Tahar Ben Jelloun - The Happy Marriage

“My mother was referring to something else, which I haven’t told you about. I lied to her and told her you’d agreed. You’re wondering what I’m talking about? Well, it’s about my brother, whose dream is to leave this country and go to Europe to look for work. My mother thought that your fame and connections might be useful to him. I didn’t dare bring it up with you, you know what Moroccan families are like.”

“Oh, I’m well aware, there’s nothing wrong with helping someone out, let’s talk about it some other time.”

Then, after a brief silence, he said:

“This idea of leaving Morocco at all costs is very new. This country has missed out on every opportunity it’s ever had, and this is the result, all its young people are leaving! I’ll try to find your brother a job, but I’ll look for it here, close to you, which will be easier for me, and besides, Europe is not the land of milk and honey that people think it is.”

While they talked, the painter tried to think of ways to keep Imane close to him. He wondered whether she might make a good assistant for him, but on the other hand he worried about being unable to keep his work and personal feelings separate.

Once they’d returned to the house, Imane massaged his legs and then sat by his feet as she so often liked to do and began telling him a story:

Once upon a time there lived a little girl who wanted to grow up faster than time would allow, mistaking herself for the south wind, which was strong and forceful. She would arrive somewhere like a storm and sweep away all in her path. They called her “Fitna,” which in Arabic means “internal turmoil” and by extension “panic.”

But by and by as she grew up, the little girl calmed down and transformed into an “evening breeze,” so people started calling her “the murmur of the moon.” In the evenings, she would stay up and walk the streets along the riverbanks, collecting the stories that were handed down from generation to generation and placing those stories inside cups of wine, which poets, especially the cheeky ones, were fond of drinking .

Once she’d grown up, the girl left for the mountains and was never seen again. A legend was born amidst the stones and the wild weeds. The young girl had become the goddess of solitude, reigning over a kingdom of the hardest rocks known to man, barring way to all illnesses that hailed from diseased, unloved countries .

It was also said that this woman had given birth to three sons after lying with the devil. Once they’d grown into adults, her sons caused a great deal of havoc and violence: stealing, killing, torturing, and always managing to evade the law. Quite the contrary, in fact; they prospered and managed to mingle with the city’s most distinguished notables. One night, their mother came down from the mountain and ate them. In the early hours of that morning, the bloated corpse of a mare was discovered lying in front of the city’s gate, and when they sliced it open, they discovered the bodies of the three men, whose skin had turned green and whose eyes had gone missing …

On seeing the captain’s astonished expression, Imane stopped and said:

“Don’t worry, I just made that up, don’t be scared!”

“Are you sure you don’t have a nicer story to tell me before you leave?”

“Yes, I love you.”

“Now that’s a nice story.”

On his psychiatrist’s request, the painter used a tape recorder to list all the reasons why he’d fallen out of love with his wife. He used several tapes. He wanted to be specific, and tell the whole truth in so far as he saw it. He might have made some mistakes, but in any case this was meant to be an outlet for him, and not an indictment against his wife.

He pressed “record” and launched into a preface of sorts:

Here is the list of reasons that led me to the conclusion that my wife and I haven’t loved one another in a long time. I may be wrong, and needless to say, these reasons are subjective, and they aren’t exhaustive either. Well, here we go:

My wife always does what she pleases.

My wife is a flash flood, a flood of words, a storm.

My wife is a diamond that nobody polished.

My wife believes in things she can’t see: she believes in ghosts, in haunted houses, in the evil eye, in bad energies and destructive vibes.

My wife is in love with love and the idea of a Prince Charming.

My wife likes cars that are big and beautiful. She can’t stand being driven around. She always drives on the left side of the road and thinks that all the other drivers are always wrong.

My wife never admits to any of her mistakes and doesn’t know how to compromise.

My wife doesn’t know how to keep track of time, but she does however have a keen sense of direction. She’s also good with numbers and sums …

My wife always thinks she’s sincere. She tells the truth when she lies.

My wife is a wild woman who is still haunted by hunger and an inclement land.

My wife turns into a fury when she’s upset, an animal whose wound becomes her weapon.

My wife displays a kind of logic that no mathematicians could have ever predicted. She’s the only one who knows how it works and the only one who uses it.

My wife is capable of destroying herself so long as it proves the other person is guilty.

My wife has convinced herself that she’s oppressed and that my family’s always been out to get her.

My wife is a happy and crazy drunk. Yet she claims she’s never abused alcohol or been drunk.

My wife believes a married couple cannot have any secrets between them. She thinks they should live in sweet harmony and that partners should be blindly complicit and assimilate into a single, uncomplicated person.

My wife’s memory is very selective, and she’s possessed of great charm and intelligence, is fiercely determined, and displays a kind of calculated madness that is just shy of crazy enough to make it seem like she’s not mad.

My wife doesn’t like analyzing things, or questioning them, hates doubts and the possibility that she might be wrong.

My wife isn’t a witch, but she trusts all the sorceresses she comes across and would more readily believe a magician than a scientist.

My wife is like a house that was built without foundations.

My wife is sweet to everyone except her husband.

My wife thinks her parents are actually her children.

My wife calls every drama a tragedy.

My wife wants to cut me down to size so I’ll be at her mercy.

My wife doesn’t have a sense of justice, but she sees herself as a paladin of justice anyway.

My wife is fiercely jealous.

My wife has never thanked me.

My wife has never told me she loved me.

My wife is only tender toward her children, brothers, sisters, and parents.

My wife thinks other couples don’t have any problems.

My wife annoys me at least once a day.

My wife acts in bad faith with certainty and triumphalism.

My wife confuses “true” with “good” and “false” with “bad.”

My wife has never sought my advice before making a decision.

My wife pretends that she’s never had a lover. Which I very much doubt is true. But I pretend to believe her when we’re face to face. It’s a bad idea to offend a woman who’s cheated on you.