My Family and Me
I
Shirley’s face turned red with anger. I didn’t have the
courage to face her in this state. Just yesterday, I had left home, unable to
resist Nair’s invitation for a drink. At that moment, I hadn’t thought about
Shirley’s fuming face.
I had recently read in a magazine that occasional drinking
is good for you. Shirley never read such magazines. That was her problem.
“It would be better if you stayed in that toddy shop
forever,” she sobbed.
“One day, you’ll find me hanging from this mango tree,” she
continued, tears streaming down her face.
“Shirley, my dear,” I said, trying to comfort her, “what do
you know about my existential crisis?”
“I don’t want to hear your bloody nonsense.”
“I’m hungry. Give me something to eat,” I said as I stepped
onto the veranda. She grabbed a sickle from the roof.
II
Yesterday, a storm destroyed our old house. Today, we moved
into a rented house. Electricity, water connection, fresh air, a furnished
kitchen—Shirley’s face glittered like a hundred-watt bulb.
“Will you at least bring peace here?” she asked, pinching
our bed-wetting younger son, who began to cry loudly, staring at the red switch
indicator.
“Bedbugs are the same everywhere; just as strong,” she
muttered, scratching her back with irritation. Nothing disturbs me when I
sleep. I always sleep deeply.
III
Yesterday, the landlord asked us to vacate the house for
not paying the rent. It was getting dark. I didn’t know where to go with
Shirley and our three little ones.
“Where shall we go, Papa?” our middle child asked, sucking
her fingers. She needed a feeding bottle first.
“I don’t know, my dear,” I said, picking her up. “We’ll buy
two acres of land on the moon.”
“On the moon? Oh, my Papa is great!” She was so proud of
her Papa. But her mother was not.
Shirley glared at me furiously. But she looked so beautiful
when she was angry, just as she did the first time I saw her, heading to church
with her mother. I was intoxicated by the smell of her sweat.
“Go and put them to bed,” I said.
“Where?”
“Anywhere”
“What for?”
I tried to lighten the mood with a pale smile. She couldn’t
contain her anger and sat down by an electric post.
IV
Many attempts were made to build a house. But every effort
was thwarted by Shirley’s frequent pregnancies.
“You’re damned,” she cursed.
“No, Shirley. We will be damned,” I corrected her.
“No. You. Only you.”
“Shirley!”
“Get away, son of a bitch!” she yelled.
And with that, collapsed my last house.
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