LONELINESS TOGETHER
Thirty-eight years ago, Margaret brought her future husband, Edward, home to meet her parents. She wanted to introduce him and let them know they were planning to get married.
From the moment her parents saw the unfamiliar young man at their door, they understood everything without a word. Margaret had never brought any of her previous suitors home. She always told them, “What’s the point in introducing every young man? When I decide to marry, then youll meet him.”
So her parents observed Edward closely as he sat at their table, looking thoroughly uncomfortable and out of place.
Margaret stepped outside for a moment and her father quickly followed.
“Youre making a mistake, Margaret. You shouldnt marry him,” he said softly.
“And why not?” Margaret bristled. “Because hes a farmhand?”
“Its not just that, although it matters. You see, he might be a decent man, but you come from entirely different worlds. What will you talk about? You grew up an officers daughter, university-educated. Hes a country ladhardworking, sure, but so simple in his ways. Its obvious. If you stay with him, therell always be that gap between youa single word: intellect.”
“Oh, dont, Dad. Thats old-fashioned thinking. It doesnt matter who he is or what he does. He loves me, thats what counts. Besides, its never too late to learnIll help him,” Margaret replied, utterly convinced she was right.
“Well, dont say I didnt warn you. Remember, A child who wont heed their parents wanders lost a lifetime.”
The wedding went ahead. The thrill of courtship faded, replaced by everyday domesticity.
After much persuasion, Edward enrolled in college by correspondence, but never truly committed. Margaret wrote all his assignments, puzzling over technical books she cared nothing for. Edward went to class a handful of times and soon dropped it altogether, declaring, “What do I need all that for? If you want it, you study.”
Margaret tried to change his mind, but soon realized it was pointlessEdward was convinced he knew all he needed and refused to waste his time on what he called “nonsense studies.”
“Suit yourself,” she said, giving up the fight and telling herself that, in truth, he wasnt foolish. Hed worked his way through every book in her little library, kept up with politics, and was respected at work. Granted, he still carried that village air with him everywhere, but so what? Shed fallen for him as he was.
As the years rolled by, their marriage grew more difficult. Edward stopped consulting Margaret about anything, constantly tried to put her down, and needed to remind everyone just who was master of the house. Often, hed say things in front of others that Margaret wouldnt have dreamt of sharing out loud, with such swagger that it made her skin crawl with embarrassment.
She realised Edward couldnt make a single difficult decision. Every family problem fell squarely on Margarets shoulders, and Edward simply accepted it as her duty.
“If you want the living room redecorated, do it yourself!”
“Need a new fridge? Go and buy one, then!”
“Want the balcony glassed in? Thats your concern, not mine. You sort it!”
The only exception was the garden. Edward loved working the land and was very good at it. But that was all.
Someone might say, “Isnt that enough?” But the gardening season was only three or four months a year. All the rest of the time, Margaret acted as both wife and husband.
When she was younger, she didnt mind so much. Later, the burden began to weigh on her. But Edward, long adapted to letting his wife take the lead, had no intention of changing. Why should he? Everything was just fine for him. He never brought her a tulip for Mothering Sundaynever mind gold or jewels. When pressed about presents, he solemnly declared, “Dont be daft. Ive given you gifts alreadylook, youve two daughters running circles round the house.”
Margaret didnt fight it. She made excuses for him: “Hes simply not used to giving presents, its just not in his nature. Ill get by.”
Edward was never easy to talk with. He didnt know how, nor did he want to. When they were first married, people would ask Margaret if her new husband could actually hold a conversation. She’d just laugh off the question.
It annoyed him terribly how easily Margaret made friends everywhere she went. He had little good to say about any of her friends or relatives, and in the end, never made any true friends of his own.
Margaret didnt just keep the household running; she also brought in a decent wage. She never relied on Edwards earnings alone, even during uncertain times. She always found a way to make ends meet. She knew that he was unlikely to go above and beyond. “If you want more, earn it yourself!” hed say, satisfied so long as he had a steady job.
Gradually, Margaret realized she and Edward had nothing left to say to each other. They saw every situation through utterly different lenses. If a film delighted her, Edward would pronounce it utter rubbish. If he picked something to watch, she could rarely bear more than ten minutes. They could never agree on music or reading.
Their personalities, too, were complete opposites: she, the selfless giver, ready to do anything for him, for the children, for friends. He, the dyed-in-the-wool egotist, interested in none but himself. In the end, they ate different meals, had no shared interests, their affections faded, and their children grew up and moved away. Thirty years together, but together only in form, not in heartstrangers, in essence.
Edward, for his part, believed his wife had grown brash and ungrateful, never appreciating his efforts or showing him respect. Never mind that she shouldered everythingshe ought to, in his view.
So, from time to time, he turned to drink and began hurling hard truths at herabout her parents, long since laid to rest, about her family. Hed judge her every word and action from his own narrow perspective, belittling and humiliating her, clearly relishing the power, treating her as if she were the hired help.
And when he sobered, he seemed bewildered by Margaret’s sullen silence.
“What? I only spoke the truth!”
There was no explaining to him that it was only his truthhe simply couldnt hear, or accept, anything else.
And so now, Margaret sits at my table, tears streaming down her face, confiding in me as she reflects, “I am so tired My whole life has been like sitting on a powder keg. You never know whats got into him, or when itll blow. Im weary of compromise, of bending, of putting up with it all. But what can I do? Divorce? Whats the point? That man would never leavehed just make my life worse, torment me drop by drop. And worst of all: hes honestly convinced hes right. Every time he tears into me, Im an emotional wreck for weeks. I have to pick up the pieces, for the sake of family, children, and now grandchildren. I find reasons to stay, try to keep conversation civil, smooth things over. But he seems to take it as his victoryand then starts all over again, stronger than before.
Sometimes, I just want to scream from the hopelessness of it But truly, where could I go? Of course I could leave, but then what? When he drinks, he entirely loses his headif I werent there, hed soon fill the flat with the local scoundrels, and theyd ruin everything, just as before.
So I have to put up with it I cant bear to abandon my own home to ruin.
You know, when the children were small, our differences werent so obvious, they didnt weigh so heavily. There was never time to dwell on my own feelings.
Now, with just the two of us left, its unbearable. Two strangers under one roof even after thirty-eight years together.
Yes, my father was right after all Intellect. It has always stood between us.”
