The woman who had been a mystery to me for months was sitting facing me. She really wasn’t at all as I had expected. Her figure, her manner, her attitude, were nothing like I had ever imagined. I was unprepared, I had never dreamt that I would be confronting a woman like this, and so it was me rather than her who became flustered, tongue-tied and mute. All I could do was gaze at her and wait for her to speak.
“Don’t ever leave him,” she said, exhaling her cigarette smoke. The room smelt stale and smoky and I spotted several empty beer bottles lying under the bed.
“Maybe it will be him who leaves me,” I answered in a combination of despair and embarrassment at having to admit my weakness and defeat.
“He needs you.”
“But he’s happier being with you.”
“That’s only the way it seems, the way it appears. It wouldn’t be like that if I really did take your place.”
“Maybe he wants us both.”
“If you don’t have any objections to that, then neither do I. But you must never leave him. I’m not prepared to take your place and I’m not sure if that’s what he wants either.”
The woman spoke in a tone full of certainty and self -confidence. She clearly desired my husband and yet she acted as if it wouldn’t bother her at all if he left her there and then. My anger had almost totally subsided, only to be replaced by extreme jealousy. I was really jealous because she seemed to be an extraordinary woman, and was totally unlike me.
I first suspected that there was another woman in my husband’s life several months ago. Previously I’d been certain that we were the ideal, happy couple. My husband adored me, I was devoted to him. We had been blessed with gorgeous children. Each of us had steady careers and we shared several hobbies.
All of a sudden the status quo was shaken when, one night while we were making love my husband breathed a name, and it wasn’t mine. My desire vanished immediately. We both just sat there in a daze in the dimness of the bedroom. We stayed like that, stark naked, for minutes, but it felt like centuries. I suppose we were each waiting to see who would speak first. Eventually I went and huddled up at the foot of my child’s bed and my husband stayed in our bed until morning.
It wasn’t until a few days later that my husband broached the subject.
“Forgive me. I’m in love with someone else.”
I stayed silent.
“That doesn’t mean I’m not in love with you anymore. I still love you, Ma.”
“ Is that possible? To be in love with two women at the same time?”
“ Oh, you’d only understand if you were in my position.”
“Who is this woman?”
“I’m sure it’s best you don’t know, in fact I’m positive. I hope we can stay married and I still want to make love to you. Of course, you may have objections.”
I was exasperated, incensed, furious. I didn’t know what to do. Should I ask for a divorce because of his infidelity? I’d be sacrificing so much, including my children. I was not prepared to live as a divorcee and I needed him so much. Should I just accept the affair? How painful! Every time that we made love I would always be reminded of the other woman he treated similarly on other nights.
Without my husband knowing, I tried to find out who this woman was. People would have found it hard to believe that my husband had been adulterous. He was thought of as loyal, and besides I wasn’t a bad wife. I was pretty enough, watched my figure, was presentable and well-groomed, and served him conscientiously at the meal table as well as in the bedroom. I was even respected in my husband’s business circles. In my imagination the other woman was definitely younger than me, sexier, more experienced in the bedroom, more educated, or more expert at serving men and pandering to their needs. Initially I suspected his secretary, but having gathered sufficient evidence I realised it wasn’t her. I then turned my attentions to business colleagues he met with frequently, but there was no proof there either. Eventually my suspicions turned to the student who lodged opposite. None of my investigations came up with anything and my suspicions remained unconfirmed.
Later I read a name in the paper. It was the name that had slipped out of my husband’s mouth that dark night as we were on the verge of orgasm, that faceless name that had continued to trouble me. However, her identity was revealed when I noticed my husband – totally uncharacteristically- scrutinising the culture sections in newspapers and attending painting exhibitions in town. The woman was an artist it seemed. I got hold of her address and planned to confront her.
“How long have you been seeing my husband?”
“Since his company sponsored our exhibition of paintings by women artists,” she answered.
I was still finding it difficult to understand what it was that attracted him to this woman. She was older than me, as was plainly evident from her face, which didn’t have a scrap of make-up on. Her dress was simple, or, at best non-descript. She wasn’t at all sexy. And her house… how could I possibly imagine my husband feeling at home in a place like this? It seemed that there was absolutely no point of comparison between this woman and me. Was my husband like a cat, that despite being fed meat at home, rummaged for fish bones in the rubbish tip? I couldn’t believe it. I’d always thought that all men who were unfaithful looked for fulfilment and satisfaction in other women because of their own wife’s inadequacies.
“Did my husband make you any promises?”
