out to dinner with him, his friends and their women, especially because I always have to speak a language thatâs not my own. He seems to understand, but I feel that this understanding hides a bitter
Throughout all our years together in Kenya, Chris persists in repeating that he loves me and could never live with another woman. Despite this, he keeps protesting against everything I do or say, using my changeable moods as justification. Perhaps heâs right. I often feel that I canât decide my position on things; Iâm not sure how to see the world. How do you describe twilight, for example? Is it when darkness begins or is it what remains of the light of day? Or is it both at once? At times Iâve understood the differences between us as between two contrasting personalitiesâthe first builds a sense of stability by believing that what he was told and taught is absolutely, indisputably true. He believes that what heâs learned is enough. The second person, on the other hand, has lost all hope of stability, to the point that existence itself is a source of doubt and questioning. Iâm this second person.
My inability to plan summer vacations enrages him. Heâll ask me to decide how and when weâll travel to Australia to see his children in Sydney and to see my parents in Adelaide. Or heâll ask me to plan a trip to another country. And Iâll always answer, âWeâll figure it out tomorrow.â He thinks my answers mean I donât care, but Iâm never entirely certain if tomorrow will come. I tell him that life in Lebanon never allowed me to plan more than a month in advance, how does he expect me to decide how weâll spend the summer holidays when itâs still February? I tell him that planning is a whole culture that Iâm not used to and he has to understand this. I tell him that my brother Bahaâ was getting ready for a relaxing trip to Istanbul, his ticket in his pocket, when he was killed. In my excuses heâll find another reason to prolong the conversation. My pleas just provoke him and he doesnât understand themâlike all people whoâve never lived through war. Heâll tell me that Iâm far away from Lebanon now⦠now itâs time to forget, to get used to my life with him in Australia or Africa. Sometimes heâll explain away my bad moods by saying that they come from the dark clothes I wore after Bahaââs death. But this too is a way of life thatâs hard to changeâI no longer know how to buy brightly colored clothes. Why do you wear this dark dress? You look miserable in it. Why donât you eat cold meat and sausage with me for breakfast? Is there something troubling you? Did Olga say something on the phone that upset you? Did you visit your doctor today? Which oneâ the psychologist or the gynecologist? Howâs your Arabic teaching? Your English teaching? Heâll repeat these questions over and over. When my answers are improvised and short and donât add or change anything, he leaves.
Iâve often decided that I should make more of an effort to improve my situation and my relationship to the world, as well as my relationship to Chris and our social life. After weeks of this effort, though, heâll suddenly tell me that thereâs no point in exhausting myself, he knows that I have no desire whatsoever to go out to dinner with him, his friends and their women, especially because I always have to speak a language thatâs not my own. He seems to understand, but I feel that this understanding hides a bitter
Similar Books
