A middle-aged woman's portrait

‘What do you think?’ she said to her second husband. Her gleaming eyes staring out of the window as if in a far distance, but the green leaves roofing an abundant tree stopped the view from reaching a stale grey sky she would not have given a second look. ‘The kids are grown up. They don’t need us any more.’ Her voice sounded as if she were begging, but he knew she was not. She was giving orders, hiding them in her tone of voice. Her proposal puzzled him. ‘Are you serious?’ The idea sounded completely insane and in a twisted way very attractive. ‘It is easy,’ she continued. ‘All we have to do is do it.’ One of the dogs climbed on her lap. Its tail swaying, eyes just as gleaming as hers. ‘She likes the plan,’ she said, pointing at the dog with her ringed finger. ‘You’ll never go through with it,’ he tried. And he wondered why he loved this woman so much. She used to be attractive, he mused, thinking about all the fights he started out of jealousy. Now he wasn’t jealous anymore. What was there to be jealous about? Even if she’d sleep with another man, he couldn’t care less. As long, he admitted to himself, he didn’t know the guy, ‘cause that would be painful. ‘Come on.’ She put on her seductive face from way back then. It looked pitiful to him. He saw the black marks of sleepless nights around her eyes, the thin lines bittering her mouth and the attempt of the chin to conceal its double. ‘Nobody will miss us.’ ‘We would,’ he answered. ‘You’d stop dying your hair and shaving your legs. I doubt if you would wear a bra ever again.’ ‘What’s that got to do with it?’ ‘Losing discipline.’ His voice smothered. ‘Look at you yourself,’ she shrieked. ‘You don’t shave more then once a week. You don’t even shower or use deodorant.’ ‘Let’s not argue.’ He was tired. He wanted to sleep. Why didn’t she stop? ‘I love you,’ he tried. Her eyes iced on him downsizing him until he felt like a midget in a winterstorm. ‘Stop that.’ He put his hand up in defence. ‘Don’t you dare and hit me!’ ‘I wasn’t going to hit you. I never hit a woman in my life. Why start now? Please, let us stop. Have a drink with me.’ He poured the wine. She swallowed hers and continued. ‘Think of it. Just think of it. Only you, me, and the dogs. No people. Never again people. We’ll grow our own vegetables and forget about the world.’ ‘Sounds appealing,’ he admitted, ‘in theory’. You won’t stand a whole week alone with me, he thought. It made him sad. He had given all he had, but it left him empty, his large body was empty, nothing but air keeping it. Suddenly he felt hungry. ‘Do you want to eat something?’ ‘No thanks’. She was checking her emails now and reading facebooks’ timeline. She didn’t look up to see his nose dripping. It dropped right on her dashboard. ‘Oh shit!’ ‘Sorry,’ he said and tried to remove the drop with his sleeve. She looked away, sought relief in the eyes of the dog that was watching her as if comprehending. He heard her sigh when he walked to the kitchen. No, you won’t last a week alone with me, he thought sadly. ‘Why don’t you do it, without me?’ ‘Without you? I can’t leave you. Who’d take care of you?’ ‘I can take care of myself.’ He started to become angry. ‘I’ve got some self-esteem left, you know.’ She smiled. He wasn’t certain how to interpret that expression of hers. ‘I want to do it together.’ ‘Why?’ ‘For old times’ sake.’ ‘Oh. I was afraid you’d say for love. Where has it gone, the love, our love?’ ‘Not again.’ ‘You owe me an answer.’ ‘I don’t owe you anything.’ The sharpness of her words quivered like a soldiers’ bayonet searching for its aim, it hit him on the forehead, he felt the pin piercing his skin. ‘I am sorry,’ she said. ‘That was rude. I didn’t… Suddenly she burst into tears. ‘What is it with me? Why is everybody looking at me, thinking I know the answers, why are they blaming me for their lives, and missed opportunities?’ ‘You are the mother.’ He bent over and tried to put his arm over her shoulder. She shook him off, looking wild and disorientated. ‘Not literally, but you behave like that. You tell people what to do, advise them, wrap your arms around them if they feel lonely. If you are good, you are goood! That is addictive. You captivate people with your attention and then, all of a sudden you let them go, tell them to leave.’ ‘Do I act like that with you too?’ He smiled. ‘I am used to it.’
‘He really pissed me off, you know. He wasn’t discussing politics. He was talking about our relationship. That is years ago!’ ‘He felt constraint by you, now he is looking for ways to get even with the past. He has to know why he left you. To assure himself it was the right thing to do. He feels he is still under your thumb.’ ‘Well I don’t keep him there. I never did.’ ‘You are a woman with strong convictions, that is not always easy for the other party. He needs to break up and breaking up cannot be done without scattering and damage.’ ‘He didn’t even listen to my arguments. He shut me up by saying that I never leave space for others’ opinions.’ ‘You have a sharp tongue.’ ‘Well I kept it to myself today. Even though I was stabbed in the back without a warning signal.’ ‘Let it go, let’s go to bed.’ ‘Will you leave with me?’ ’Yes, we’ll leave.’

Her youngest daughter was the first one to hear the news. ‘What about us?’ she asked. ‘What about you? All of you are leaving.’ ‘There will be no home to return to.’ ‘You can always go to your fathers’.’ ‘I have never lived there. This is my home.’ ‘This is just bricks and mortar.’ ‘My childhood was here. My room and my dogs are here. You are…’ The kid did not finish her sentence. She looked horrified. ‘You leave me alone! That is what you are doing. You don’t care. You put me in the world and now you don’t care!’ ‘I care,’ she tried unconvincingly. ‘About yourself you do. First you divorce Dad and then you leave us.’ ‘Stop it. Don’t talk to your mother like this.’ ‘Why not? What kind of mother are you anyway?’
‘He hates me.’ ‘Who?’ ‘Your father. He hates the guts out of me.’ ‘Well, you left him.’ ‘He claims he left me.’ ‘You know you made him leave. It was your scenario. He just played the part you wrote for him.’ ‘Is that how you see me? Manipulative, harsh and cold?’ ‘You can be,’ the girl admitted. ‘I am the only one who isn’t afraid of you.’ She smiled trying to soften her words. She hated to see her mother helpless like this. ‘I lost direction. Don’t know when or where, but somehow I lost touch with all of you and reality. Can’t feel you anymore like I did when you all were small children. I need a break, do you understand?’ The girl nodded, becoming her mothers’ mother at the moment, sixteen years old. ‘I think if you leave us now, again, you’ll lose my brother for ever.’ ‘And you?’ ‘Not me,’ she said trying to look brave and self-confident while the ground under her feet cracked. ‘I resemble you.’

image: Joost Sicking, marouflé on newspaper, 60x47cm 1965
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