Symphony of Suffering

The key turned in the lock of the front door,’ clickety-click’, and Hope froze. Her heart skipped a beat and then thudded along at twice its normal speed.
To her, this mundane sound was as terror-inspiring as the snap of a gun trigger being pulled. It happened roughly at the same time every evening when her husband returned from work, yet she was never as prepared for it as she should have been.
Rooted to the spot for one panic-stricken second, her mind soon began to race.
Her eyes darted across the room, scanning it for anything amiss, anything that might irk her husband. Was there dust on the furniture, had she upset his order of things while cleaning, had she left something lying around that might rouse his suspicion? So little was enough to annoy him that she could not be too careful. With a stab of a guilt which she should not have felt, she quickly closed the fashion magazine she had been reading, and started folding a pile of freshly ironed shirts.
Hope heard him climb the stairs and sharpened her senses. Just as a well-trained dog might, she too had long ago learnt to guess his mood from the sounds he made while laying down his bunch of keys and removing his shoes in the hallway. Today’s soft clanging and thumping told her that her husband was in a good mood – but then again, he could switch tempers in the blink of an eye.
She cast one last searching glance around her and plastered a welcome smile on her lips that was at once genuine and heartfelt yet difficult to maintain, quivering at the edges.
Her husband entered the room with a big smile on his handsome face and a cheerful, “Good evening, my darling.” Without noticing it, her shoulders hunched a bit and her smile wavered for an uncertain instant before relief made the smile widen and really brighten her face.
Her heart was filled with love and dread.
“Kevin, it is good that you are home on time. It looks like it is about to snow!”
He nodded.
“Has my timing not always been perfect…apart from last evening… and the evening before last?”
A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth and made him look at least ten years younger and very charming. She chuckled gratefully, savouring the careless joke for what it was, taking a mental snapshot of the incident and storing it away among the other happy moments that saw  her through the rough times.
“Did you have a hard day?” she asked while scurrying to fetch his house slippers.
Her husband shrugged and peeled himself out of the warm business clothes, accepting the shoes without a word of thanks.
“Usual day.”
After a short pause, he asked, “How was your day? What did you do?”
He was still busy undressing but Hope knew that behind the casually asked question he was alert and expectant. She did not  make the mistake of answering with “usual day” as well but launched into a report of various household chores, neither dismissing him with too short a reply nor boring him with too many details, keeping to the facts despite knowing that sometimes even the plainest facts were considered lies by him. It was not an easy task to keep the right balance but it was something she had had to learn and after months she now mastered it pretty well. Keeping her inner balance and keeping the balance in their marriage while tip-toeing around his ego and walking a tight-rope of emotional fights was something she could write a book about.
“ Oh… my busy darling!” her husband exclaimed when she had finished. He ran a loving hand over her face. She immediately leaned into the caress, getting bolder for a second and peppering his face with small kisses. He giggled in a schoolboy-like manner and gently shoved her away after some time.
“Here, here, let me get a change properly, my darling.”
Immediately she stopped and brought some distance between them as though he had whipped her instead of tenderly reproaching her. In a quiet voice she asked whether he wanted a cup of coffee and hurried off into the spacious kitchen to make one.
All day, Hope had been looking forward to seeing him, had been longing to have him at her side, yet as soon as he had arrived she had got nervous and insecure even though so far things had gone really well and the affection between them was always lurking in the background, sometimes even surfacing. While preparing his coffee, she was silently praying for him not to lose his good mood today. She was so eager to share some normal moments or maybe even some quality time with her husband. She ached for it with her whole being in spite of the tiny voice in her head that whispered to her that longing for this was futile, was self-treachery.
Her husband sneaked up behind her and encircled her waist with his arms, startling her and almost making her spill the hot drink. Every fiber of her body and the majority of the ethereal fibers of her mind enjoyed his embrace, but she could never be totally at ease, was permanently on guard.
“So, while being this busy, did you not give yourself some time off to read your favourite magazines and relax?”
The tone of his voice had not lost any of its gentleness yet she stiffened imperceptibly.
“Actually…I did allow myself half an hour in the evening for a while – but really only half an hour,” she replied, her insides tensing in trepidation.
Miraculously, his mood did not change from pleasant to a stormy autumn or  a  freezing winter. Instead, he nuzzled her neck affectionately.
“Good, very good. You should not over-exert yourself, my darling.”