“He just said he was fully aware of the potential repercussions of our affair. When I asked what he meant, he said he was prepared to take the risk. I did ask him once what he would do if you found out. He said he would ask your forgiveness but could do no more than that, the decision would be in your hands. Even if you were to ask for a divorce, he said he would agree.”
I felt like my husband had slapped me. My husband was prepared to give me a divorce. My husband was prepared to sacrifice me, his wife, for that unpleasant, peculiar woman? I took a deep breath and shut my eyes. If I was led only by my emotions I would kick him out for the sake of my own self respect! But I didn’t want to give in just like that.
“What do you really want?” I continued.
“I don’t have any particular agenda,” she answered lightly.
“Are you totally unaware of the fact that you have destroyed my home life?”
“Actually I’m one of those people who believe that fidelity to one person throughout life is ridiculous and totally unnatural. Neither do I believe that you have never been attracted to another man.”
This woman was really indecent. She was sharp tongued, yet her way of thinking was lucid and focused. I had hoped for a young girl who would cry while begging at my feet for forgiveness, and then promising to finish her affair with my husband immediately; but the woman I faced was an individual who knew exactly what she wanted, and how to get it.
“Your husband said you’re free to choose your own life. If our affair makes you unhappy, you have the right to look for happiness elsewhere. But if you love him and are happy with him, you’re going to have to accept him as he is, with all his strengths and weaknesses, including his affairs.”
“My husband has never had an affair before.” I snapped.
“He has now. You’re going to have to learn to face up to the truth.” The woman dragged on her cigarette repeatedly. Her lips were blue, she obviously couldn’t be bothered to put on any lipstick. Eventually, my extreme embarrassment and humiliation were superseded by an overwhelming need to know. I was determined to ask the crucial question.
“Why did my husband choose you? What is it that’s lacking in me?”
She looked at me intently, stubbed out her cigarette butt and pretended to dust off a few of her paintings, before answering my question.
“You’re practically perfect. You seem clever, you’re a good cook, and you’re still good in bed. But a while ago your husband felt as if he had lost you. You never laugh together anymore.”
“Laugh?” I was astounded by this lame excuse.
“Yes, just to let you know, we laugh a lot in this house. Even though we very rarely make love, normally he’s too tired or I’m too tired, we lay down together, tell each other stories and have a good laugh. Your husband says he enjoys living with an artist, you don’t have to bathe at such-and-such-a-time, keep dates with business colleagues, or rush your lunch because of some directorial meeting. There’s none of that in this house. We just relax. I like telling stories about ancient Greek myths or old legends, and he listens until he drops off. Is it fun being an artist? I can’t say I’ve ever compared it to anything else. Being your type of person might be alright too, but I’ve never really wanted to be any different.”
I silently compared our appearances. I was still wearing my executive’s suit, the style generally worn by middle-class women working in the city. My clothes and face were practically spotless, whereas her jeans probably hadn’t been washed for a week and she had definitely neglected to comb her hair since that morning. Having looked at her for a while, I realised that this woman was actually quite pretty. Her face did look older than mine, yet without make-up she looked innocent, like a young teenage girl. Her hair was long and straight, whereas mine was cut short in a fashionable career woman’s style. Her hands looked supple and her fingernails were cut short. She was slight.
Trying to see things from my husband’s perspective, I began to notice certain qualities the woman had. She was bright, something my husband valued. He had once said, “I’d never fall for a bimbo.”
And this woman was also attractive. Relaxed, maybe that was the key. For how long now had we been rushing against the clock, our lives governed by timetables and work schedules. We even had to make special arrangements to eat together a couple of evenings a week.
“What are you going do?” the woman asked.
“What about you, what do you want to do?” I asked trying to take control of the situation.
“I don’t know, I never plan my life, I just go with the flow, like water.”
It was all very well for her to say.
“What if I ask my husband to leave you and he agrees?”
“Do as you please,” she answered indifferently.
“You don’t love him, that’s right isn’t it?”
“It depends on your definition of love. I’m happy with him. But I don’t depend on him.”
“My children depend on him,” I said pointedly.
“Isn’t there any way you can allow our affair to continue?”
I concealed a smile. At last, despite her studiously tempered tone of voice her attachment to my husband could nevertheless be discerned. She too had a woman’s heart it seemed. I looked at the woman’s face closely and imagined her living as my co-wife. It was impossible to answer now, I needed time, so I took my leave. They were the most stressful two hours of my life. I had come face to face with my husband’s mistress and it had not been easy. At least she was no longer a mystery. Now it remained for me to decide, would I accept her into our lives, force her to go, or leave myself. Heaven knows!
Surabaya, 31 December 1996.
