Marriage

By Putu Wijaya

Aria caught me at the exit, the night Idris Sardi held his farewell concert.

"Did you get my invitation?"

"On the twelfth, you're getting married? Yes. I'll be there,"

He smiled. I slapped his arm in a reassuring way, then got lost in the maelstrom of homebound concert goers. It all felt familiar, like when I got married. I too kept reminding my friends, diligently, to come to my wedding.

Are we all doing the same thing? Going through the same routine, so that the event more resembles something that has happened before. The wheel of life turns faster, yet it is unable to move since its axis is riveted in the same pattern. If there is a difference, it is very small. And if it is true, the destiny of the human race is caught in its tracks.

But my wife objected, when I told her this.

"So, Aria is getting married, like we got married then, like others will be getting married. But, it is not going to be the same. Are marriages copy prints, or what? Even copy prints are never the same, if you take a close look. There are always differences. Right?"

I did not answer. But, when we arrived on Jl. Sudirman on our way back home, my wife added.

"Maybe it is just the same, huh?"

I was startled by her sudden statement.

"What is the same?"

"Maybe all weddings are the same. Just imagine, eating and drinking, presents, shaking hands. Smiles. Pictures. The same, isn't it?"

I was objecting now.

"It can't possibly be the same. The people are different too."

My wife kept quiet, she appeared to be mulling over my words. After that, along the way, we talked about our friend. We went over his personality. How we got to know him. And who his future wife was. How he met her, and so on, and so on.

"I think what is the same in a wedding is probably the scenario," I went on when we were at home, undressing, "but like a film with the same scenario with different actors, and a different director, the result might be different. Right or not?"

My wife did not answer. She was busy with the zipper of her dress, it had got stuck. I held her straight and wanted to pull her into bed, since it was one of our scheduled love-making days. But my wife pushed me away, grumbling, because the expensive dress she had specially bought for the concert, was useless after having been worn only once. She did not seem interested in making love. Maybe she was tired and looking for an excuse to get out of our deal through the zipper - how could the zipper on an expensive dress get stuck...

I was momentarily dumbfounded. I cooled my burning emotions. I did not want to rape her. Love making is not exciting when it is not started on the right emotional footing. I would rather control my lust until another time when she is ready. That much I had learned as a husband.

I turned my attention to my computer. When I panic, or feel frustrated, or arrive at a dead end, I always turn to my computer. After Aria gets married, will he go through the same thing? Coming home from an evening concert, and wishing to make love, would find his wife busying herself with a ruined zipper.

"It can't possibly be the same," said my wife after giving up on the broken zipper. She lowered herself on the bed fully clothed. That was another sign that there would be no sex that evening.

"It just looks the same, but a marriage is always different. Not because we are different, but because our reasons for marrying are different too. In the past, women married for security reasons; their parents regarded women as weak and helpless creatures. Today, women marry for happiness. Some are looking for freedom. Then there are others who like to have partners they can talk to. Of course, there are still persons who look for material security. They marry for social status, not for love."

I did not reply, it did not matter if marriages were the same or not, it was no longer important. Does the human race share the same history? Would Aria also discover one evening after coming home from a concert that his wife was more interested in talking than making love?

"What do you think?"

I shifted my thoughts from the computer to my wife.

"What do you mean?"

"Is the institution of marriage the same as before?"

I had to think. If a reporter asked me that question, I would answer him with lightning speed because such questions arouse passion in me. If a friend asked me this question, I would not hesitate to attack him in a savage way. But, since the question came from my wife -- a woman who was not in a mood to make love, a woman who was angry with the world because her zipper was stuck - I needed to come up with a tactful reply. Or, it might be best to go on thinking, let her answer the question herself. May be she does not like to make questions, she might like to be asked.

"What do you think yourself?"

My wife was thinking.

"I don't know. I'm asking you!"

I turned the chair around and put my feet on the bed.

"Marriage has changed. Honestly speaking, it used to contain sacred values, nowadays it is just an administrative procedure, close to an act of trade."

Her eyes widened.

"What do you mean?"

I took a deep breath. I did not know what to say. I was just trying to make a controversial statement - an aftereffect of talking in public - to draw attention.

"Do you mean to say that marriage is now more like business? Ih!"

"Wait! Business, but in what sense.. All interests, systematically pursued, planned and processed with discipline, are a form of business. If a man prefers a sweet women over a beautiful one, this is a business calculation, because he wants a woman that will not bore him in the long run. And if a woman would rather go for a responsible husband than a good-looking one, that too is because of a calculating mind, she does not want to lead a disorganized life and end up in poverty. Calculation is the basis of marriage now. May be it has been that way all along! Because all of us, men or women in this country, are entering the 90s. We have molded our emotional impulses into intellectual actions. Just as Sutan Takdir Alisyahbana suggested in his book Layar Terkembang..."

I stopped my lecture when I saw that my wife has closed her eyes. She must have absorbed only two sentences, I thought. The third must surely still be lingering above her earlobe, since she has shut off all sound. The sentence is now making efforts to penetrate her mind through her nostrils, which are moving up and down in the regular rhythm of her breath.

I swallowed everything I said.

Do all husbands go through the same thing as I am now? Like having a wife - or to be fair, a husband, who falls asleep when his mate is passionately expounding something important? Is Aria also going to experience the same thing one evening? And, more important, will he get angry and slam doors, then go out to find somebody ready to listen patiently to all his grievances, full of understanding and warmth? I think that's why all the pubs, discotheques, and coffee shops flourish in Jakarta.

Or would he be like me? Let his wife, not interested in sex and love, sleep and have beautiful dreams? Because I am happy with my computer, where I can lead my energy onto the electronic screen which, faithfully and tirelessly, follows instructions to the letter.

I started writing:

"We endure the same things. We do the same things. And why not? What is wrong if somebody is going through something he or she has never had before, even though it was the same for us. Maybe, this life is just like taking the same old route, until we encounter something new. That is when civilization moves a step forward. Then we become aware that we are merely a dot in the universe."

Suddenly, I was startled, because my wife's foot had touched me.

"Haven't you finished yet?"

She seemed to be awake again.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"I thought you were working. Get to bed, then. If you're not coming I'll go to sleep!"

She turned her back on me. I quickly saved what I wrote and shut off the computer. I closed the door. From outside TV sounds filtered into the room, our servant followed every program till the end. I had to go to the bathroom, to get some tissue papers, to turn on the tape-recorder - I like Carole King . Then I joined my waiting wife.

"Put out the light, it's hot."

I turned it off. And it was just like before. The age old ritual of man and wife. But I never had the sense that it was less than the first time. On the contrary, it was more beautiful each time. It was never boring to me, because beauty grows. And in its growing stage, it is different from other marriages.

"Maybe that is what I will give Ariah for a wedding present," I said, when we were preparing for sleep.

My wife turned her head.

"What is that?"

"The difference that makes a marriage."

She stroked her eyebrows.

"Really."

"Yes."

"If it grows."

I was shocked. How could she read my mind?

Translated by Claudine Frederik

Putu Wijaya has written countless short stories, essays, novels, plays and film scripts. Born on April 11, 1944, in Tabanan, Bali, his ability to divide his time among all his activities never ceases to amaze. He is also a movie and theater director and was a journalist for the now-defunct Tempo magazine. His short story Perkawinan (Marriage) appears in Laki-laki Yang Kawin Dengan Peri: Cerpen Pilihan Kompas 1995 (A Man Who Marries A Fairy: An Anthology of Kompas Short Stories 1995). It is printed here by courtesy of Kompas.