Return

by

Preston Kullingher

 

 

Married three years and even before the famous ‘crisis of seven years’ the relationship already showed signs of wear, largely because of her faults. She knew it. She had married very young, impetuously, dramatically, and hastily, but just realized this after her first child, born a year and a half later. She was nineteen. He was twenty-nine yo. She was one of those who could not stay at home at night, a party girl, There was always a party to go with friends, and there were many friends she had. After the son and responsibilities were all gone, she could no longer accompany the group at parties.

She was tired of your life, whenever she looked in the mirror she saw an old woman, and in fact after pregnancy and lactation she appeared to have more than nineteen: hers breasts were withered, butt absent, some dark circles under eyes, discolored hair, body Fanciful. She cried.

Got a job with an old friend, on call center. She made new friends, stretched out in the bar after work, caught some hungry male looks, and returned them. She felt rejuvenated at every exchange of looks, seventeen again. The conjugal sex was scarce and so dull, despite the effort of the other, it was not like before, there was no enjoyment just pretense. The exits with the new friends were causing problems at home, always arrived in the morning a little drunk and with the sandals in hand and it was that scene: He sculpting her, she sculpting him.

And then Paiva came and did not mind her marital problems. He saw an easy prey, understood the layout – conversations, telephone exchanges, the exits with the rest of the staff in the bar. And Paiva had what he wanted. And she fell madly in love, it was one time alone. Paiva fucked heavily. He was good and that was all he knew how to do right. She was in the clouds, had not felt such great pleasure in a long time. Just thought about it all day. Paiva used and abused and how every trickster came out, escaping through the cracks. One month was the time that lasted. She already confided to her friends that would split up, that now she had gotten a real man (Paiva, but she did not say who, as if her friends did not know !). She would take everything she could from her husband: pension, house, car. He did not give a damn for him. She blamed him for time lost.

Paiva was already in conversation with a brand-new blonde, fresh, skinny like her, who had arrived in a few weeks. Hers friends confessed that he was a bastard and that everyone knew it from experience. She was disillusioned with Paiva but not with the new life that envisioned: a single and independent mother with a house and a car! She knew there would be no missing suitors. She had tasted the sweetness of life, now she wanted to smear himself. She did not want to cling to anyone again.

The always malicious fate made her husband fall hard in the middle of the room one day in the morning at breakfast, after the trivial conversations at the table.

In the hospital they diagnosed stroke, a vein that irrigates the brain was almost closed. If there were regrets on her part I don’t know, maybe she did not have time to think about it, it was just pampering with her husband. She no longer wanted him as badly as before, she did not leave the bedside all the time he was hospitalized; It was only attention to the little boy: she gave baby food to him, controlled the medication with the nurses, held it in his hand (Duckling, that’s how she called him affectionately ?!) even in a hospital bed and seeing the husband in that state felt a deep excitement for him. She cried inwardly for thinking she could have lost him: ‘‘ Such a good husband, Lord. An exemplary father. “ Just compliments.

The husband returned home and his new wife. There were no more households, arguments, sneaky arrivals at dawn, he was pampered night and day, and he was enjoying it. It took longer than expected to return to the old form of before. One can not say whether because of the sequels of stroke or the aftermath of a new life full of pampering. Everything was given to him in hand. He no longer rose from the sofa for nothing else. Always cold beer, football on the tv. And he complained when things were not to his liking. The confusion took some time but returned with all the strength of before, the bar with friends after work, exchanges of looks, as well as the desire for separation; The Paiva! Yes, the Paiva, who was going through a period of drought in his always irrigated lands, started to chat again, soft talk in his ear.

And it reminded me that the eternal return in Nietzsche seemed to me an adequate philosophical theory.