My Singular Irene

Life is unjust and treacherous this way. One makes an effort to walk a clear and straight path, to work like an animal much more than eight hours--which is the usual, to study vehemently, to have a job that will permit one to live decently, to respect the law, to marry as God commands, to be, in short, an honorable citizen, and when one begins to establish himself, to progress, with a house although bought on credit and the car almost paid for, one starts wondering why things like this are not happening to others. I'm not saying it because of the manner in which Irene went away (it is still hard to believe it and I have only returned to the scene of the events because it seems a lie to me that she has left the comfort of her house without any regrets), but it is rather because of what occurs to one on the day least expected.

Irene had asked me to take her on an outing in the country. The trips along the Mirador and a few beers in the restaurant at the lake no longer satisfied her; she wanted to see the countryside in full daylight, put her bare feet in the water of a stream, climb a mountain to feel like an amateur mountain-climber, and to catch butterflies. Since women have their whims and poor Irene very seldom asked me for things and, except for when she visited her mother, she spent weeks and months tied to the house taking care that everything was in order on my return from a trip, it seemed not a bad idea to appease her. A little peaceful trip to the country was not bad for me either. The idea was for us to go to Cibao; there the vegetation is pure and one feels transplanted to a so-called "nice" place. But as I was not completely recuperated from my last attack of bronchitis and the coolness that makes one sick still is found in those hills in March, I told Irene that we would go to the south. Perhaps we would arrive in Barahona and on our return we would pass through Ocoa, where my wife's family lives. It seemed incredible to her that I myself would propose a route and carefully plan the trip. It had to be that way. As a professional traveler I did not like improvisations, I take care to plan my trips, make a list of the participants, gather the backlogged invoices, and make a little map of the places where I am going to stop. If any one of those clients who talks up a storm detains me more than necessary, I have a devil of a remedy to put things back into perspective again. But to start out without a plan, never.

I began to pack the clothes and to wonder about what we would do. I saw her so full of anticipation that I began to think of my luck in having married her. When we got married I thought she was so unwilling to fulfill her duties as a wife that I would never have believed then that we would become a perfect pair. The only point on which we did not agree was the matter of being in the street, walking about, or visiting. I had to be firm and demand more attachment to the household. At first she accepted my imposition unwillingly. Then she demonstrated how much she was assimilating my way of thinking and accepted that I was right. I was not going to permit my wife to run around as if she had no one to protect her. Not that. And no visitors either. Sisters and mothers who are the only ones that I trust were allowed in my house. Friends in the street, the cafeterias, the stadium. In an instant she packed the suitcase and made the necessary arrangements...