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They’re the perfect couple. Everyone says so. The day they married was the happiest of their lives. They radiated love and contentment. They were the envy of every young man and woman in Paris.
But appearances deceive.
Cuts and bruises are commonplace amongst soldiers. She knows that. It makes it easier.
He loves her with his whole being and would never lift a hand against her. She knows that. It makes it easier.
His friends would never believe it of her in any case. She knows that. It makes it easier.
She can’t remember why it started now. It’s being going on for so long it doesn’t really matter any more. Was the frustration of coming home to an empty house again? Or the realisation that he will always be a soldier first? Or maybe it was the blinding headache that he was unable to cure for her.
She can remember the first time she hit him though. She can remember the look of disbelief, the red finger marks on that beautiful face, the wide eyes accompanying the backward stumble. She remembers how she made him believe it was his fault and how he had accepted the blame without question. It makes her laugh to think how easy it was and how easy it still is.
Tonight is no different, she thinks, as she puts down the remains of clay jug she’s just smashed against the side of his head. They both know it’s his fault. If he hadn’t been so late – if he had just sent a message home – she wouldn’t have had to throw his dinner away. He makes her so angry with his thoughtlessness. One word from him could have – would have – stopped this.
She looks at him where he sits on the floor, back against the sturdy leg of the wooden table, head in his hands. She can see the blood seeping out from between his fingers and she sighs. He’s only going to make a mess of her immaculate kitchen floor. He knows how she feels about cleanliness and now he’s going to spoil the rest of the evening too. As if he hasn’t already done enough damage tonight.
He seems to have realised this himself though, she decides. His hand is moving, wiping his face and smearing the blood away across his forehead. It’s an unattractive look, she thinks, but at least he’s finally taking responsibility for the upkeep of their home.
He looks up at her and she smiles at him. She knows he doesn’t do these things deliberately to annoy her. He just needs training to help him understand how important it is that he respects her.
He’ll get there. She knows that because she’s here to help him understand. Some people, she reflects, need to learn things the hard way.