Initially, as she started withdrawing back into her shell, I would try and bring her out of her flux by asking her what was wrong, why she never smiled, why she never seemed to take any happiness from life or from people and the things around her but I would be met by a wall of silence. All I could ever get from her was the bland acknowledgement that she was ‘not happy’.
She would, at best, sit in silence if I happened to be in the same room as her, or at worst try and pick an argument so she would at least have an outlet for her frustrations. On occasion I could actually see her brain whirring as I walked into the room. It would be as if she was pondering: ‘How can I have a go at him now? What thing can I pick up on and turn round and make his fault so I can fly at him and then feel a bit better about myself?’
A typical conversation as I walk into the house following a full day at work might go as follows:
Me: ‘Hi dear.’
Silence and pouting.
Me: ‘Had a good day?’
More silence and pouting – her brain whirs into action.
Me: ‘What’s for dinner?’
Her: ‘Humphh.’
Me (getting exasperated): ‘What’s wrong?’
Her: ‘Nothing.’
Me: ‘So, what’s up?’
Her: ‘Why didn’t you cut the grass this morning?’
Me: ‘Eh?’
Her: ‘Why didn’t you cut the grass before going to work this morning?’
Me: ‘You what? I never cut the grass. We don’t have any grass. We don’t have a lawn.’
Her: ‘Well, we should do. We should have a lawn. Why didn’t you buy a house with a lawn?’
Me: ‘Eh?’
Her: ‘Oh, I hate you. You’re useless!’
I went past the hurting stage, hurtled beyond the trying to fix it stage, and bypassed the even pretending to show concern stage altogether.
I just couldn’t be bothered with it all anymore, and I finally did what Yossy had been accusing me of doing since really rather quite early in our marriage: I changed.
I decided then that I was just going to live for me and for what I wanted to do in life. That sounds very selfish, but it’s not quite as bad as all that. I didn’t mean I was just going to do whatever I wanted to do without any care or thought of anyone else. No, I know that such a lifestyle could only lead to more misery and unhappiness. What I mean is, I was going to try and lead a life whereby I didn’t allow her, or anyone else, to upset or worry me anymore.
I simply didn’t want to know anymore. All I cared about was spending time with Tess and trying to live out my days in relative peace and anonymity.
That was the reasoning behind things anyway, and I realise that the ripe old age of 33 could be said to be a tad premature to be settling for such an existence, but I was exhausted. I felt twice my age and I truly believed the only way to be around to see old age and thus Tess grow up was to switch off totally.
So I made a decision that Yossy could do whatever she wanted to as long as she did it quietly without involving me.
So she did. In both her private and her business life she started to get up to all sorts. She developed a multitude of ‘business partners’, and almost immediately three new schools popped up. I wasn’t privy to any of the details of these business arrangements and I couldn’t see how they all expected to see any return on their investments, and, to be frank, I couldn’t have cared less.
I simply told her not to involve me and if it all came crashing down around her ears, which I was sure it would, then she was on her own.
As for her private life; well, I don’t know … where to start? She had all manner of men around her for one reason or another, and someone who actually cared a bit would, I suppose, would have wanted to know who they all were and what their relationships to her were.
Everything now supposedly cantered on her school and her business. She brought in some sort of local dukun, or witchdoctor, to ensure the business had the necessary good vibes and was protected from evil spirits. Before undertaking any decision, big or small, she had to ask this dukun for guidance and if he agreed with whatever she was proposing then she went with it, if not, well, she just left it. I am not sure Steve Jobs ever worked on such business principles, but still.
Part of this spiritual guidance, it seemed, was to provide, ahem, ‘therapeutic’ massages. I arrived home unexpectedly early one day and rolled into the house from the garage as usual, and as I came in I thought I saw the servant, the pembantu, give me a strange look; almost as if she was surprised and a wee bit frightened to see me.
Now, perhaps I should elaborate a little on the topic of domestic help in Indonesia before I go any further with this particular yarn. Whilst in the west it is uncommon to have hired-help, so to speak, it is the norm in Indonesia. The very vast majority of households from the lower-middle classes upwards will employ at least one full-time helper. These people are invariably, but not exclusively, female and are known as pembantus, which literally translates as ‘helpers’. Now, the vast majority are employed on a live-in basis and so will find themselves being on call to do household chores for anything up to eighteen hours a day for the equivalent of around fifty quid a month.
Wow, I hear you say, talk about exploitation, and I must admit that seeing that description written down before me I can see how people might
