TREAD SOFTLY - #WRITEAPAGEADAY #BLOGCHATTER

 
Unsplash

“This needs to be cleaned now!” He pointed at the broken glass slivers on the floor, remnants of the bowl she had dropped when he walked in and shouted at her. His voice was sharp as he glanced at her, cowering in a corner of the room, trying to make herself unobtrusive. That was the kind of attitude that irritated him no end. She had got worse over the years. When they were first married, she was a sweet shy creature whose winning ways had made him fall in love with her. He felt like her knight-errant, protective about her. She still remembered him quoting Yeats to her.

“Tread softly, for you tread on my dreams.”

She had loved him wildly with all the passion she was capable of. Her heart would skip a beat when he quoted poetry in that sonorous voice of his, trailing a finger down her soft cheek.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? / Thou art more lovely and more temperate…”

When had he begun losing his temper at the same things that he had once found endearing in her? The sweet temperament, the timid nature, the shy reserve that he had fallen in love with. Now he would clench his fist and bite his teeth when she spoke hesitatingly.  

“Speak up, woman! Stop stammering!”

His words would further confuse her, and she would flounder like a fish out of water. Nothing she did ever made him happy. The contempt in his eyes made her feel worthless. Often at night, she lay awake, gazing out of the window, as the lacy curtains shifted in the balmy breeze, revealing the moon in all its glory. How she envied the moon, free and resplendent, mistress of the night skies. Mistress – something that she had never been even at the start of her marriage when he was still the master and she the adored slave. Now the adoration had dissipated, leaving only the broken slave behind!

Her parents were horrified to see her state. Her eyes were huge pools of despair, dark circles lining them. Her hands constantly trembled, and any loud sound made her start.

“What has happened to you, dearest child?” Her mother was distraught. “This is not what we brought you up for. You look like a wreck. How can we help?”

She shook her head wildly. “No one can help me, Mama. I have chosen my bed and I need to lie on it.” For she knew that they would not believe her against her husband for, to them, he was the kindest, most loving man on earth. The façade that he maintained made everyone tell her how lucky she was to have a wonderful husband like him. In public, he took care of her as if she were a Dresden doll, tending to all her needs and murmuring endearments in her ears.

It was only when they were alone at home that his true nature would come out, the beast within, as he taunted her. What was the word for it? She racked her brain, aware that she was on the verge of losing her mind. Yes, gaslighting! That was the word that described him to a nicety.

He had begun telling people in a concerned tone that she was behaving strangely.

“Poor girl, she has begun to see and hear things. She wakes up at night and screams out. I want to get her the best treatment, take her to the best physician and treat her.”

Slowly, his insinuations worked as even her family members began looking at her in concern. Was the poor girl losing her mind? Why did she always look scared, especially when she had such a patient and loving spouse?

It was a cool summer night when he strode in as she sat on a chair, reading a newspaper. She sprang up at the sight of him, her eyes widening at the frown on his face.

“Why do you bother to waste time with the newspaper? You don’t have the brains to comprehend anything anyway.” She quickly put the newspaper down, moving towards the door.

“Shall I make you a cup of tea?”

“Yes, be useful, for a change!” He smiled grimly as she scampered out. He enjoyed her terror, and he made sure that he never left bruises. Just tiny knocks that petrified her, kept her off balance! When she came back with the tea, he took a sip and spat it out.

“Do you call this tea? It tastes like turpentine. How can anyone be so useless?” He suddenly threw the contents on her face, and she flinched as the burning liquid hit part of her face. She turned and looked at his grinning visage and she knew that the tea had been fine. It was only his necessity to gaslight her that made him react in that fashion. A tiny fire began simmering within her, as she stared at him, sitting with his legs stretched out, looking at her as if she were a fly on the wall.

The newspapers were full of the accidental death of the kind husband of the poor woman who sat there weeping. She had called the police in a state of panic. Apparently, her husband had been cutting a leg of mutton with a meat cleaver when he slipped on some water on the kitchen floor and stabbed himself fatally.

“What will the poor woman do? I believe she has been having bouts of insanity and depression.”

“How sad that this should have happened! He used to take care of her every need. Now she will be all alone in the world.”

She wept and wept, keeping a look out for the press and the police officers. Her parents stayed with her, their eyes red-rimmed, as they constantly consoled her.

“We know, love, what a great loss this is. You will live with us from now on. You cannot manage on your own, after all.”
She looked at them and said bravely, “I need to get used to living on my own without him. I will visit you, but I need to take control of my life.”

The funeral saw many well-wishers whose hearts went out to the forlorn little widow in black. They wrung her hand and offered her their help, whenever she needed it. She nodded mechanically and thanked them in her sweet voice.

When she was finally alone in her room at night, she locked the door, so that she would not disturb her parents. She changed her widow’s weeds and sat in front of the television, switching on her favourite channel, one she had never been allowed to watch all these years. She sat back on the armchair, a tiny smile on her face, as she sipped on the glass of wine she had secretly taken from the kitchen.

“Tread softly, for you tread on my dreams!” she whispered.

It was time to begin living again!

 I am participating in the #WriteAPageADay Challenge by #Blogchatter in the month of February.

1165 words