A Marriage

A SENA threw the sasa broom violently into the corner.

It is always the same, she thought. He struts in here expecting everything to be in order. The children quiet, the food cooked, the kerosene lamp lit. Now, his egoism having been bolstered by a display of manly power, he’s off again. No doubt back to that unwashed, disgusting drunk Bui. What does he care about our fearful children crouched beside the rusty wall? What does he care about my swelling eye and cut cheek? Does he care that there’s only a plate of stale cassava—last night’s left-over—for dinner tonight? He expects the children to do well at school. How? With no food in their stomachs and conspicuous old clothes on their backs?

Does he care that the roof is leaking and the steps are rotting? Oh, no, he’s in there laughing, as always shout ing bottle after bottle of beer for his friends. It is always the same!

Asena looked down at what had been her most treasured possession. Nine years before that vase had been a wedding present from her mother.

Why don’t 1 give up? she thought. Take the children away to somewhere more healthy? Make life better for ourselves.

The smashed pieces of glass on the floor glared re proachfully back at her. Tears came into her eyes.

Was this smashed wedding present symbolic of her smashed marriage?

Asena picked up the scattered hibiscus blooms which had been in the vase.

Why, they’re crying too she thought in surprised anguish, looking at the drops of water clinging to the crushed petals.