Chapter V (Inside their home)

They have a nice house: large, lushly furnished with panels of wood and rails of stainless steel, and celestial white beaming off walls and drapes, broken by inscrutable modern paintings and tribal statues bought at tourist traps in Addis Ababa. Addis Ababa statues are the fashion. It is a house any Pajero would be proud of. The Pajero is in the garage below. The driver is still milling around. Joe has him staying late, just in case. Joe is on medication after a rugby injury and the words on the bottle say he shouldn’t operate heavy machinery so Alice will not allow him to drive.

“Women,” he smiles after explaining this to me. Alice smiles back. “Yes. Say what you want about women, but until those tablets are finished forget about the steering wheels of your beloved cars.”

Cars. Of course. With a house like this, it has got to be multiple cars.

“I don’t know what takes him to the rugby courts in the first place. All they do is hurt each other,” she says sitting down in an armchair with a glass of orange juice.

Joe brings two beers, hands me one and plops onto the opposite armchair. “First of all, it is called a pitch not a court. Second of all, be thankful it is not a ring!” he guffaws again, looking at me, urging me to share the joke.

“Where are the kids?” I ask.

“Would you want your son to start playing that dangerous game?” Alice demands from Joe.

“I would be very proud of him. He would be a very good player. He is going to have his father’s muscle.” Joe flexes himself. All I see is fat. Alice cannot help laughing a bit. The intention was to laugh to herself,  but Joe catches it. “Why are you laughing?” he challenges, another guffaw perching on his lips. “As if you don’t know my muscle!” the guffaw launches. It is rich and lecherous.

Alice went off to collect the kids, who were upstairs, and bring them down to greet Uncle Alan and say goodnight to daddy. They gave him a hug each. As Alice shepherded them up the stairs, Joe watched her bottom sway and smiled to himself. A proud, proprietorial smile, ideas forming in his mind. I could see how that could happen. I tried not to look too hard at her ass myself.

Joe loved being a husband. He was proud of himself. But loved being her husband? As we drank more, it begun to spill out of him, as more and more Guinness spilt in. They have been married for ten years. Ten years. It is about time doubts began to gather.

        
The doubts took the form of a secretary named Elizabeth. Joe is a man of power and position, and his bigness expands to fill his office. Obviously a managerial position- men like him are destined for big jobs. He lives through his work with an air of purpose, controlling everything he touches, everything he sees.