‘When I die you two can do whatever you want.’ With her stumpy little fists, which looked like donkey hooves, she pounded her own breasts. Yes, when she was lying on her back, all that showed on her concave chest were two nipples in the shape of black dates. On the other hand, my mother-in-law’s breasts were as full as those of a young woman, showing no signs of withering or sagging. Even when she wore a thick, double-knit sweater, they arched like doughty mountains. The reversal of figure between a mother-in-law and a wife had pushed the son-in-law to the edge of the abyss of evil. How could they blame me? Losing control of myself, I started to scream. I don’t blame you, I blame myself. She uncurled her fists and tore at her clothes with a pair of talons; the buttons popped off, exposing her bra. My god! Like a footless person wearing shoes, she was actually wearing a bra! The sight of her scrawny chest forced me to turn away. I said:
‘That’s enough! Stop this madness. Even if you were to die, there’s still your father to worry about.’
She pushed herself up into a sitting position, as terrifying lights shot from her eyes.
‘My father is only a front for people like you,’ she said. ‘He cares about nothing but liquor, liquor liquor liquor! Liquor is his woman. If my father were normal, why would I need to worry so much?’
‘I’ve never seen a daughter like you,’ I said, feeling powerless.
‘That’s why I’m begging you to kill me.’ Kneeling on all fours, she banged her bone-hard head on the cement floor and said, ‘I’m on my knees begging you, I’m banging my head to implore you. Please kill me, Doctor of Liquor Studies. There’s a brand-new stainless-steel knife in the kitchen. It’s sharp as the wind. Bring it over and kill me. Please, I beg you, kill me.’
She raised her head and arched her neck, which was long and thin, like that of a plucked chicken; greenish purple, the rough skin was marked by three black moles, and the swollen veins throbbed. Her eyes were rolled halfway up, her lips hung slack, her forehead was covered with dirt through which small drops of blood seeped, and her hair was as matted as a magpie’s nest. How could this thing be called a woman? But she was my wife, and to tell the truth, her behavior horrified me. After horror came disgust. Comrades, what could I do? She sneered, her mouth like a tire tread, and I was afraid she was losing her mind. ‘My dear wife.’ I said, ‘the saying goes: “Once a couple, the feelings between two people are deeper than the ocean.” We’ve been husband and wife for many years, so how could I have the heart to kill you? f d be better off killing a chicken, since then, at least, we could make a pot of soup. But if I killed you, I’d have to eat a bullet, fm not that stupid.’
With a hand on her own neck, she said softly:
‘Are you really not going to kill me?’
‘No, I’m not.’
'I think you ought to,’ she said, drawing her finger across her throat, as if she were holding the knife that was sharp as the wind. ‘Ssst – one light touch, the veins of my neck would open up, and bright, fresh blood would spurt like a fountain. After half an hour, I’d be nothing but a transparent layer of skin. And then,’ she continued, a sinister smile on her face, ‘you could sleep with that old demon who eats infants.’
‘Bull – fucking – shit!’ I cursed savagely. Comrades, it wasn’t easy for an elegant, refined scholar like me to utter such filth. She drove me to it. I was so ashamed. ‘Shit on your mother!’ I cursed. ‘Why should I kill you? Why would I kill you. You never let me in on anything good, and now you come to me with something like this. Anyone can kill you, I don’t care, as long as it’s not me.’
