The Window

Ju
Translated by Thett Su San

He notices something is wrong with his wife as soon as he gets home from work. She doesn’t seem her usual self. He believes he can read minds. Besides, his wife is not very good at hiding her feelings. Isn’t she wearing a decrepit smile?

“Are you already hungry? Sorry, I had to go check a car.”

Without a word, she takes the briefcase from him, places it on his desk and pretends to be busy. Something is definitely wrong. He waits discreetly until she turns around to face him.

She doesn’t seem sullen. To his surprise, she has the disconsolate look of a woman who had lost something very valuable to her. And who doesn’t want him to know that. Something is hidden behind her clumsily averted eyes. Isn’t there also a trace of guilt on her face? As if he didn’t notice anything, he turns away from her.

Their bedroom—a small one typical of any average flat—is neat and tidy as usual. There is a wide, dark glass window on its outer wall. The window is closed today. Doesn’t his wife always keep it open?

The bedroom window is the only window in their flat. He knows that, if the window were shut, his wife would feel suffocated. She is the one who opens it first thing in the morning and closes it at the end of the day. Today the window is already shut before bedtime.

He looks around the room. Their bed is draped in a tidy white sheet. Their clothes are hanging neatly at the rack next to the bed. He takes note of his wife’s light pink sweater that has been there since yesterday. She didn’t go out today, he thinks to himself. She doesn’t come into the bedroom while he is changing his clothes and surveying the room.

At dinner she remains quiet. The huge rectangular Formica table that can seat ten seems too big for their household of two. There has never been a guest at their flat after all. As usual, they sit together at a corner of the table. The white radish sour soup is steaming hot and delicious. She is an excellent cook—a typical housewife, naïve, simple, and unattractive. To be fair to her, no one would glance at her more than once. He married her because he knew her interests would be confined only to the household and its immediate surroundings.

She doesn’t know his monthly income. She doesn’t even know she should be inquisitive about it. She only touches the daily grocery money he usually leaves under her pillow. They have a car but she doesn’t know how to drive. She goes to places only when he is free to take her out. She doesn’t know which bus to take if she wants to go downtown alone. Apart from Bogyoke market, she doesn’t know how to get to other places. She doesn’t know where her husband’s office is, or what he does all day outside. Even though she holds a degree in mathematics, she has no idea how to put a figure on anything.

He wolfs down his meal, while keeping an eye on her. She remains extraordinarily silent. When he left for work before half past seven in the morning, there was nothing wrong with her. What is wrong with her now? There isn’t the slightest hint of happiness on her face while her fingers are expertly deboning a piece of fried fish for him. He attempts to cheer her up. He tells her an amusing story he has heard during the day. She replies with a slight smile that looks contrived. She doesn’t seem sullen. Whenever she is grouchy with him, she will make her presence felt—she will pull a face or stomp her feet, or make a racket with the utensils until she gets his attention.

This time, she isn’t seeking attention to make a statement. She is simply concealing something from him, something serious, and attention is probably the last thing she wants right now.

“What’s the matter with you, Aye?” he asks impatiently as soon as he finishes eating.

She gives him a surprised look. When he eyeballs her, she lowers her eyes and says, “Nothing!”

He is getting impatient. He pushes the dinner plate away from him and stares at her.

“Something is wrong with you!”

His question has turned into an accusation. She doesn’t make eye contact with him anymore, while she continues eating her meal quietly. And yet she doesn’t look as if she is having dinner. She looks as if she were drowning in a daydream.

“Aye!”
His snappish voice wakes her up.
“Nothing, Darling! I’ve just got a headache.”
He sighs restlessly.
“No, you don’t have a headache. You are hiding something from me. I know it. Don’t lie to me! It’s written all over your face.”

He sounds like a husband who has learned his wife’s emotional topography in two years of marriage. The harshness of his tone puts her on edge. She stops eating and begins to clear up the plates nervously. By now he is more than certain his wife is hiding something from him. He must sniff it out. There should be no secrets between a husband and a wife. A husband must know everything about his wife.

“Aye! Tell me the truth. What’s wrong with you?”
He can’t wait until she is done with the dishes. No more excuses this time.

He needs an answer right away.

“Oh, nothing, like I said. I told you already. Why don’t you believe me?” She sounds disappointed. “Why don’t you believe me?” isn’t good enough for him. He quietly follows his wife, who is heading for the kitchen sink, plates in her hands.

“Aye...”

His harsh voice breaks the silence. One of the plates slips from her hands into the basin. Still, she doesn’t turn around to face him.

“Do the dishes later. Wash your hands and come with me to the living room. We need to talk.”

“No!”
Her refusal ripples with uncertainty. He grasps her arm firmly.
“Aye! Do you hear me? You know me, right? Wash your hands right now!”

