A LOVERS DILEMMA

General Papa, having dined at home alone, told his driver to leave the keys beside his table, he might go out, and he sat down to write as always.

He ended every year in this manner, writing and day dreaming. He reviewed the events of his life since he lost his fiance and unborn child in a blazing fire 6 years ago. He had immersed his thoughts and deeds in his work now, not thinking a lot made it easy to live the days and sleep the nights. But this Christmas was special. Friends and family had him convinced he was moving on…

So he sat down, opened a drawer, took out of it a young woman’s photograph, gazed at it a few moments, and kissed it. Then, having laid it beside his cup of coffee, he began:

“MY DEAR IRENE: You must by this time have received the little surprise I sent you, addressed to the maid of course. I am writing to you this evening in order to tell you——”

The pen here ceased to move. General Papa rose up and began walking up and down the room.

For the last 3 months he had had a sweetheart, not like the others he had met; women with whom he engaged in a passing time, but a woman whom he loved and won. He was no longer a young man, although he was still comparatively young for a man, and he looked on life seriously in a positive and practical spirit now.

A ring at the door bell suddenly startled him. He hesitated. Should he open the door in the middle of night? He had dismissed his employees so they could spent Christmas with their families, he was all alone. What if someone wanted to kill him? Kidnap him for Ransom? Or…But he said to himself that one must always open the door on New Year’s eve... He was still thinking when he heard the unmistakable voice of his lover. General mine, please open the door. So he drew back the bolts, turned the key, pulled the door back, and saw her standing pale as a corpse, leaning against the wall.

He stammered: “What is the matter with you?”

She replied: “Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

She entered with the air of a woman who knew the house. As soon as she was in the sitting-room, she sank down on the sofa, and, covering her face with her hands, began weeping bitterly.

He knelt down at her feet, and tried to remove her hands from her eyes, so that he could look at her, and exclaimed: “Irene dear what is the matter with you?  Please tell me?”

Then, amid her sobs, she murmured: “I can no longer live like this.”

“Live like this? What do you mean?”

“Yes. I can no longer live like this. I have endured so much. He struck me this evening.”

“Who? Your husband?”

“Yes, my husband.”

“Ah!”

He was astonished, having never suspected that her husband could be brutal. He was a man of the world, of the upper class, a club man, a lover of golf, academic; he was known, talked about, appreciated everywhere, having very courteous manners, a very mediocre intellect, who was well bred. He appeared to devote himself to his wife, as a man ought to do in the case of wealthy and well-bred people. He displayed enough of concern about her wishes, her health, her dressing, and, beyond that, left her perfectly free.

Papa, having become their neighbor for the  past 3 months became the lover, his relations with the husband were more cordial, as is fitting. He had never dreamed that there were storms in this household, and he was bewildered at this unexpected revelation which, according to him, would favor him in the long run. Suddenly, an evil smile spread on his face.

He asked: “How did it happen? Tell me.” She related a long story, the entire history of her life since the day of her marriage, the first disagreement arising out of a mere nothing, then becoming heightened at every new difference of opinion between the couple. Then came quarrels, a complete separation, not apparent, but real; next, her husband showed himself aggressive, suspicious, violent. Now, he was jealous, jealous of her friends, and that very day, after Christmas, he had struck her.

She added with decision: “I will not go back to him. Please take me in.”

Papa sat down opposite to her, their knees touching. He took her hands: “My dear love, you are going to commit a gross, and irreversible mistake. If you want to leave your husband, divorce him first then I will think about taking you in… go back home and try to put up with your life there until the day when you can obtain either a separation or a divorce”

She rose up, and shook with violence: “Well, no! I cannot stand it any longer! I would better die than go back to that devil! Please marry me as you had promised!”

He exclaimed: “Marry you? Stay with you in my own house? Here? Why, you are mad. I will lose the respect of my family and friends you are mad if you think I was ever going to marry you!”

She replied, slowly and seriously, like a woman who feels the weight of her words: “Listen, Papa. I will never forgive you, I have played this comedy of coming secretly to your house most days. You have made your promises that you won’t fulfill. You must either lose me or take me.”

She stormed out of the house with tears blinding her eyesight, and ran  along the road towards her house with regret and heartbreak, from a distance, she remembered the wise words of her late grandmother `a wise woman knows her place’ and she wailed loudly because of her lack of knowledge, she was about to cross the road when out of nowhere she was struck by a speeding lorry.  There and then, she calmly met her maker.