The Difficult Wife ~ a story cycle

No light

Myrah liked her house to be in good order. She kept everything in its place. All the household members were careful to keep things to her liking because she got upset if things were put in different places, or tasks not completed according to her schedule.

On Mondays, come what may, the tea towels were changed. On the first day of autumn, the summer painting was taken down and replaced with the autumn theme.

Her husband, Henry, had learnt that everything had its place and he found himself becoming more and more precise. He noticed that he put books down so that they lined up with the edge of the coffee table. He sighed helplessly but couldn't see what else to do. He didn't want to upset Myrah.

Her children, trained from birth, were quiet and tidy. They were always welcome at their friends' houses and spent increasing amounts of time there.

Over the years, she became more fixed in her ways. Order became the God of this household. Everything and everyone was kept in place according to Myra's requirements.

Myrah did not like light.

"It hurts my eyes," she would say.

"It fades the carpet," she would complain.

"Electricity costs money," she would justify.

Lights were never left on in a room, globes were replaced with dimmer ones, and, over time, the house became darker and darker.

There came the year when Myrah kept the curtains closed all day and sent everyone to bed when darkness fell.

One night, Myrah came into the alcove by the kitchen where the servant lived. She found him there with a smile on his face arranging flowers on a shelf where a low candle was burning.

Her anger flared and she knocked the candle to the floor, stamping on the flame.

"No lights!" she cried, "I said there would be no lights!" and stormed out of the room.

The servant sat silently in the darkness. After a time, he looked up and saw the window. He looked through the glass out into the vastness.

Then he took his chair, and, setting it by the window, he gazed up at the stars pricking the sky. He smiled his welcome to them and decided to look for a new workplace. Starting the very next day.

"Ooh!," she chirped, "Come in. What have you been doing? Come in, come in. Sit down. Over here. John, you sit there, Cathy, you can sit there. Then Henry can sit there and I'll be here!

"Henry will make us coffee, won't you Hennie? What would you like? Tea? Coffee? Good! Then we'll all have coffee -- from Henry's new French Press.

"So, you went to the coast for the day? Oh! In this weather! Still, I love the beach in the rain. We just turn up our collars and walk, don't we Hennie? And there's always Al's Coffee Shoppe. You know Al's? Oh, I love their choc chip cookies. I know I shouldn't, but! .. I let myself have one anyway!

"Henry, don't forget the milk. Oh, and there's some Banana Bread. I made it yesterday. John likes my Banana Bread, don't you John.

"So, where did you eat lunch? Oh, The Ale Inn, we haven't been there, it's a bit pricey isn't it? It looks expensive. We usually go to Sam's Chowder Inn. We love their fish chowder! And it's only $5.00. A big bowl and as much bread as you can eat. It's so filling, not watery at all.

"The last time we were there... go on, have another piece, I can always make some more. The last time we were there, there was a sea lion hanging around the jetty next door. People were throwing it fish. It was so neat! We hung around and watched it, then another one came and they rolled in the water ducking and diving, hoping for more fish.

"Hennie, John's cup is empty. Oh! I had the best day yesterday! I got the chores done early. You know how I like to get them out of the way. Then I spent the whole morning going through the pantry cupboard. You wouldn't believe what I found!

"Look! I'll show you. See, it was my grandmother's. She got it one Christmas, full of cookies from Norway and she kept it and used it as her cookie tin. I remember when I was little and we visited her, she would get this tin down and let us look at the picture -- see the rabbit under the bush there? I always loved that rabbit. He's so cute, don't you think?

"Well, when I found the tin at the back of the pantry, I remembered putting it there last Fall. But, I think it's so pretty that I'll put it out on the dresser this year.

"So! What are you going to do for Thanksgiving? Do you have any plans? Oh, John's going to the mountains? We always think it's not so nice in the mountains in November. The leaves have gone and the snow hasn't come yet. That's so, isn't it Hennie?

"And what about you Cathy? Oh, your sister? Well, that's nice for you. You'll get that quilt nearly finished.

"We're just staying home, visiting family. Henry's going to clean up the garage and I want to sort out my paints and papers.

"You have to go? Well, it was so nice to see you. Thank you for coming by. It's good to catch up on all your news. You are such special friends."

"I like John and Cathy, don't you Hennie? She's a bit quiet but sweet and he's such a good friend for you."

The Bowl

The man saw an unusual wooden bowl on a market stall and all day the image of its graceful lines pulled at his thoughts so that, at the end of the day, he went back to the marketplace to look at it again. The stall keeper was just packing his goods away when the man came up.