She ignores him and keeps doing the dishes. Through her unkempt long hair he can see the side of her face, full of fear and sadness. For a moment, he feels pity for her. But he knows that now is not the time to be kind to her. It’s important to straighten things out as soon as possible. He grabs her arm and drags her into the living room.

“Well? Sit down, Aye. What happened in my house today?”
He sits opposite her in order to see her face.
“Nothing special,” she replies.
She tries her best to give him an uncomplicated look. A shadow of anxiety

can be seen in her eyes. He can’t control himself any longer. He pulls his chair up closer to her. She recoils in horror. The tears welling up in her eyes glisten in the light of the fluorescent lamp. In an effort to control his anger he pulls off a smile.

“Aye, listen! I have been keeping an eye on you for a long time. I know you are hiding something from me. If you don’t open up to me, every day will be a disaster the rest of our life. You need to know that there shouldn’t be any secret between a married couple.”

She gazes at him vaguely and shakes her head.
“No, I can’t tell you anything.”
“What do you mean, Aye? You mean nothing has happened, or something

has happened and you can’t tell me about it?”

He has been working the whole day, and he would rather be resting. He looks carefully at his wife, sitting like a lifeless doll in front of him. Her eyes aren’t red or puffy. No sign of crying during the day.

“What now, Aye? Don’t you want to tell me what you’ve been through? Don’t you trust me?” he demands.

She just keeps shaking her head.
“You’ve never kept a secret from me before, right?”
She gives him a confused look.
“I think some secrets should remain secret between a husband and a wife, don’t you think so?”

He takes a deep breath. Aye has a secret. She is just unsure whether she should let that out or not. He needs to push her.

“Look here! Aren’t you worried that if you decided to keep a secret from me, I would have to live with doubts about you for the rest of my life?”

Aye glances nervously at him.
“But...”
After pausing for a moment, she looks away. He holds her hands and asks her.
“But what? Aye?”
“You don’t have to know everything about me,” she retorts.
“WHAT?!”
He sees red. He lets go of her hand and gets on his feet immediately. When he looks over her, her body cringes away from him.

“I mean...I think some things are better left unsaid.”
Her slight stammer adds fuel to his anger. He clicks his tongue in disgust and kicks the chair she is sitting on.

“Did you go out today? Tell me!”
A shiver runs through her. She looks up and shakes her head. He can see that her eyes are telling the truth. He goes on.

“Did you go to the market?”
“No!”
That’s also true.

She cooked the dinner with what she had bought from the market yesterday. “Any visitor today?”

“None.”
He is at his wits’ end. There’s no way she could have found out about his affairs with other women.

“What were you doing this afternoon?”
She stares at him in disbelief. She must be concocting a plan. He keeps checking her facial expressions. She doesn’t answer.

“Come on, Aye.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about. Whatever I do, it’s nothing to do with you.”

“What did you say?”
He suddenly sits down beside her. There’s no trace of fear in her eye any more—only resentfulness. He gets even more irritated by her look. It’s too late to back off now.

“Did the laundrywoman come today?”

“No, she didn’t.”
“So what were you doing the whole day?”

“Watching a video.”

He looks carefully at her. She keeps her head down.

“What video? Did you go rent it?”
“No, the one we have at home.”

“What video?”

She doesn’t reply. She is obviously lying. Why is she taking so long to recall the title of a film she has watched during the day. She is a local film buff. She never watches foreign films.

“I asked you, what is the name of the film?” he raises his voice.

No response from her. Maybe she’s thinking that she is being treated like a crime suspect. She presses her lips shut. He gets up abruptly, marches across to the TV shelf and checks the DVDs in the drawer. There’s a DVD of a Hollywood film he didn’t finish last night, along with other DVDs. No Burmese film there. He takes a look at his wife. To his surprise she is glaring back at him in defiance. A pang of cold anger runs through his chest. Between his wife and him there now exists an invisible wall that has never been there before. He paces restlessly in the living room, looking out for anything unusual.

The light yellow tablecloth hand-crocheted by his wife and the glass vase with three flamingo flowers and emerald-green leaves are on the coffee table. His books and documents are in order on the office desk. The revolving chair is tucked beneath the desk. Two Japanese calendars he loves hang on the wall opposite the desk. On the other wall, there is a poster of his wife’s favorite movie star. Nothing unusual. The showcase in the living room is locked as usual. The wedding gifts they had received two years ago—an assortment of silver and glass ornaments, vacuum flasks, and small wooden sculptures are displayed in the showcase as usual. Nothing unusual.

The closed window in the bedroom is the only suspicious thing in the whole flat. His pacing around suddenly stops.

“Aye? You’ve closed the window!”

His shrill statement terrifies her, but her eyes remain locked on the flamingo flowers. The sight of her frightened face pleases him. It has something to do with the window. He strides toward her.

