Their marriage was dead, unofficially. Whatever remained of the relationship was a legal and social contract of staying under a single roof. Marc had long drifted leaving Karen behind. While Marc spent his days perfecting the clay models of houses, Karen drained herself into perfecting their home. And the unfortunate participant of their tragedy, the bed room lamp, lay lifeless on the table. The lamp was never perfect since the day it entered the house. Marc had to repair it frequently”
And then one day, Marc neglected it forever. There was no place for imperfection in his life.
It was raining heavily on a hot summer Sunday evening. It was strange, Marc thought. And even stranger that he enjoyed the weather. He felt good. Never in his three years of marriage had he felt so peaceful. He was sitting on a recliner facing the window. He relaxed back on his chair and closed his eyes.
The past, like a floating mist, lingered in his eyes bringing sweet picture of a newly wed couple. The
groom was Marc and the bride Karen. They were in love with each other and happy for one another. Such bliss comes once in a lifetime and they had vowed to keep it bliss till they breathed. The mist suddenly disappeared. Marc now saw the water splashing the window screen making strange sounds. Momentarily, the mist returned, bringing with it merrier images of the happier times. Marc cleared the mist again. He had made his decision.
Karen was in the kitchen, watching Marc. They rarely saw each other in the face. It was an inconvenience
and they conveniently avoided. Only in these unnoticed moments, did one watch the other. Karen liked the weather too. Her eyes gleamed as she saw Marc. He was seldom at home on the Sundays. She liked it today. She wanted to make coffee, sit with him and drink. She wanted to see him, feel his presence. She headed to the coffee machine and a little later was holding with a pair of coffee cups. As she came to the hall,she felt a little sad. She only wished if Marc would have asked for a coffee. But he wouldn’t, she knew.”
“Coffee.” she said interrupting Marc’s thoughts. Marc was startled at the words of coffee. “Coffee.”, he repeated.
Karen heard him but said nothing. She carefully kept the cup on the table.Their eyes met for a second and then parted. Karen turned around and sallied toward the kitchen. Marc turned to see Karen recede. How far had she receded in his life? He silently took the coffee and lazily sipped it. The cup is big, he thought. He turned back towards the window. The heavy downpour had turned into a small drizzle.
Marc sat there, while the clocked ticked. The coffee was long gone, every drop of it. He looked into the kitchen. Karen was preparing dinner. She liked cooking. She would read the recipe books and prepare something new on the Sundays. They had the best dinners of their lives for the first few months of the marriage. As time passed, he bought frozen food or ate outside. It was strange today that Karen was making food. Marc got up and went into the kitchen.
“Do you need any help?” inquired Marc.
” You can cut the vegetables, if you want.” Karen replied without looking at him and added after a brief pause, “ You always did it well. Better than me.”
It was an acknowledgment of the happier times. Both realized, yet no one spoke. Marc cut the potatoes into tiny cubes of marble. Then he took the onions and sliced them into the beautiful rings of Saturn. They were all neatly placed in the plates and the peels piled beside it. It seemed effortless for him. He abhorred clumsiness. Everything must be in order. Karen had never been particular about the minute details of orderliness. She had always seen things from a broader range. In one of their many fights, she had said crying,” Cant you say thank you to me for my cooking? Why do you see the kitchen table and the potato peels but close your eyes on the bowls full of food? Can’t you ignore your perfection for sometime? It can make up happier.”Marc had scoffed at her.
Marc sat there watching Karen cook. She was thirty and looked no different from what she looked three years back. The legs were still slender and arms soft. The face was radiant and smile charming. In a moment of passion that arose in him, he wanted to hug her, kiss her, while a feeling of urgency loomed inside him that demanded a decision. Down in his heart, he felt today is the last night together and waited for the moment.
Karen was crying. She had mastered deceiving her tears. She could cry in a crowd without being noticed. It was easier in the presence of Marc. He had never noticed it. She remembered the first time she had cried after marriage. They were going for Marc’s business trip. He was excited, so was she. The deal if successful would fetch a lot of money to Marc. They had packed their things, closed the windows, switched the lights and were set to go when Marc had asked, “Where are the flight tickets?” “Somewhere in these suitcases.” Karen had replied carelessly. She was always forgetful about the petty household things. Marc was mad. He searched everywhere. She searched too.It was of no use. When they finally found the tickets lying on the top of the fridge, the flight had already taken off. The loss was profound. Marc lost his deal, Karen her husband. The words Marc had said reverberated in her heart. “Karen, you are full of faults, except your faultless beauty. And it is of no good except in the bedroom.” Karen had struggled and fought with these words for a long time now. She knew Marc would break the silence sooner or later.
As if her thoughts were answered, Marc’s words came in rather abruptly.
