The Enemy

The best state between us was silence. It was a border neither of us was supposed to cross. Apart from that, the only bearable state was when we talked about potatoes and onions, and whether two kilos would be enough. That was our one point of understanding. And we were a family. Fifteen years of life together. I couldn't help hating him. He held everything in his grip. The money, the house, the car, the shopping, even the decoration – so to speak – of the house and the kitchen. On top of that he would say, "Go and thank God I don't willingly use the rights the law has given me." He was right. For all that, I couldn't help hating him. The only moments I felt at peace were the times he wasn't home. I cooked better, swept the house better, scrubbed the toilets cleaner, I laughed. A deep, quiet joy in the time of absence, or in the time of being "myself." Though I would say, "This situation was my choice." I had chosen it because I loved the children. The thought of not seeing them, the thought of not tidying their rooms, the thought of not hearing their laughter and their childish quarrels drove me mad. Even imagining it made my heart burst. So I had named this situation "voluntary compulsion." For all that, I couldn't help hating him. At last, after thirty years together, he went away on assignment. – After thirty years, a night! I was happy: deeply and quietly. It was the evening of the first day of his absence. The house was sparkling clean. With utter stinginess he had left a pittance, but I could manage the expenses so that the children wouldn't go without. I had thought of everything. The evening of the first day drew toward night, and night fell. The children went to sleep. I lay down on the bed. I turned on the lamp above my head. I took the book on the history of painting in my hands and drowned in its brilliant colours. For how long? I don't know. I woke with a start. My dreams were terrifying. Outside it was dark. Every night I had bad dreams. I would wake up. And soon fall back asleep. But that night I began to tremble. My fear wouldn't end. The lamp was still on. But it did no good at all. I sat up and wrapped the blanket around me. What's happened tonight? Nothing has happened. It's like every night. But it wasn't like every night. Something that was there every night was no longer there. The sound of another person breathing.