She barely suppressed a snort. How could she not over-exert herself with the demands he put on her regarding housework?! Their three-bedroomed house with the spacious kitchen and two bathrooms was too huge for just the two of them and provided her with a load of housework, especially as he was a cleanliness freak and wanted her to clean the whole house every day.
Swallowing the bitter feeling like a pill she knew would not help, Hope silently stirred plenty of sugar into his coffee, his embrace suddenly seeming to have too tight a hold on her even though – or exactly because? – she knew that he had honestly meant every word of concern just now uttered. In his very own way, he did care for her, and their love for each other was genuine. Yet it was not enough to keep their marriage happy.
She handed him the steaming mug and moved to start preparing dinner. He trailed behind her like a loyal dog, probably inspecting the kitchen for a spot of dirt along the way.
“What is for dinner tonight, my darling?” he wanted to know, letting her have a sip of his coffee.
“Pasta, chicken and tomato salad. Or do you want something else?”
Always quick to ask for his opinion, always eager to please him and maintain peace and quiet.
“Sounds good to me. Hey, shall I cut the tomatoes and onions for the salad?”
She gave an inward leap of joy and nodded in eager acceptance, knowing that such offers were always sincere. Hope gave him a grateful peck on the cheek and auto-saved another happy moment in her mind. For some blissful silent minutes, they worked harmoniously on opposite ends of the kitchen, and she was slowly starting to relax – a mistake she should have known better not to make.
Savouring this latest moment of togetherness, she had become a little careless in cutting the chicken, and the cubes of meat were getting out of size. Of course his ever vigilant eyes noticed it before she did. His steely cold voice made her snap out of her reverie
“What do you think you are doing? You are chopping the meat all wrong?  This way, some pieces will be over-cooked while others end up half raw. For God’s sake, stop day-dreaming and do your work properly for once!”
Hope flinched and hastily focused on the task.
“ I’m sorry, I shall be more careful now,” she muttered, already terrified. Her fingers had started trembling and made precise chopping difficult. Her husband shot her a mean look, as usual not pacified easily.
“Saying sorry will not undo the damage!” He shouted...” I should have known you are not even capable of doing a small task like that correctly. No wonder you so eagerly accepted my offer of help, means more time for you to idle around and day-dream. What were you dreaming about? Lost in your trashy fashion magazines and world of handsome designers and male models, I swear to God, I will make you give up that useless interest of yours!”
By now he was advancing towards her with a menacing look on his usually soft-featured and cultured face. She shrank back instinctively. Her wide eyes were fixed on the gleaming knife still in his hand, images out of horror movies flashing before her eyes, full of gore and blood and agonized wailing and yelling.
Hope was used to verbal abuse and even physical violence from him but never before had he attacked her with anything other than his foul mouth and his bare hands. Knowing better than to defend herself or plead not guilty, she pressed her trembling lips together and took tiny steps backwards. There was an icy fire in his dark blue eyes.
“It is ridiculous, getting lost in your illusions with those magazines! You would never have succeeded in the fashion world, so stop whining about giving up your future plans for me. You should be grateful that I saved you from humiliation. See, you cannot even cut meat properly, let alone design fashionable clothes!”
Her husband was almost in front of her now and she was shaking from head to toe, making herself smaller, preparing to shield herself from a blow she knew from experience would soon come.
“Yes, yes, you are right… I am sorry! I am sure I am better of like this, lucky to be with you,” she whimpered.
“ How you dare talk back at me!” he snarled. He dropped the knife in a flash and gave her a ringing slap. His second slap sent her reeling backwards against the wall with a gasp of pain.
“You good-for-nothing woman! I should never have married you!”  He spat at her and beat her with calculated brutality. She feebly held her arms up for protection, trying frantically to stifle her cries of pain so as not to infuriate him further. With the next few slaps she collapsed to her knees and as usual he let go of her all of a sudden, stepping back from her cowering and sobbing figure.
Hope was still not sure whether he stopped because the sight of her down on the floor disgusted him or because in an unexpected moment of clarity he disgusted himself. Either way, he always stopped at this point, and she knew without having to look up that his face reflected her pain, though she had no clue whether he was sharing her hurt or feeling a hurt of his own. Before long now, he would switch moods again and turn into the kind and considerate person she had first fallen in love with.
Sure enough, he was moving around the kitchen and then knelt beside her with a packet of ice for her split lip.
