The silence of violence

‘I want to save my marriage, but I don’t know what to do. I might have to do it. I’m scared that I’m going to cross the line.’

‘What do you think you should do?’

‘Get out before any more damage is done.’

‘Do you love her?’

‘More than anything. I can’t imagine going on without her.’

‘What are your greatest concerns? Is it just what people are saying about you?’

‘No, not really, I think the main thing is what impact it’s going to have on the kids.’

‘Surely you can shield the girls from it.’

‘But that’s just it, you see, it’s getting worse. Not only worse, but more frequent too and of course, now it’s visible. I feel so ashamed.’

‘Ashamed because it’s happening or ashamed because you can’t stop it?’

‘Ashamed because of what people are saying about me.’

‘What are they saying?’

He laughed bitterly and then raised his eyes to look at the counsellor, ‘Isn’t that obvious?’

‘I’d still like to hear about it from you. I can’t help you if you can’t bring it into the open.’

‘Is that what I should do, shout about it from the rooftops, tell everybody the truth.’

‘Do you think that would help?’

‘It might help me, but what about Donna? What about the kids? And where does it all end? Why am I even here? She should be the one sitting here confessing her sins and hanging her head in shame, not me.’

‘You’re angry?’

‘Of course, I’m fucking angry. How could I not be? I’m sorry.’

‘Why are you sorry?’

‘Your questions seem a little inane, what good is this going to do?’

‘You’re apologising because I’m asking inane questions?’ Helen Chalker smiled at her client and some of the tension left his eyes, he grinned back.

‘No, I’m apologising for using foul language. There’s no need for it.’

‘You disapprove then. Does Donna swear?’

‘No, not usually, sometimes. Not often. Sometimes she gets in my face and says horrible, dirty things. She swears then, trying to rile me, goad me. She knows I don’t like it. It makes her ugly.’

‘Do you think that’s maybe part of the problem, that you expect her to be perfect?’

‘No, not at all. I love my wife, she’s beautiful, when she hasn’t … when there’s no … when, you know?’

‘Why can’t you say it?’

‘Okay,’ He looked back down at his hands and twisted them in his lap. He took three long breaths before he looked up again,’ When she hasn’t got bruises, or cuts, or burns. My wife is beautiful, until she makes herself ugly.’

‘What else does she do to goad you?’

‘It’s relentless. She starts fights all the time. Once she was ironing. I was watching something on the televison. She said that she wanted me to…She went on and on. Her face was red and she was all breathy and,’ He went quiet, searching for the correct word.

‘It’s okay you can say it. You don’t have to be embarrassed if it’s sexual.’

‘No, that’s it, you see? She didn’t seem excited if that’s what you think, she was…alive. She looked more alive than I’ve ever seen her before. More alive than I can ever make her feel. Her eyes were shining. Her body trembled, and yes, her…’ He paused and looked up shyly before going red, ‘her nipples were erect through her shirt, but it was the look on her face, the vibrancy. She never lights up like that, not for me, or the kids. She picked up the iron and thrust it at me. I thought she was going to burn me with it. She was in my face, screaming at me, shouting. Then it was just the same as always, we were in the hospital, the way they look at me. They all judge me. I love my wife, I would never hurt her.’

‘How did it all start, when was the first time.’

‘That’s a difficult one to answer; you see it kind of crept up on us. It had always been there, but I just didn’t see. I suppose the first time I knew was when I slapped her.’

‘Oh, so you have hit her then?’

‘No, God no, how can you even say that after what I’ve told you. I’ve tried to make it stop. That’s all I’ve ever done, tried to make it stop.’

‘But you did slap her?’

‘Not like that, the other way.’

‘Sexually?’

He blushed and then met her gaze square on, defiantly, yes. It’s not deviant, is it? It’s normal. Lots of couples do. It doesn’t mean anything. I didn’t think anything of it at first.’

‘Did you like it?’

‘No, I hated it, but I pretended that I did.’

‘And then?’

And then sex became linked with violence. Breakfast became linked with violence, even doing the bloody ironing was. She stopped being ashamed. At first she hid the bruises, but then she started going out like that. Scratches all over her at first, bruises on her arms, that sort of thing. But then it escalated. She’d go shopping with black eyes and cuts on her face. We have split up over it. She left me, more than once. I couldn’t go on without her. Sometimes she’s my Donna, you see. Sometimes I can see the girl I fell in love with. We even had to move twice. We thought a fresh start, somewhere new, would be good for us, and for a while she’d obey me. I’d think that I was getting through to her, that the violence was in the past. But she always started up again.’

‘Do you think she’ll agree to the couple counselling? How do you see the future panning out?’

‘No. She won’t. And I can’t carry on like this. I daren’t leave the house because of the way I feel about the people out there. The stares follow me down the street. I can feel their eyes boring into my back as I pass. I know what they’re all saying. I know they are all talking about me. It’s dirty and wrong and that’s the reason that I’m here. You see, I’ve never had so much attention. Women have never looked at me so much before. They look at me as though I’m somebody. You know the whole ‘treat ‘em mean keep ‘em keen’ way of thinking. Some men even treat me with a certain kind of respect. They move out of my way as if I might start trouble. I feel important, hard. The horrible thing is I like it.’

‘You know that she’s pulling you into her fantasy? She hurts herself and now you are riding on what is almost a kind of obscene glory from it.’

‘I’ve never hurt her, not once.’

‘I know that, John,’

But I’m scared that one day I might. She keeps begging me, telling me how much she wants it. It disgusts me, but I need to make her happy. I just want to please her… and I want to be a hard man, for real’

‘You have lived this for thirteen years and that leads me to the biggest question of all. Who is the greater masochist John, Donna,’ She looked at him levelly over the rim of her glasses, ‘or you?’