“Why did you close the window early today?” He demands the answer. She doesn’t response. His rage doesn’t work on her.

“Aye?”
“Because it was getting cold outside.”

“Fuck you!” he thinks. With a bossy don’t-you-lie-to-me-anymore smile he turns around and walks towards the bedroom. It must be the window. What did she see from the window today? He enters the room quickly and jumps onto the bed. The window is above the headboard. As soon as he opens the window, a refreshing breeze comes in and caresses his face.

The view through the window bars is the usual scene of their town. Streetlamps and trees look diminutive from their third floor of a six-story building. There is no building taller than theirs nearby. No window-to-window relations! He begins to investigate everything he can see through the window bars. The road at a short distance from their building is crowded with people and traffic. There is an empty alley in the back of the building. On the left side, where he is facing, are four or five two-story brick buildings of which he can see only the flat roofs.

He hears a pop song coming from right beneath the building. He looks down and sees an open yard. A teahouse has recently been set up there. What tiny people enjoying their tea at tiny tables under the tiny trees. What about the tiny twinkling light bulbs hanging in the tiny trees! Looking from above, how funny everything beneath is. But he can’t even smile now.

There are ten or fifteen young waiters hurrying from one table to another. The open shed at the other end of the yard must be the kitchen and the till. There is a woman behind the counter. She is probably the same age as his wife. He can’t make out her face. Even though he can see the faces of people coming into the teahouse, he cannot make out who they are.

What did his wife see from the window? Can he see what she saw from here? His wife, who never closes this window, had closed it earlier. Maybe she saw someone from the window? Now he wants to grab her shoulders for a rough shakedown. When he turns around, he sees his wife gazing at him at the bedroom door. The light blue voile top she is wearing is flapping in the breeze from the window. Her long hair glistens in the light. She looks like a sleepwalker.

“Aye?”
His voice is cracking with doubt, anger, and agitation.
“Come over here. Will you?”
She ignores him, and doesn’t move an inch. He strides toward her from the window and drags her by the arm back to the window.

“Come on, Aye. You have to tell me what you saw.”
Her momentary resistance caves into the pressure. Her face goes pale with fear. He pushes her head toward the window bars. She screams in terror. Trying to control his anger, he turns her by the shoulders toward him. She faces his stare with tearful eyes. He releases his grip.

“Why do you want to know about something I don’t want to tell you?”

“Because you are my wife!”
“Okay, fine! I will tell you about it if you must know. Don’t you regret it later.”

She sounds like a seer. Her voice is calm and clear.

“He was at the teahouse today.”
He wishes what he just heard were the vroom of a passing car from the road.

“He? Who is he?” He babbles, and then she smiles. It’s the very first genuine smile he receives from her this whole evening. It is as sharp as a razor.

“My ex-boyfriend.”
His heart is pounding.
“No!”

He cries out. She had no boyfriend before they got married.
“Yes!” She confirms. She continues staring into his eyes.
“He doesn’t drink. He is not bad tempered. He is not rude or offensive.”

Her words hurt him deep in the heart.
“He is not fat as a pig. He doesn’t smell of alcohol, or cigarettes. His under- arms don’t stink. He doesn’t have garlic breath.”

The cold tone of her voice falls like a slap on his face.

“I am always his first priority. I never feel like a crime suspect when I talk to him. He never accuses me of anything. He never judges me.”

She sounds more as if she is visualizing and narrating a dream. Awestruck, he looks on her with his mouth agape.

“His eyes are always gentle whenever they look into mine. He doesn’t exploit people for money. He has no flat, no car, no workshop, and no warehouse ...”

He steps back a few inches.
“... But he has love.”
“ENOUGH!”
She keeps talking, staring straight into his eyes.
“He never thinks I am stupid. He never tells me I am useless. He never humiliates me about my flat nose. I will never be able to stop loving him or be disappointed in him.”

“That’s all lies!”
His voice cracks with anger.
She continues, “He saw me when I was looking out of the window. Yes, he saw me. I am sure he will visit me in a few days.”

He clenches his fist in rage. “Calm down!” he says to himself. “This bitch is trying to outsmart you. She is talking like a fool. Only a fool can make a fool of another one.” He comforts himself.

“Through this window — ”
He grabs her by the shoulders and shakes her roughly.
“Shut up!”
“ ... If I want to give him something, I can tie it with a rope and lower it to him. I can also receive gifts from him this way...”

He slaps her face with all his rage. Covering her face in her hands, she goes quiet. He looks down at her trembling body.

“Say one more word if you dare! Just one more word!” he snarls through his gritted teeth. He keeps an eye on her, with his hand at the ready for another blow. She doesn’t say anything. All he can hear now are the chatter and laughter of people from below, cars honking horns, and the music from the teahouse.

He abruptly moves toward the window and shuts it tight. The room falls silent.

First published in Manoa Journal (November 2022)