Angrily, I stepped aside. I may not be able to deal with you, I was thinking, but at least I can get away. I picked up a bottle of Red-Maned Stallion and – glugglug – poured it down my throat. But I didn’t forget to watch her movements out of the corner of my eye. I saw her get up lazily, a smile on her face, and walk toward the kitchen. My heart skipped a beat. Hearing the water running noisily from the tap, I tiptoed over and saw her holding her head under the gushing water. She was gripping the edges of the greasy sink, her body bent at a ninety-degree angle, her upturned backside skinny and lifeless. My wife’s backside looks like two slices of dried meat that have been curing for thirty years, f d never compare those two slices of dried meat with the two orbs of my mother-in-law’s derriere. But with those orbs jiggling in my mind, I finally realized that my wife’s jealousy was not completely groundless. Snowy white, and obviously cold, the water poured down the back of her head, then crashed loudly like foamy waves. Her hair was transformed into shreds of palm bark coated with opaque bubbles. She was sobbing under the water, sounding like an old hen choking on its food. I was worried she might catch cold. For a brief moment, my heart was filled with sympathy for her. I felt I’d committed a grave crime by tormenting a weak, scrawny woman like that. I went up and touched her back; it was very cold. That’s enough,’ I said. ‘Don’t torture yourself like this. It doesn’t make sense to do things that anger our friends and please our enemies.’ She straightened up in a hurry and glared at me with fire in her eyes. She didn’t say a word for a good three seconds, frightening me so much I backed off. I saw her snatch the gleaming knife, just bought at a hardware store, from the rack, make a half circle across her chest, aim the point at her neck, and push down.
Without a thought for myself, I rushed up, grabbed her wrist, and wrested the knife out of her hand. I was disgusted by her behavior. ‘Damn you, you’re ruining my life.’ I flung the knife heavily onto the cutting board, burying it at least two fingers deep into the wood; pulling it out would have taken tremendous strength. Then I smashed my fist into the wall, which shook from the force. A neighbor yelled, ‘What’s going on in there?’ I was as enraged as a golden-striped leopard prowling its cage. ‘I can’t take it any more,’ I said. I can’t fucking go on living like this.’ I paced the floor, dozens of times, and concluded that I had no choice but to stay with her. Getting a divorce would be like checking myself in at the crematorium.
‘Let’s clear things up right now,’ I said. ‘We’ll have your father and mother settle this once and for all. While we’re at it, you can ask your mother if anything ever happened between her and me.’
She wiped her face with a towel and said:
‘Let’s go, then. If you people who have committed incest aren’t afraid, I certainly have nothing to fear.’
‘Anyone who refuses to go is a goddamned turtle spawn,’ I said.
She said:
‘Right. Anyone who refuses to go is a goddamned turtle spawn.’
Dragging and tugging at each other, we walked toward the Brewer’s College. On the way, we ran into a government motorcade welcoming foreign guests. On motorcycles leading the way sat two policemen in brand new uniforms, shiny black sunglasses, and snowy white gloves. We stopped quarreling for a minute and stood like a couple of trees alongside a locust beside the road. The powerful, reeking stench of rotting animals drifted over from the ditch. Her clammy hand was gripping my arm tightly, timidly. I sneered at the foreign guest’s motorcade while feeling disgust over her clammy claw. I could see her incredibly long thumb, with green dirt packed under the hard nail. But I didn’t have the heart to shrug off her hand, for it was seeking protection, like a drowning person clutching at a straw. Son of a bitch! I cursed. A bald old woman in the crowd moving out of the way of the motorcade turned to look at me. She was wearing a baggy sweater with a row of large white plastic buttons down the front. I experienced gut-wrenching disgust over those large white plastic buttons, feelings that went back to my childhood, when I had a case of the mumps. A smelly nosed doctor whose chest was embellished with large white plastic buttons had touched my cheeks with slimy fingers like octopus tentacles, making me throw up. The woman’s big fat head rested heavily on her shoulders, her face was all puffy, her teeth yellow as brass. When she cocked her head to look at me, I shuddered. I was turning to leave when she rushed up to us in short, mincing steps. It turned out she was a friend of my wife. She grabbed my wife’s hands affectionately and shook them hard, pressing her heavy torso upward until the two of them seemed about to start hugging and kissing. She was like my wife’s mother. So, naturally, I thought about my mother-in-law and about the terrible joke of her having given birth to such a daughter. I walked alone toward Liquorland’s Brewer’s College; I wanted to ask my mother-in-law if her daughter was an abandoned child she had gotten from an orphanage or if she was switched at birth by nurses at the maternity hospital And what would I do if that really were the case?