THE WIEKTS

There was something happening to me. I didn’t know what to do to stop this, but this was going too fast and too often. I was reluctant to admit it, but now I couldn’t help but admit that I felt fear bordering on terror. The blankness continued to appear randomly. But it was not that fact that feared me the most. It was the fact that I liked it there. I liked being lost in that feeling of emptiness that occurred to me whenever I lost myself in the sea of my memories. My hands trembled and my body felt cold whenever I thought about how I liked being away from the harsh reality. I couldn’t seem to escape this no matter what I tried. And sometimes, I didn’t even want to try at all. That realization made my hands trembles even harder and my body turns even colder. I didn’t want to be lost there forever, walking in a limbo between the reality and dream-like state, but with the way I felt about these moments, I was getting more and more afraid that I was powerless to stop myself from the clutch of my own memories.

After writing the last sentence on my journal, I sighed and reread everything. My hand stopped in the last dot that I wrote, smearing the dark ink there. I sighed again and lifted the quill and put it in its place. Writing the things that scared me the most these days was a hard thing to do. I didn’t like the feeling it brought me; the sense of calmness and blankness from the hateful reality. My own reaction to the matter didn’t help ease my thoughts either. I might hate this wretched life of mine, but I couldn’t — didn’t — want to be lost. Even though I felt almost happy in these situations, my thought was at war with my feeling. My logic couldn’t let myself be lost inside that strange yet somehow calming emptiness. And now, as I sat there in front of my desk and my opened journal, another matter started to creep into my consciousness, making me aware of its presence. And as I started to think about this, a voice of a lady from behind my back stopped me before I could form a thought.

“Roan? What are you doing? Come, let us have dinner,” she said.

I quickly closed my journal and hid it under the table. No one knew about it, still, and I intended to keep it like that. After I successfully hid the book, I turned in my chair to face the woman behind my back.

“What did I tell you about barging in without knocking the door?” I grunted.

She shrugged. “Why should I? This is supposed to be my room as well, Roan.”

I sighed. Sometimes, it was not worth my time to argue with her. She would just do as she wanted to, without listening to me. It had been a year since I married the girl and I still couldn’t seem to tolerate her presence. I just didn’t love her at all. Not even the slightest bit of that feeling was there every time I looked at her. But I couldn’t do anything about the fact that she was my wife. I couldn’t stop my father from making me marry this girl because I couldn’t give him the reason why I was so against this marriage. Even now, I still couldn’t answer him if he did ask me that question again.

“Roan?” she asked.

I went back to the reality and realized that I was zoning out again. The cold feel of fear was starting to gnaw at my back, but I disregarded it for the moment. I needed to face this woman in front of me first.

“What?” I snapped.

“Let us eat, Roan. I was calling you many times. Where were you?”

“I didn’t hear you. Get out now. I will join you soon.”

She rolled her eyes. I felt my anger flared deep inside me and made me wanted to hit her for being a disrespectful wife. I held it in though. For now. As soon as she went out of the door, I took my journal and put it in its hiding place. With a sigh, I went outside and joined my wife in the dining room. She was silent the whole time I was walking to my chair and she was silent the whole time I started to put the food on my plate. And I didn’t want her to do anything but.

“I’ve been thinking,” she started, suddenly.

I snorted. “Huh. What a miracle”

She looked at me for a while but then ignored me and continued, “I’ve been thinking of finding work in the town.”

My hand that was raising my fork stopped in midair hearing this. It was so out of the blue that I couldn’t help but gape at her. She kept on eating her food in front of her. I kept on gaping at her while opening and closing my mouth trying my best to find something to say. Sure we had never discussed anything in particular during our year-long marriage, but I would have never thought that she would be thinking about doing this without letting me know first. If she had the courage to bring this to me, then she must have thought about this for a long time. Finally, after sputtering for a while, I found my voice back.

“What are you talking about? What kind of woman goes to work?” I asked crudely.

“Why not? A lot of my friends are doing it right now. They started to work for the baker and the dress-maker in town,” she answered nonchalantly.

“What kind of women are your friends? No woman should work beyond their husband’s kitchen and house. No. You’re not going to do this. It’s bad enough that people start to think you’re so wild that I can’t even control you. You going to work will make things worse!”

