The Good Woman - by Anneliz Erese
ISLAND | ONLINE ONLY
She wakes up before her husband. Turns on the shower for him. Hot, steamy, just the way he likes it. She waits with a fresh towel. Hands it to him, warm, soft, just the way he likes it. Not long after, she cooks breakfast in the kitchen. No radio, only newspaper. She prepares the tea. Hot, steamy. Cups in perfect order. Quiet. She puts his shoes by the door as if ready to leave. He takes off his slippers, slides his feet into his shoes, gives her a kiss and swings open the door. She takes his slippers, turns them, ready for when he gets home. She wears layers under her dress as she sits on their wooden bench. She buys the groceries and smiles at the cashier. Says nothing. Does nothing. Quiet, just the way he likes it.
“She takes his slippers, turns them, ready for when he gets home. She wears layers under her dress as she sits on their wooden bench. She buys the groceries and smiles at the cashier. Says nothing. Does nothing. Quiet, just the way he likes it.”
She knits all day, sews his pants, does everything so quietly, like air. When he gets home from work, they sit away from each other. The television is on; the volume so low, it’s only a buzz. He laughs at the black-and-white film and her smile follows, eyes crinkling at the corners. She asks if he would like some tea. He sips his tea, reads, because he is a writer; but only slowly, turning the pages in a soundless movement, the silence louder than their breaths. An arm’s length away, she sits, and just sits, without watching or saying anything.
“He sips his tea, reads, because he is a writer; but only slowly, turning the pages in a soundless movement, the silence louder than their breaths. An arm’s length away, she sits, and just sits, without watching or saying anything.”
In bed, they lie down with their backs against each other. He takes her to his readings sometimes. The character in his novel is a man who takes women to his bed and ties them down for his own pleasure. His voice is loud in a room. She sits at the front, watches him, smiles to herself. Later, she watches him sign his books. She waits for him. When she invites friends to their house, they ask how her husband is in bed. She blushes. She does not know the answer. She gets a job selling sausages at a store. Her voice is a whisper. She is a novice. With her first pay, she buys a red dress.
“She gets a job selling sausages at a store. Her voice is a whisper. She is a novice. With her first pay, she buys a red dress.”
She gets home, gets undressed, a woman naked before the mirror. She tries on the dress, looks at herself. She says, ‘Hi, sir, please try this sausage. Thank you. You, sir, have a try of this sausage. It’s good. Thank you.’ She puts her hands on her waist. Bends her left knee a bit. Straightens her right leg. Repeats. Her words become a chant. Her hands are in the air. On her hair. On her neck. Her voice gets louder. Her back straightens. Breasts up. She starts shouting. ‘Sausages. They’re good. Thank you. Try them, sir. Thank you.’ ▼
Image: Gaelle Marcel
If you liked this piece, please share it. And please consider donating or subscribing so that we can keep supporting writers and artists.