“Divorce is so common nowadays.”
Before Marc could finish, Karen burst in rather coldly,” Perfection and happiness in marriage are two different things.”
The conversation ended almost as soon it had begun. Karen dutifully carried on with the cooking. Marc contemplating over the last words of Karen was scrutinizing the kitchen. A couple of pictures hung over the wall casting a little beauty to the room. The fridge had fake ice cream magnets clung to it. The floor was clean, the utensils neatly arranged. It seemed everything had changed places.
Marc hurriedly pushed the chair and got up. His eyes were still fixed on the walls, as he walked bewildered to the hall. He surveyed the house with the dexterity of an architect. Every little or big object were well placed. There was a harmony. Had he missed all this? How could a perfect man be oblivious to his perfect house?”
“He stood in the hall lost in the mist again.
“Are you looking for something?” Karen asked from behind.”
“No. Nothing.”. Somewhere in heart, he said, “Me. Where was I all these years?”
“Coming for dinner?”
“Yeah. Lets have it in the kitchen like we used to have.” Marc replied soberly.
Karen had least expected to hear this. Modern marriages had become less real-like and more business-like. Relationships ended with a thank you note.
The food was good and the wine smooth. No one was in a hurry. Karen was happy looking at Marc, feeling his radiance enter the pores of her body. Marc was gazing at Karen.
Dinner was over. Karen went on to do the customary cleaning jobs. Marc got up and wandered slowly through the room.
Upstairs, the dark bedroom with the broken lamp waited. He watched his steps as he climbed, afraid he outpaces time. He reached the bedroom. Streaks of even rays from the streetlights illuminated the otherwise dark room.He walked over to the bed. His eyes fell on the broken lamp. The lamp was from some Oriental country. It was a gift from Karen, the day Marc had proposed to her. The lamp had stopped working the Marc lost the biggest deal of his life.
The door opened and Karen walked in. The light was not bright enough for them to see each other. Karen’s feet carried her to Marc, uncertain of what lay next. She sat close to Marc and held his palm tight. The grip stiffened. Words emerged from the emptiness of her life finally.”
“Marc, I tried ever since that day. I can’t match your perfect….”. It was cut short with a prolonged kiss on her lips.
They lay there in the darkness in each other’s arms.Everything seemed to be in place now, Marc thought. His eyes fell on the imperfect lamp. Still holding Karen in his arms, he said, “Tomorrow I will fix the lamp. Everything else in this house is perfect.”
And then one day, Marc neglected it forever. There was no place for imperfection in his life.
It was raining heavily on a hot summer Sunday evening. It was strange, Marc thought. And even stranger that he enjoyed the weather. He felt good. Never in his three years of marriage had he felt so peaceful. He was sitting on a recliner facing the window. He relaxed back on his chair and closed his eyes.
The past, like a floating mist, lingered in his eyes bringing sweet picture of a newly wed couple. The
groom was Marc and the bride Karen. They were in love with each other and happy for one another. Such bliss comes once in a lifetime and they had vowed to keep it bliss till they breathed. The mist suddenly disappeared. Marc now saw the water splashing the window screen making strange sounds. Momentarily, the mist returned, bringing with it merrier images of the happier times. Marc cleared the mist again. He had made his decision.
Karen was in the kitchen, watching Marc. They rarely saw each other in the face. It was an inconvenience
and they conveniently avoided. Only in these unnoticed moments, did one watch the other. Karen liked the weather too. Her eyes gleamed as she saw Marc. He was seldom at home on the Sundays. She liked it today. She wanted to make coffee, sit with him and drink. She wanted to see him, feel his presence. She headed to the coffee machine and a little later was holding with a pair of coffee cups. As she came to the hall,she felt a little sad. She only wished if Marc would have asked for a coffee. But he wouldn’t, she knew.”
“Coffee.” she said interrupting Marc’s thoughts. Marc was startled at the words of coffee. “Coffee.”, he repeated.
Karen heard him but said nothing. She carefully kept the cup on the table.Their eyes met for a second and then parted. Karen turned around and sallied toward the kitchen. Marc turned to see Karen recede. How far had she receded in his life? He silently took the coffee and lazily sipped it. The cup is big, he thought. He turned back towards the window. The heavy downpour had turned into a small drizzle.
Marc sat there, while the clocked ticked. The coffee was long gone, every drop of it. He looked into the kitchen. Karen was preparing dinner. She liked cooking. She would read the recipe books and prepare something new on the Sundays. They had the best dinners of their lives for the first few months of the marriage. As time passed, he bought frozen food or ate outside. It was strange today that Karen was making food. Marc got up and went into the kitchen.
“Do you need any help?” inquired Marc.