Finally, she stopped eating and looked at me. Her gaze was so calm, it annoyed me. She said, calmly, “Let me ask again. Why not? My friends are all good wives to their husbands, and still they can afford some small luxuries on their own using their earnings from their works. Time changes, Roan. People change. We need to start catching up, or else we’ll be left behind.”

“No. I forbid you to speak of this again and you’re not allowed to seek this work either. I can provide for you just enough. No need for you to find anything to work on to let you buy some luxuries.” I practically spat that one last word.

“I didn’t specifically bring this to you to ask for your permission. I’m going to do it no matter what you say.”

“What?!” I shouted. That once dormant anger flared up inside me. “What did you say? How dare you!”

She went back to her food and finished it calmly, her expression impassive. I seethed and glared at her. I was the one who was supposed to be the head of the family. I was the one who was supposed to be the one making decisions regarding this family and not her. It was bad enough that people already talked about my family. As much as I didn’t like being married to her, I couldn’t let people think that I failed to be a husband as well. They already thought that I failed in being a good son because I just couldn’t get a proper work for a long time. Now, with my wife prancing around town unaccompanied and going about with her friends without telling me, people started to talk about me being a bad husband for the poor girl. I couldn’t afford that to escalate by allowing her to get some works in town.

“I dare because I know that I can, Roan. You cannot stop me from doing this. My mind is set. I will not change this decision. I will, however, give you something, a brief satisfaction you might call it, to save your face as a husband in front of the townspeople.” She stopped, sipped her drink, and continued. “I will not go into town to work there directly. I, however, am rather fond of embroidery, a hobby which your sister-in-law, Elydite, and I share. Therefore, both of us will make some and then we will sell it in the market in town.”

I felt the anger rose even more at the mention of Elydite’s name. She had been meeting Hart’s widow all these time and I didn’t even suspect anything. Once again, the jealousy came back with a force. Even my brother’s widow still has a power over me in the form of my wife. I couldn’t, for the life of me, seem to escape from his shadow.

“You’ve been talking to Elydite all these time?! How dare you go there! It was strictly forbidden for us to even say her name in the house, but here you are, secretly meeting her and planning this atrocious plan,” I shouted at her.

“As I’ve told you, Roan, I’m not saying this to ask for your permission. I said this just to inform you. All was said and done. I will go to the market tomorrow, together with Elydite, and sell them. Just let this matter go.” She stood up from her chair and started to clear up the table in front of her from her empty plate and cup.

So angry with her action, unconsciously I stood up and grabbed her hand, causing the plate and the cup in her hands clattered to the floor with a loud noise. She stopped in shock.

“I am not done with you,” I grumbled angrily. There was just no point in arguing with her. I needed to ascertain my power over her. I needed to make her see that I was the one who would make the decisions in this household.

“What are you doing, Roan? You’re hurting me. Let go.” She struggled but I only tighten my hold on her hand.

“What am I doing? What am I doing? No. No. The question should be what are you doing? Why do you insist on this matter while I already expressed my disagreement? Why do you insist on disobeying me?”

“I’m not your property, Roan. I’m your wife! You can’t tell me what I should or should not do in my life. You have never spared a thought about me since we were married. You never care! Now, why do you care if I want to find something to do in my time, aside from waiting for you to come home all angry and upset, from your father’s farm?”

I lost it. The moment she mentioned my father, it was like a trigger for me. I snapped and lost all logic left in me. Anger consumed me and I didn’t even notice the effect of my action until I heard her gasp and sobbing on the floor. I looked at her red face and swollen cheek. I started to come back to my sense and I could feel the stinging hot pain on my palm where it connected with her cheek. I stared at my palm in disbelief. I was never a violent man. Yea, I had always imagining myself punching the hell out of my father, but I had never carried the act out in real life. I had seen my father hitting Hart when I was a little and I was glad when the beating stopped when he raised me. But after seeing him beat Hart when he was a child, I swore to myself that I wouldn’t hit anyone, because as much as I hated my brother now, I looked up to him back then as my big brother. This was why I was utterly shocked when I realized that I had hit my wife with my own hand and, with that, broken the vow that I had made as a child and kept my entire life.

“I —,” I started but choked on my words. I couldn’t continue.

“How could you?” she sobbed quietly on the floor. Her hand cradled her wounded cheek. The swell looked really bad by now.

“I didn’t mean to hit you. I just wanted to make you see sense,” I said after I found my voice back.

