YOU JUST CALL
I now pronounce you man and wife! declared the registrar with all due ceremony, then suddenly choked, coughing with wild abandon.
Well, thats not an auspicious sign, my mother remarked about the ill-timed coughing fit.
Our guests shifted uncomfortably, whispering amongst themselves. My bride, Alice, and I, both just eighteen, exchanged frightened glances. We were, truth be told, still children. Ours was a hasty wedding, forced by circumstanceAlice arrived with a dowry of sorts: our unplanned child was to be born within a couple of months.
We scrambled to hire a wedding dress; Alice borrowed shoes from her closest friend, Lydia. Oddly enough, years later, I would have a fleeting affair with that very friend.
But in those days we were young and blissful.
Once, Alice and I strolled arm in arm down the avenue, my hand resting gently on her waist. A gruff stranger approached, addressed me quietly, Hold on tight to your lass, or someonell whisk her away
He muttered and set off along his path. We laughed and dismissed the strange warning. Our whole lives lay ahead! Who could ever part us? Let them try.
My mate Tom, whod been best man, later ribbed me, John, couldnt you have chosen someone better? There are so many pretty girls about!
I waved him off, They must be waiting for you.
As it happened, they did. Tom ended up married four times, each wife more clever and lovely than the last.
Our daughter Vera was born.
Soon after, I was called to serve in the army, stationed far from home. I missed my wife and child terribly. Alice once sent me a photo; I kept it underneath my pillow, hoping shed visit me in a sweet dream.
One day I returned to the barracks to find the photo lying in plain view atop my bedside locker. Someone had scrawled filth all over Alices picture and scribbled rude words. Fueled by rage, I attacked my bunkmate, beating him nearly senseless. I spent several days in the guardhouse for that. The ruined photo had to be torn and thrown away. My neighbour was punished fairly.
When I returned from service, I was a touch hardened. For reasons I couldnt explain, I was haunted by resentment towards Alice. Id convinced myselfwronglythat a young woman could not stay faithful for two years. Surely, I decided, Alice had taken a lover while I was away.
The woman who welcomed me back was nothing like the timid soul whod bid me farewell before my posting. She now stood before me a dazzling vision, alive with energy and sensuality.
Is that really you, Alice? I can hardly recognise you, I whispered into her ear.
Pride filled me to bursting! And yet, then and there, doubt crept in. Perhaps Im not the only man in her life? Women like Alice are honey, and where theres honey, theres flies. Just in case, I took a mistress myself, so it wouldnt sting if Alice had another.
Three months later, word of my exploits reached Alice. I barely managed to persuade her to delay a divorce. She spoke her verdict:
Well, Johnny, youve only yourself to blame
Alice burned all my army letters. She had kept them lovingly in a jewellery box, rereading them now and then. I was banished from her bed for who knew how long, and no longer called to the dinner table. Our conversations became strictly about daily necessities.
In short: hurt her one day, and paid for it a year. To try and mend things, I took Alice and Vera on an extra holiday, aside from our usual summer. Wine, fruit, the sea, sun, fresh air There, we finally reconciled.
Back from the holiday, I left my illicit lover behind.
For seven years after, life with Alice was tranquil, steadyalmost monastic. But perhaps Alice craved something more something with the fire of Italian romance?
In those days, one jovial sort worked at my firm. Bob, he was calleda wit, entertainer, and listener. He could carry any conversation, and our men often came to him with their troubles: grumbling about wives, mothers-in-law, world affairs. Bob always lent an ear and dispensed sage advice. Why not invite Bob to Alices birthday? I thought. He would surely liven up any gathering.
If only Id known where it would lead.
Bob accepted and arrived at our celebration with his wife. That evening, Bob surpassed himselfcracking jokes, laughing, inventing clever toasts. Alice was radiant, smiling warmly at everyone, bustling about, filling plates, chirping like a bird. The birthday was a grand success. But within a month, for Bobs and my families, hell began.
Bobs wife rang me, bluntly announced,
John, surely you must knowour spouses are seeing each other. Tell your dear Alice Ill fight for Bob! She best keep away. We have two small children.
I, oblivious fool, suspected nothing. Was Alice really exacting reckless revenge for my past transgressions?
I shant recount every torment we endured. Bobs wife hounded Alice everywhere, threatening suicide, promising dramatic displays. I locked Alice in our flat, unplugged the phone, threatened divorcenothing worked. They do say that love, fire, and a cough cannot be hidden. Eventually, I sought help from Alices closest friend.
She cut me deep: John, its love. Alice isnt coming back. The road to her is closed to you.
Indeed, my misfortune struck from every direction. In grief, I stayed with that friend for half a year. She was able to comfort me for a brief spell.
Alice and Bob married. Oblivious to anyone else, they lived in their own earthly paradise. It seemed they breathed with a single heart. At the time, I cursed and hated the wild pairwanted to howl, to tear out my hair. How could it happen? My wife stolen! Happiness and misery do ride the same sledge.
People claim time heals all. I dont believe it. My wound only covered itself with the thinnest frost, aching often. Friends carefully selected a second wife for me. They chose a beauty; I married her quickly, before doubt crept in. Seventeen years now weve been together. Captivated by her beauty I never was, and I pretend to be happy, hoping without hope. If only someone peered into the cellar of my battered soul! There, Alice dwells forever. Will she callBut once a year, just as autumn gold begins to fall, I find myself dialing the old number, my finger trembling over the keys. I never press “call.” Instead, I let the silence bloomheavy and honeyedand wonder whether, somewhere, Bob and Alice are laughing in some sun-dappled kitchen, or if Vera remembers her fathers hands holding hers as she learned to walk. Regret wears many masks, but mine is simple: the sound of a voice Ill never hear again, and the echo of happiness too fragile for certainty, too bright for blame.
Still, every autumn, I wish. I wish, as the leaves spiral down, for the courage to forgive myself, and perhaps, one day, to let go. And if you ever find yourself dialing old numberswondering, aching, waitingknow this: in the end, you just call. Even if only in your heart.