“Oh God, my darling, I am so sorry! I… I never meant to hurt you, it just came over me. You provoked me, I guess, and you know that I cannot guarantee anything after that. I am so very sorry! Please stop crying, my darling, please. I cannot bear to see you cry. I am honestly extremely sorry!”
He sounded defeated, hurt, guilty, sincerely concerned, and full of love. Not for a second did she doubt that he was indeed sorry and so she nodded her sniffling forgiveness though her cheeks were still burning from his slaps and she felt her face swelling up. Her husband enclosed her in a warm embrace and rocked her back and forth until her hiccupping sobs subsided and she calmed down somewhat. She leant against him and let him console her as oddly enough he who had caused her to cry was the only one who could make her stop crying too.
In a tiny corner in her mind, she longed to yell at him and hit him back, to accuse him rightly of abusing her and to throw him out of his own house. To spit into his face: “Saying sorry will not undo the damage!” However, she never allowed this frightening side of herself to take control, shuddering at the thought of throwing him out and having to live without him, cringing at the thought of losing him forever.
Instead, Hope stopped crying and made a desperate attempt to collect herself. She let him pick her up like a child and carry her into the living-room, let him bring her a freshly made cup of hot chocolate and a pile of her fashion magazines. She willingly put her feet up and leant back into the cushions reading while he trudged around in the kitchen to prepare their dinner. She readily let him put all the wrong-sized chicken pieces on his own plate and feed her carefully with the best bits of meat. She, still acting as though in a trance, patted the empty space next to her on the couch and he came running over to cuddle up against her and watch a fashion documentary on TV with her. She snuggled up closer to him and kissed him with the swollen lips that he had bruised, and his then so violent hands caressed her body as tenderly as if she were made of glass.
“You know”, he murmured, “This really would not have happened if you would stop  day-dream about your lost future all the time.”
He pulled her closer to himself and their bodies fitted against each other as perfectly as his hands fitted against her face when they hit her. After some more kissing, her husband gave her one of those pleading looks that would put a puppy to shame.
“It just upsets me so much that you head is so full with these magazines, and then I hurt you although I really do not want to. Will you please give up reading this…this stuff? For me, for us, my darling?”
Her husband lovingly stroked her hair and made it sound like it was entirely her choice and only a plea, not a masked command – and she nodded defeat, concentrating on the feel of his soft caresses, beautiful face and soothing voice to carry her through this new misery. After all, what was the loss of one precious  hobby and half-hearted ambition as against the prospect of henceforth sharing a peaceful life with the love of her life?
Roughly two hours later, Hope was lying awake in bed while Kevin was soundly asleep beside her, snoring ever so slightly and with one arm still looped across her waist. As usual, cuddling in front of the TV had led to both of them falling upon each other like animals in heat. They had shared passionate intimacies and he had whispered tender words of love and then fallen asleep like a stone.
She couldn’t sleep, as was always the case after such a situation. Whenever she closed her eyes and tried to force sleep to overcome her, the pictures of the beating scene came rushing in and whirred past her inner eyes like a movie on fast-forward. She relived the first icily chiding words, the feeble sounds of protest from her, the menacing advance towards her, the yelling , the  abuse and then the beating, going on and on and on.
When she snapped her eyes open to get rid of them, the room closed in on her with its darkness and coolness, with his innocent sleeping sounds, with the throbbing pain of her bruises. The horror seeped back in to fill every pore of her body and make her want to scream. She swallowed scream after scream and started trembling with the effort.
Scared that she would wake her husband with her spasmodic shaking, Hope slowly slid out from under his sagging arm and got off the bed. She tip-toed to the window where she drew back one side of the curtain and then stood  bracing  herself and leaning her forehead against the cold smooth window pane.
After a minute of collecting herself, she turned and looked at his sleeping form, and she felt the bile rise in her throat. Forcing it back down like the blood-curdling screams running through her veins, she padded quietly across the room and into the kitchen.
There it lay, gleaming a sparkling invitation at her.
Hope stared at the knife on the kitchen floor, and she heard its song of steely temptation ring sweetly inside her ears.
In a trance, she picked the shiny knife up and ran her thumb over its razor-sharp blade edge. Her eyes gleamed and a wry smile appeared on the corner of her lips.
Yes, the knife would help her. The knife understood. The knife would liberate her from all the suffering.