“Make me see sense?!” she shrieked. She was starting to get hysterical.

“Yes, I was just trying to make you see my logic in this matter. You didn’t want to listen to me! I told you again and again that people will talk about our family, and not in the positive way, if you do your plan. It will ruin us!”

“No! It will not ruin us. It will ruin you and that scares you more than anything!” She got up from the floor, still clutching her reddened cheek but her sobbing had subsided into a hiccup. “You didn’t think that it will ruin our family. No, you think that me going to work will ruin you and your pride of being a man. You can’t let people talk about you more than they do now. Am I wrong in any of those?”

“Of course you’re wrong! I only thought about our family!” I shouted at her, my temper flared again but this time I promised myself I wouldn’t be carried away again. I kept my hands in a tight grip as if by doing that I kept telling my mind not to hit her again. I shouted at her, but inside my mind I could hear the faint echo of another conscience shouting back at me. Liar, it said.

“Liar!” she screamed.

My head shot back up at her. Did she just see through my inner thoughts? No, it was impossible. I cleared my head from that irrational thoughts and paid attention to her again. She was starting to walk towards the door. Panic took over me. I wouldn’t — couldn’t — let her go outside this house or worse, went back to her parents’ house. This would surely be the talk of everyone in town by tomorrow morning. I could already see their faces when they see me. It would be one of disapproval, sometimes disgust, and disappointment. And I just knew that my father would also hear of this. And then the cycle of me being his bad and disappointing son would start all over again. He would never let me live this down, ever. He would always torture me with the fact that during a simple argument, I lost myself to my wife.

“Wait!” I shouted and for the second time that night, I grabbed her hand.

She stopped but she did nothing more. She didn’t even look at me. The sense of dread regarding my future became thicker and thicker. I gritted my teeth and tried to force myself to apologize to her for my behavior. “I’m sorry,” I said finally.

She turned back and looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. She was still crossed with me but I believe that she might just stay in the house for tonight. That was all I could ever hope for tonight. As long as she stayed at this house, there was a chance that no one would find out about our little argument. She seemed to think about what I was asking her to do by saying sorry. After some consideration, she finally reached her decision with a sigh.

“You hurt me, Roan. I will stay for tonight and the nights after this, but once you lay your hand on me again, I will leave, Roan. And you willlet me do what I planned to do with Elydite. I will go to the market tomorrow and sell those embroideries.”

“But —,” I started but she cut me off.

“No buts. It’s either I do it or I leave tonight. It’s your choice.”

I tried thinking of other possibilities that might come to my rescue, but saw none at that moment. I desperately needed her to stay. So I nodded.

She sighed and said, “Good night, Roan. I’ll see you tomorrow when I’m back from the market.” With that she went to the other room beside my room, just like what she did every night ever since we got married.

Again that powerless feeling came over me. I was rather glad that I wasn’t having those blank moments when I was arguing with my wife. However, I couldn’t help that feeling from taking over my head even after I slept it off the night before. I was unable to stop myself from being the weak husband that everyone in town was talking about behind my back. I failed once again to prove that I could be someone great. And I was once again successfully made my father thought that I was a lesser man than him and my brother, if he heard of last night’s argument between me and my wife. I just hoped that when I went to the farm this morning, he wouldn’t ask me about anything that happened or else I was afraid that I would lose myself and slipped. I couldn’t bear another look or words from him saying how I fail to be his son or to be a man at all.

And as I recalled last night’s event in my mind, I realized, as if I was in a trance for the whole year I spent being married to my wife, that she always go to her room at night. I knew that but I just couldn’t seem to think about it much. But now, again, as I wrote it on this journal, I started to think about it. I knew that it wasn’t something normal for a married couple to do. We ought to sleep in the same room, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t bear to imagine myself touch her or merely sleep next to her. In fact, when I grabbed her hand last night to stop her from going was the first time I touched her since we met. I didn’t know what happened to me or what was so wrong with me so that I didn’t find her remotely attractive when actually she was a beauty in other people’s minds. Father would never settle for less when he picked a bride for his sons. And now the weight just started to pile up even more because my father had been asking for a child from our marriage. How was it possible for me to fulfill his request? I feared for myself when I went to the farm today. If he confronted me these two questions that troubled me the most, I was so afraid that this time I would really be powerless to stop that blankness from consuming my whole being. Because if he did, being in a limbo was way better than the reality.