The Matron
By: RDV
She always thought that she was pretty. She always thought that she was beautiful for all she was worth. The way she held herself erect amid the crowd, one would think her stateliness rivaled that of a queen's. That is, from the far or back view.
Of course she was keen to know what people thought of her. She always assumed she was doing them favor by flaunting her elegance. In parties, she donned in designer’s clothes and other pricey and classy accessories, infinitely glamorous. Her makeup was often well done, not too thick, nor too scant. In her glides was often marked a certain grace known to the upper class.
She abhorred the poor to complement all these, which, if you ask any level-headed person, was stupid. She was well off as a single woman and when her peak time of marriage arrived she pledged herself to a potential millionaire. She landed a job on the taxing department, whose easy access to any kind of corruption suited her coal-scorched conscience. Her husband, true to her anticipation fattened her pockets and bank accounts. Finally in her 53rd year, she was perched atop the corporate ladder from which she could easily obtain anything. By the time she retired, her personal wealth had become insurmountable one might as well measure the sky’s breadth.
She and her husband married for different reasons, which weren’t otherwise revealed but whichever, the union lasted. Both were thankful and so were their two daughters who strove to preserve the not-so-spicy marriage by hook or by crook.
Another fact about her is that she was rarely pleased by children, never by her non-relatives. When her husband brought his nephews to their home, she fumed, looked as them as they were pieces of garbage she was preparing to dispose of and unabashedly asked her husband to drive them all of home, the sooner the better. Presented with no choice, the husband agreed with a more visible reluctance.
Apart from that, she never liked what her husband had put her through, I.e., going for provincial visits which she dreaded on account of mosquitoes, untidy surrounding and general lack of civilization. She preferred the city, she claimed.
But even then in spite of all that submissiveness, her husband held a secret so powerful it would snap the marriage into two once it was built in the open. He willed to forget the secret, that terrible corpse, if only to dust his mind off impurities. To him, his wife was fucking ugly. He watched her without understanding and not without effort, great deal of it. It sickened him the way she’d show off, glittering jewelry and linen close to drag. It made her criminal each time she went out, offending people with her face. And he who molded everything to his will couldn’t shape his wife out of that dismal ugliness, which was contaminated.
It was no longer a fact that surprised him that each time she’d materialize in front or adjacent of him, he’d mentally beg the lights off to be spared the horror. Sometimes in bed, with efficient determination, he’d feign drowsiness so they could sleep and shut their eyes finally. Now retired he was slated to put up with the sight of her, which he deemed to be the last on god’s green earth he’d appreciate. Such abomination in living he never imagined, the husband couldn’t help it but to pray at night hoping to heaven or hell for providence or fortitude that’d allow him to withstand her. For now, for all we know, he couldn’t do it without help, not for anything.
‘God, of all things impossible, this is the challenge you gave me. Why?’ he cried as he doubted his own sanity. How he wished he could stand just a strand of her!
She always thought that she was pretty. She always thought that she was beautiful for all she was worth. The way she held herself erect amid the crowd, one would think her stateliness rivaled that of a queen's. That is, from the far or back view.
Of course she was keen to know what people thought of her. She always assumed she was doing them favor by flaunting her elegance. In parties, she donned in designer’s clothes and other pricey and classy accessories, infinitely glamorous. Her makeup was often well done, not too thick, nor too scant. In her glides was often marked a certain grace known to the upper class.
She abhorred the poor to complement all these, which, if you ask any level-headed person, was stupid. She was well off as a single woman and when her peak time of marriage arrived she pledged herself to a potential millionaire. She landed a job on the taxing department, whose easy access to any kind of corruption suited her coal-scorched conscience. Her husband, true to her anticipation fattened her pockets and bank accounts. Finally in her 53rd year, she was perched atop the corporate ladder from which she could easily obtain anything. By the time she retired, her personal wealth had become insurmountable one might as well measure the sky’s breadth.
She and her husband married for different reasons, which weren’t otherwise revealed but whichever, the union lasted. Both were thankful and so were their two daughters who strove to preserve the not-so-spicy marriage by hook or by crook.
Another fact about her is that she was rarely pleased by children, never by her non-relatives. When her husband brought his nephews to their home, she fumed, looked as them as they were pieces of garbage she was preparing to dispose of and unabashedly asked her husband to drive them all of home, the sooner the better. Presented with no choice, the husband agreed with a more visible reluctance.
Apart from that, she never liked what her husband had put her through, I.e., going for provincial visits which she dreaded on account of mosquitoes, untidy surrounding and general lack of civilization. She preferred the city, she claimed.
But even then in spite of all that submissiveness, her husband held a secret so powerful it would snap the marriage into two once it was built in the open. He willed to forget the secret, that terrible corpse, if only to dust his mind off impurities. To him, his wife was fucking ugly. He watched her without understanding and not without effort, great deal of it. It sickened him the way she’d show off, glittering jewelry and linen close to drag. It made her criminal each time she went out, offending people with her face. And he who molded everything to his will couldn’t shape his wife out of that dismal ugliness, which was contaminated.
It was no longer a fact that surprised him that each time she’d materialize in front or adjacent of him, he’d mentally beg the lights off to be spared the horror. Sometimes in bed, with efficient determination, he’d feign drowsiness so they could sleep and shut their eyes finally. Now retired he was slated to put up with the sight of her, which he deemed to be the last on god’s green earth he’d appreciate. Such abomination in living he never imagined, the husband couldn’t help it but to pray at night hoping to heaven or hell for providence or fortitude that’d allow him to withstand her. For now, for all we know, he couldn’t do it without help, not for anything.
‘God, of all things impossible, this is the challenge you gave me. Why?’ he cried as he doubted his own sanity. How he wished he could stand just a strand of her!
posted by Ria D. at
2:06 AM
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