The Healing

 

By evening going out for supper and at the Wadi table, the matter had settled in the forefront of the mind. By then it was impossible to think of anything else. The whole thing was overwhelming, something from daytime TV drama, rather than the local neighbourhood. The hours that were needed for it to take firm hold from the night before was rather odd. Delayed shock, presumably.

            Dee’s marriage had taken place, that was clear. At Grandlink Square, the Queen’s Ballroom, for the reception at least. Tags that could now only torment the poor darling.

            As scheduled it had taken place, six days ago. Dee had begun the exchange with the non-attendance.

A routine ticking off it had seemed at first, one that needed a little time to answer. In the end the usual mixture of honesty and deft evasion sufficed.

            Can’t explain how it slipped me D. Had a fortnight in Johor in December, lotta stuff blasting. At City Plaza the other day it tweaked my conscience. Hope you’re very well honey! and your man!

            Very satisfactory. Reviewing it later it was confidently ticked off. Job well done.

            Two & one half hours afterward came the stunning, horrid reply.

            We’re not together any more P. // 22:42

            Unbelievable. Six days for the union to collapse?!

            On its own it was woefully devastating. But nothing like as bad had this not been a close replay of an earlier event a few years before. A dear young ardent heart now in her mid-thirties, with big ceremonials behind her falling flat, in record time at least in this latter case.           

            Mind boggling. Truly. In Hollywood, Vegas, Rio, whatever, it would be entirely different.

            The reply couldn’t be delayed too long. Destined to be badly inadequate, of course, but it couldn’t be delayed.

Prior to the needed response D. had followed the sledgehammer news with some detail.

            He’s worse than my previous nightmare.

            To which in turn was added in the same minute as the sledgehammer, all together in the package, a cleaved red heart emoji with three faces of streaming tears accompanying.

            Two hours later after much mulling, frantic you could call it, the best that could be managed was the following.

            Oh my dear D. (Without exclamation mark.)

On reflection there ought to have been a double, or perhaps triple paragraph after that opening.

…It happens. Have been talking this again recently with a friend who had a terrible experience with a 2 month marriage. It inspired a recently penned 6 word story from my own side.

Sharing one’ own, albeit less dramatic heartbreak, had to be worth something. The link was sent for the sixwordmemoirs site. (How to take back those kisses?) // 00:46

In the morning after ablutions, during which the further addition had been decided and the lead mentally composed, D. was WA-ed again.

Nothing must defeat us D. You gotta know that. Restore yourself slowly. But surely. Nothing. // 07:46

On re-reading in the afternoon it appeared at first that the else at the end must have been left off somehow.

None of this would have been quite so devastating without the repetition.

Dee had not been seen in the last four, or even five years, possibly. Overseas trips both sides was one reason, but likely there was also shame, depression, perhaps a breakdown following the first episode

The last time  D. was encountered had been at the regular kopi shop opposite the market. Unexpectedly, one early evening, here she was with the beau in company she had mentioned couple times. A tall young man of roughly her own age, a fitting match in appearance. D. was bright and vivacious, quite brilliant in many ways, but she was no oil panting. If this chap had half Dee’s brains, heart and energy, it would have been a great benefit.

The pair were joining two Wadi tables together for the imminent arrival of D’s in-laws to-be. Both sets might have been coming. The groom had already met D’s parents, but she not as yet his, she said. Understandably, the pair was flustered, only brief introductions managed.

The two tables happened to be behind the usual preferred table beside the fire hydrant on the outer path, where D. had joined dozens of times over the years. No way was it politik to hang around. At the first opportunity a getaway was managed, leaving the stage for that occasion of theirs.

Six months, a year or more later—the timing had been forgotten—word arrived it hadn’t worked out. As there had been no subsequent meeting, details were unknown. When the break had occurred, what had taken place, all unknown. Only the day before with this most recent disaster had the statement of nightmare merged. The marriage and that young chap briefly sighted that night at Wadi had been a nightmare. With this more recent a worse one again.

Ghastly beyond compare. What to think now? How to console, in the event D. sought something of the kind?

This was terribly dangerous too, of course. Exceedingly. One could recover from one such case, but from this kind of a cannoning? With all the ceremonials and expectations in this conservative culture on the Equator?

The whys and wherefores would not be pondered. All that needed to be put strictly aside. Out of mind. Certainly those questions would never be voiced. The timing of the second episode at least gave suggestions. Even in her mid-30s now, to be sure, Dee was a complete innocent.

In the event of a meet the example of the Fries woman at the kopi shop would be unfolded for Dee, the poor dear who three times had talak pronounced upon her, by three different husbands, one after the other. You are not my wife! You are not my wife! You are not my wife! Thrice times; ie. three times each man was enough for annulment on the spot in this Muslim culture.

In that case of the Fries lady there were three children from the unions too, one by each of the men; the husbands. Surely that was every bit as bad, and worse maybe. One could not compare, but the example right there on our patch might help D. in some little way. Shared suffering had to help. Bearing a dreadful burden alone could prove completely demoralising.

The Fries woman had recently left the kopi shop, for good it seemed, setting up a warung in a Johor town up on the Peninsular. In her case the children may have helped.

What exactly had transpired in that regard for D. was unknown. One way or another any child from the first union would have emerged. Certainly D. would never have aborted.

Did the most recent nightmare occur on the nuptial night and after it D. immediately fleeing? There were so few days and nights in the second case, at least.

Prior to that first marriage Dee had actively pursued a chap, without any success in the end. The gal had been greatly smitten, writing marvellous love letters & poems to the lad. The beloved had clearly been a looker, the photos showed, a recently graduated lawyer. The protracted episode had been painful to watch. No two-bit lawyer could have compared with Dee, but it was hopeless; doomed to fail. The lad in the pics told the story. Only a stupendous heiress won out in a case like that. The lad responded with his fondness for D. and after taking a pretty for wife hoped the friendship could continue.

Dee’s mother had been at her for many years to marry. A typically lovely old Malay.

The episode with the lawyer had not been a nightmare. D. had bounced back soon enough, throwing herself into good works again.

She did have a number of fine friends. There were some excellent counsellors in the country, one regular contributor to the newspaper who was clearly outstanding. D’s traditional family could be relied upon for refuge at least.

You feared for her, felt terribly inadequate. A much older male friend (who may have been in the sights at some point) was hardly a good fit for counselling. Being an impressive writer and thinker herself had to be something in Dee’s favour. Insight helped. Heal yourself, might be suggested to D. at some opportune point in the future, over a cup of teh, or else online. Dee had been about to embark on a PhD in Turkey. If anyone in that position could manage self-healing, it would be this impressive young woman. It inevitably came down to that. People did emerge from all manner of trials. 

A WA came suggesting friends had saved her. Her life, Dee said. She was keen to tell it all. It was unlikely. It was certainly unnecessary. There was some curiosity, of course. But listening and responding to it all in some appropriate way was daunting too. Very unlikely it would occur. From this side there would be no further contact; a polite monitoring message. It all needed to be left to Dee. She could possibly manage. Psychic collapse had never been witnessed ten years in that community. The old, traditional Malay weddings lasted 2 - 3 days. On the first day the young couple in all their finery were seated on elaborate thrones raised on a dais, the space before them strewn with dollar notes. Kings & Queens for a day, they said.