"Where's that bowl you had? The yellow one with the curling lip?" he asked anxiously, his hands making a flowing shape in the air.

"You mean this one?" the stall keeper said, reaching into one of the boxes he was packing. He held up the delicate bowl, balanced on one palm.

"Yes, that's the one," said the man, smiling and reaching. His hands curled so easily around it. He admired the pale golden colour of the wood and weighed its lightness in his hands. Without a doubt, he had to buy it. Hearing the price, he hesitated, knowing that it would leave him short for the week. He thought of the things the money should be used for. The necessities. But the bowl sat lightly in his palm, perfectly balanced. He paid over nearly all the cash he had in his pocket.

"Entirely hand carved," said the man as he wrapped it thoughtfully in layers of crisp white tissue paper and placed it in his customer's respectful hands. Then he wrote out a receipt in large, careful script.

The man accepted the package, "Who would have thought such a thing could be made?" he wondered.

At home, he gave Myrah the kiss she expected and asked to her close her eyes and hold out her hands. She stood there eagerly, hands cupped in front of her, till he placed the white package in them.

"Oh," she laughed and opened her eyes to unwrap the puzzle. His eyes danced in anticipation of her pleasure at this wonder.

As the tissue came away, she looked blankly at the bowl, her eyebrows creasing.

"What's this?" she turned it around and over, "What's this for?"

"It's for looking at," he said in a tight voice.

"For looking at?" she queried. "It's just a wooden bowl."

He took it carefully from her and turned it around slowly, trying to see it as just a bowl. But, try as he might, he could see the miracle of a bowl shaped like a lily, with an unlikely petal curve where the lip opened out into a graceful flange. It combined the fluidity of clay with the weightlessness of wood. The satin smooth golden lightness caressed his finger, palm and eye. He couldn't quite get his mind to understand what his hands and eyes knew.

He stammered, "It's lovely."

She began to argue, pointing out that it wasn't large enough for a fruit bowl and it was the wrong colour for the bedroom. Being wood, it would stain if water was put in it. It wasn't flat enough to use for the mail and there wasn't room for it on the bookshelf. She wondered which cupboard she could put it in because it wouldn't stack easily with that unusual curling petal-lip. The litany of uselessness continued.

His head began to ache.

"Well," she said, winding down, "I hope you didn't pay much for it," and fixed him with an hard look.

A numbness gripped him as he saw what lay ahead. He cast an anguished look at the lovely thing in his hands and was tempted to lie. Sorely tempted. Even though a lie was not an option, it hovered there appealingly in the space between them.

A flush crept up her neck. He wished he could just walk away.

Finally, she said pointedly, "How much did you pay?"

"Not a lot," he blurted, "it was just something that caught my eye."

"Well, I'm glad. It's not something that we need, is it?" she said carefully, keeping her full gaze on him.

"No," he said, meeting her eyes reluctantly, "we don't need it." And knew he was betrayed.

The bowl was set aside on a ledge where Myrah could ignore it. Henry stole glances at it and sometimes, when Myrah wasn't in the room, he would pick it up and be delighted again by its satin warmth. To his eye, its perfect proportion brought a sense of rightness to the surroundings.

One day, he arrived home and heard Myrah clattering in the kitchen louder than usual. He glanced towards the ledge for his piece of perfection and felt a sudden heart-jolt at the empty space.

He continued towards the kitchen, and, as he did, Myrah appeared, her face pinched and white, a piece of paper in her hand.

"You said you didn't pay much," she accused with cold deliberation. He froze as Myrah unleashed the full flood of her contempt. Her fury poured over him as she waved the receipt and accused him of waste, stupidity and lies. The tirade continued as he tried to calm her.

He tried to explain, tried to apologise, but felt weaker and weaker as she listed all kinds of other things they could have used the money for.

A smell of garlic from the kitchen recalled her to her cooking. He went to the bedroom to change from his work clothes. Misery gripped him.

At the dinner table, the children sat quietly. Henry said grace and they ate their meal with only strained trivialities exchanged. He wondered where the bowl was now and how to ask about it without triggering anger. It seemed safest to say nothing.

At bed time, they kissed and said "I love you" as they always did.

For months afterwards, she kept a closer eye than usual on their expenses, making regular tallies of the things they spent money on. He reminded himself that this was very responsible of her, and, over time, he came to believe that he had been foolish to waste money on something as useless as a carved wooden bowl.