SERIAL FICTION
My Union with My First Spouse
The Man Who Refused to Pass Away, a Novel (17)
Chapter 17: My Union with My First Spouse
It is difficult to put the past completely aside. It’s like images and memories from that time keep popping up, and I’m forced to deal with them. This applies especially to what happened many years ago. That time I went through a life where I traversed existence alongside a woman, an affiliation that, in its initial stages, bore the semblance of ordinariness and predictability. But soon, the aberrant began to unfold, manifesting as oscillating moods, irrational reactions, allegations, and insinuations of betrayal, among other tumultuous sentiments. I harbored an aversion to broaching this topic.
There was an imperative need to unravel the intricate tapestry of emotions woven from my tumultuous association with my inaugural spouse. In the wake of distancing myself from her, the rationale behind this endeavor initially eluded me. However, with hindsight, the revelation dawned that this matrimonial alliance had been gradually eroding my essence.
She was a figure who sapped my vitality, an adept player of the emotional strings who orchestrated her performance with tears as her instrument. Her portrayal revolved around fragility—a facade of vulnerability that she meticulously painted. In stark contrast, I was cast as the implausible, the unkind, and the merciless. Her recourse to tears became an oft-repeated refrain in our narrative.
She craftily painted herself as delicate and fragile, assuming the role of the woeful protagonist. She would recline on the couch, her eyes brimming with tears, in a theatrical display of self-pity. A solemn vow to myself had decreed that I would not divulge these narratives to Elsa, a pledge I dutifully upheld, until one evening, when Elsa embarked on a narration of her own past.
In the chronicles of Elsa’s life, a character emerged—a man she had been married to for a span of two years. This individual had woven a web of deception, coaxing her into extending monetary loans that were destined to remain unrepaid. In the initial chapters of their narrative, he masqueraded as the embodiment of kindness, declaring his willingness to make any sacrifice for her. Yet, as time flowed, he began returning home in the twilight hours, a catalyst for a tempestuous confrontation ignited by the lingering fragrance of another woman’s perfume on his attire.
Initially, he adamantly refuted any wrongdoing, but the truth inevitably emerged. He confessed, acknowledging the veracity of her accusations. Their relationship had ceased, he declared. He had been entangled with a married woman, but that chapter had culminated. The ensuing months ushered in a different tableau; their togetherness was marred by disagreements, culminating in his decree that she vacate his dwelling. However, a substantial sum had been transacted — an earnest deposit. He had vowed to reimburse her upon her departure, yet the pledged restitution never manifested. It amounted to a significant financial sum, and she remained deprived of the funds that had facilitated her cohabitation.
One somber evening, as the stars adorned the night sky, Elsa embarked on her recollection. This prompted me to venture into the depths of my inaugural matrimony, recounting the tumultuous path it had traversed.
In my former marriage, I treaded the labyrinthine corridors of existence, ensnared within the intricate web of my innermost musings and sentiments. I had metamorphosed into a young man in a society that fervently advocated conformity over divergence, eschewing individuality for the sake of convention. Fear of standing apart and the weight of societal expectations shackled people, stifling the spark of rebellion that could set them free.
Embarking on my nuptial journey, steeped in the throes of affection and newfound responsibility as a novice educator in the realm of middle school, I embarked on an odyssey with my first spouse. It bore the semblance of an adventure—a serendipitous encounter with a woman who, through her actions, her penetrating gazes, and her words, ardently conveyed her desire for me, her longing to possess me eternally.
It was as though an invisible force, veiled in secrecy, pulled me into the orbit surrounding her, where she reigned supreme and held me captive within her embrace. Our amorous encounters bestowed upon me a sense of inclusion and a privileged entrée into an enigmatic universe where I stood as the sovereign. She yearned for me, to claim me as her own, forbidding my gaze to wander elsewhere. One day, she accused me of apathy, deploying formidable language that insinuated the erosion of my affection for her.
I protested vehemently, yet she remained unyielding. Her allegations escalated, asserting that my eyes wandered towards other women, that I harbored illicit desires for my youthful colleagues, and that I clandestinely coveted the female educators within the precincts of my professional milieu.
On that evening, when I had attired myself for a Friday gathering, poised to partake in revelry with my fellow educators, her eyes welled with tears. She hurled words fraught with anguish and accusations in my direction, asserting that I harbored no love for her, merely a desire to distance myself from her presence. In a bid to dispel her distress and confirm my unwavering devotion, I relented. I acquiesced, decreeing, “Very well, I shall abstain from attending the soirée tonight. Your anguish is unnecessary; I shall remain.”
Yet, as I articulated these words, she turned, her tears cascading, her voice choked with emotion. She avowed that my actions were inconsequential, for she possessed the knowledge that my love for her had withered, unswayed by my attendance or absence at the gathering. Her words painted a portrait where my deeds were inconsequential and every path I traversed led to a cul-de-sac of wrongdoings.
Before that night, when Elsa and I started to talk about these events, I had never previously confided in Elsa regarding the annals of my union with my first spouse. Nevertheless, on one fateful night, as we lay side by side, nestled in the embrace of our shared solitude, I embarked on a revelation. I sensed a profound satiety, a contentment that coursed through my being, tinged with a subtle melancholy—a consequence of the treasured moments we had crafted together. My affection for Elsa knew no bounds, and the desire to reveal the depths of my soul to her became an unwavering resolve.
It struck me how profoundly the chasm between the narrative of my past with my ex-wife and the relationship anchored in intimacy and mutual regard that Elsa and I had diligently nurtured had grown over time.