{"id":7419,"date":"2022-03-15T08:23:03","date_gmt":"2022-03-15T06:23:03","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldsite\/?p=7419"},"modified":"2025-05-13T16:45:58","modified_gmt":"2025-05-13T14:45:58","slug":"fiction-a-day-in-the-life-of-a-married-man","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldsite\/fiction-a-day-in-the-life-of-a-married-man\/","title":{"rendered":"Fiction: &#8220;A Day in the Life of a Married Man&#8221;"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>a short story excerpted from:<br \/>\n<em>Blood Feast, the Complete Stories of Malika Moustadraf<\/em><br \/>\nTranslated by <a href=\"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldsite\/author\/aliceguthrie\/\">Alice Guthrie<\/a><br \/>\n<a href=\"https:\/\/www.feministpress.org\/books-a-m\/blood-feast\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">The Feminist Press<\/a> 2022<br \/>\nISBN 9781952177897<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h4>Malika Moustadraf<\/h4>\n<p><strong>Translated by Alice Guthrie<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Dull, dull, dull. The same thing happens every day, in the same way and at the same time: I go to work, she goes into the kitchen, I come home at lunchtime, she prepares the meal, we eat in silence, we exchange a few words. <em>The weather is stifling, the heat is unbearable, <\/em>and in winter, <em>the weather is freezing, <\/em><em>the cold is unbearable.<\/em><\/p>\n<figure id=\"attachment_7422\" aria-describedby=\"caption-attachment-7422\" style=\"width: 440px\" class=\"wp-caption alignleft\"><img decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-7422\" src=\"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldsite\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/03\/blood_feast_front_cover.jpeg\" alt=\"\" width=\"440\" height=\"616\" srcset=\"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldsite\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/03\/blood_feast_front_cover.jpeg 714w, https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldsite\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/03\/blood_feast_front_cover-600x840.jpeg 600w, https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldsite\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/03\/blood_feast_front_cover-214x300.jpeg 214w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 440px) 100vw, 440px\" \/><figcaption id=\"caption-attachment-7422\" class=\"wp-caption-text\"><em>Blood Feast<\/em> has just been published by <a href=\"https:\/\/www.feministpress.org\/books-a-m\/blood-feast\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">The Feminist Press<\/a> in the US.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<p>I try to push her into conversation, any old conversation, just so long as we don\u2019t stay silent. I fail, I try again, I fail, I go back to work, she goes back into her kitchen, washes dishes, wipes down the stove, chats on the phone, runs up a bill that electrocutes me. At night she makes dinner, we eat in silence, we exchange the same few words: <em>the weather is stifling, the heat is unbearable, <\/em>or in the best case she might add a sentence or two, grumbling about my mother, who visited her, or about my sisters, or&#8230;or&#8230;<\/p>\n<p>I bury my head in a newspaper. She watches TV, flicking through the channels in obvious irritation. I ignore her. Rawboned fashion models, my God, don\u2019t they eat? The outfits they wear are so weird it\u2019s like they\u2019re from another planet. I sneak a look at my wife. She\u2019s always munching on something or other, chewing away. Thick folds of fat have clumped around her neck and her waist, but her legs are still as skinny as a goose\u2019s. I take in the terrain of her body, the highland peaks, the lowland valleys. In this changing landscape, her backside is still as flat a plain as ever. It all feels so repetitive, I\u2019m pining for the days of our betrothal . . . Uff . . .<\/p>\n<p>I feel this routine choking me, like a poison I\u2019m taking by the spoonful. It\u2019s running through my veins, slowly spreading around my body, paralyzing me &#8230; it\u2019s suffocating me, and yet death never comes. She ostentatiously heaves herself to her feet, goes into the bedroom. She calls to me in a voice she\u2019s trying to make sound seductive. I know what she wants. I ignore her. She repeats her call, trying and failing to make her voice soft and tender. I pretend to be searching for something, I don\u2019t know exactly what. She is still calling for me.<\/p>\n<p>Her tone this time is laced with menace &#8230;. I surrender my fate to Allah and reluctantly drag my body into the bedroom. I find her spread out on her back like a mangy dolphin. Even the way we do <em>this <\/em>is dull &#8230; no excitement and nothing new, even in bed. The smell of onion and garlic mixed with cinnamon makes me feel like I\u2019m sleeping inside a stew pot, or in a spice store, makes me completely lose any desire I might have felt. I turn my back to her. I can guess the laundry list of Moroccan swear words she must be rattling off inside her head. You try making a woman go hungry sexually! Just try depriving her of her rights in bed\u2014whatever the reason\u2014and suddenly her claws will come out. You\u2019ll become an utterly loathsome person in her eyes, someone who provokes her fury on sight, who talks in a vapid way, with a repugnant mustache and an irritating mother and bitter spinster sisters who\u2019ve made her life hell\u2014she\u2019ll turn you into a monstrous freak devoid of one single commendable feature, and she\u2019ll curse everyone who conspired to \u201cmake the match and make the marriage.\u201d A woman might let many things go unpunished, such as your empty bank account or your lack of interest in buying her a birthday present\u2014she\u2019ll even take a smack across the face dealt in a moment of anger\u2014but she will definitely not overlook being denied her rights in bed &#8230; Even if you set her up in the most luxurious villa and dressed her in the trendiest styles and gifted her her body weight in gold, all that would count for nothing. She will seek out whatever ways she can to make your life hell, no matter what. The phrase \u201cYou\u2019ve never once brightened my day\u201d will become her refrain, repeated night and day in every rhythm and to every tune until you\u2019re obliged to grant her a divorce. And if she isn\u2019t able to get by financially without you and is forced to stay with you for that reason, you can be sure that she\u2019ll cheat on you with the person closest to you, perhaps your driver.<\/p>\n<p>Something else I want to whisper in your ear: women are really masochists by nature. Don\u2019t let your mouth hang open like that. A woman loves an evening beating from time to time, before she goes to sleep, and for you to pull her hair every once in a while\u2014these customs have been ingrained in women since the Stone Age. And when she complains \u00a0about \u00a0it \u00a0to \u00a0her \u00a0neighbor, don\u2019t \u00a0you believe her cries of misery. She\u2019s just doing that to spite her neighbor, as an indirect way of telling her, \u201cMy husband hits me, therefore he cares about me.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The neighbor will purse her lips at this, outraged and indignant, and goad her on to stand up to her husband, informing her that only donkeys are still getting beaten like that in this country, and afterward she\u2019ll go home (the neighbor), and you can be sure she\u2019ll create some problem or other, do whatever it takes to provoke her husband and drive him out of his mind, and she won\u2019t let it go until she gets her evening dose and obtains the indisputable proof she can offer the next day to her neighbor: that she too has a husband who cares about her.<\/p>\n<p><em>Note:<\/em> <em>don\u2019t<\/em> <em>try<\/em> <em>this<\/em> <em>prescription<\/em> <em>with all women. But that\u2019s enough o<\/em><em>ff<\/em><em>-limits talk for one day.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>A tale of conjugal love from the first complete story collection in English by Moroccan writer and cult feminist Malika Moustadraf, translated by Alice Guthrie.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":209,"featured_media":7424,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[16,24,68,50],"tags":[220,385,1081,1093,1155],"coauthors":[2022,1881],"class_list":["post-7419","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","category-review","category-tmr-19-desire","category-tmr-issues","tag-arab-feminist","tag-casablanca","tag-malika-moustadraf","tag-marriage","tag-moroccan-fiction","entry"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO 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