” You can cut the vegetables, if you want.” Karen replied without looking at him and added after a brief pause, “ You always did it well. Better than me.”
It was an acknowledgment of the happier times. Both realized, yet no one spoke. Marc cut the potatoes into tiny cubes of marble. Then he took the onions and sliced them into the beautiful rings of Saturn. They were all neatly placed in the plates and the peels piled beside it. It seemed effortless for him. He abhorred clumsiness. Everything must be in order. Karen had never been particular about the minute details of orderliness. She had always seen things from a broader range. In one of their many fights, she had said crying,” Cant you say thank you to me for my cooking? Why do you see the kitchen table and the potato peels but close your eyes on the bowls full of food? Can’t you ignore your perfection for sometime? It can make up happier.”Marc had scoffed at her.
Marc sat there watching Karen cook. She was thirty and looked no different from what she looked three years back. The legs were still slender and arms soft. The face was radiant and smile charming. In a moment of passion that arose in him, he wanted to hug her, kiss her, while a feeling of urgency loomed inside him that demanded a decision. Down in his heart, he felt today is the last night together and waited for the moment.
Karen was crying. She had mastered deceiving her tears. She could cry in a crowd without being noticed. It was easier in the presence of Marc. He had never noticed it. She remembered the first time she had cried after marriage. They were going for Marc’s business trip. He was excited, so was she. The deal if successful would fetch a lot of money to Marc. They had packed their things, closed the windows, switched the lights and were set to go when Marc had asked, “Where are the flight tickets?” “Somewhere in these suitcases.” Karen had replied carelessly. She was always forgetful about the petty household things. Marc was mad. He searched everywhere. She searched too.It was of no use. When they finally found the tickets lying on the top of the fridge, the flight had already taken off. The loss was profound. Marc lost his deal, Karen her husband. The words Marc had said reverberated in her heart. “Karen, you are full of faults, except your faultless beauty. And it is of no good except in the bedroom.” Karen had struggled and fought with these words for a long time now. She knew Marc would break the silence sooner or later.
As if her thoughts were answered, Marc’s words came in rather abruptly.
“Divorce is so common nowadays.”
“Yeah, wife and husband stay under the same roof for years just for the sake of it.” Karen replied almost immediately.Marc reflected for a while and said,” Perfect marriages are passé now. You don't see a happy couple anymore.”
Before Marc could finish, Karen burst in rather coldly,” Perfection and happiness in marriage are two different things.”
The conversation ended almost as soon it had begun. Karen dutifully carried on with the cooking. Marc contemplating over the last words of Karen was scrutinizing the kitchen. A couple of pictures hung over the wall casting a little beauty to the room. The fridge had fake ice cream magnets clung to it. The floor was clean, the utensils neatly arranged. It seemed everything had changed places.
Marc hurriedly pushed the chair and got up. His eyes were still fixed on the walls, as he walked bewildered to the hall. He surveyed the house with the dexterity of an architect. Every little or big object were well placed. There was a harmony. Had he missed all this? How could a perfect man be oblivious to his perfect house?”
“He stood in the hall lost in the mist again.
“Are you looking for something?” Karen asked from behind.”
“No. Nothing.”. Somewhere in heart, he said, “Me. Where was I all these years?”
“Coming for dinner?”
“Yeah. Lets have it in the kitchen like we used to have.” Marc replied soberly.
Karen had least expected to hear this. Modern marriages had become less real-like and more business-like. Relationships ended with a thank you note.
The food was good and the wine smooth. No one was in a hurry. Karen was happy looking at Marc, feeling his radiance enter the pores of her body. Marc was gazing at Karen.
Dinner was over. Karen went on to do the customary cleaning jobs. Marc got up and wandered slowly through the room.
Upstairs, the dark bedroom with the broken lamp waited. He watched his steps as he climbed, afraid he outpaces time. He reached the bedroom. Streaks of even rays from the streetlights illuminated the otherwise dark room.He walked over to the bed. His eyes fell on the broken lamp. The lamp was from some Oriental country. It was a gift from Karen, the day Marc had proposed to her. The lamp had stopped working the Marc lost the biggest deal of his life.
The door opened and Karen walked in. The light was not bright enough for them to see each other. Karen’s feet carried her to Marc, uncertain of what lay next. She sat close to Marc and held his palm tight. The grip stiffened. Words emerged from the emptiness of her life finally.”
“Marc, I tried ever since that day. I can’t match your perfect….”. It was cut short with a prolonged kiss on her lips.
They lay there in the darkness in each other’s arms.Everything seemed to be in place now, Marc thought. His eyes fell on the imperfect lamp. Still holding Karen in his arms, he said, “Tomorrow I will fix the lamp. Everything else in this house is perfect.”
