Tahar Ben Jelloun - The Happy Marriage

“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.”

When he resumed work on his painting, he felt readier for a fight than ever before, especially since he’d found a title for his canvas. It had come to him out of the blue, just like that. It pleased him. Each wrinkle on the tablecloth represented one of the conflicts he’d suffered through. Each shadow stood for a moment of sadness or melancholy. Everything on the canvas represented something whose meaning was only known to him.

As usual, he took a little nap in the afternoon. He loved to doze off after reading a book or a magazine. All of a sudden, he could clearly hear the sound of someone whispering in his ear: “You’ve screwed up your marriage, at least make sure you get your divorce right.” He woke up with a start and looked around, but there was nobody there. He called for his assistants. His left leg was hurting. He asked the Twins to lift him up and carry him to the chair situated in front of the large easel so that he could finish his painting.

When he finished painting that tablecloth late the following afternoon, he called Imane over so she could give him her opinion. Her eyes beamed so intensely the moment she’d looked at the canvas that he knew right away that he’d completed a masterpiece. He remembered that he owed his lawyer an answer. He called him around seven o’clock in the evening.

“Go ahead, I’m going to take your advice. Regardless of what happens I’ll always be considered the guilty one and there’s no way I’ll be able to save face anyway.”

After calling his lawyer, and once Imane had gone home, he suddenly felt the urge to write his wife a letter, a letter that he would never send her. He didn’t know how he should start it. Should he begin with “Dear,” just use her first name, or instead start with a simple hello? In the end he just cut to the chase.

I want you to know how sorry I am for everything that’s happened with us. I want to apologize for leaving you and to tell you that it’s neither your fault nor mine. We forced the hand of fate. We forced each other’s hand and thus it was always fated to be. I believed in love, in fact I believed in it so much that I thought it could solve impossible problems. But for a long time now I’ve lacked courage and determination and now here we are, breaking up right in front of our stunned children’s eyes. I would have truly liked for us to reach an agreement without causing all this damage, without airing our dirty laundry in public or throwing lawyers into the mix .

I hope we’ll at least be able to have a cordial relationship and act civilized toward one another since we’ll certainly see each other again because of the children, and you know that they are all that matters to me, as is the case with you. Be reasonable, I beg you, and be at peace with the fact that we don’t love each other anymore. Love isn’t a decision or something that can be forced. It comes to us and then just as easily goes away again. There’s nothing we can do about that …

The painter woke up early that morning. Imane usually arrived around eight o’clock, but she was running late that day. He tried not to be impatient and convinced himself that she must have gotten held up somewhere. When she finally arrived two hours later, he immediately noticed that she’d been crying. She quickly set to her work, in silence. After a moment, he tenderly asked her if she wanted to confide in him.

“We’re friends, we can talk to one another and share our burdens. What’s wrong, Imane?”

“I have to leave Morocco and go live with my fiancé.”

“I thought that was all over.”

“It was, but he redoubled his efforts, he also offered to get my brother a visa and find him a job in Belgium. That’s very important to my family. Despite having a diploma, my brother’s been unable to find himself a job, even though it’s fair to say he hasn’t been looking very hard, he’s frustrated with the way things are done here, corruption is rampant, and you can’t get anything done unless you bribe someone.”

“Are you in love with this man?”

“I don’t know, I barely know him. He showed up in a new car, a Mercedes, and you know that a car like a Mercedes is a door opener here and a status symbol. I don’t want to cause my parents any grief and I especially want to help my little brother get out of here.”