‘My husband beats me,’ she murmured,
eyes downcast, to Bill in reply to his praise
of her gentle beauty. Perhaps she thought
to reject an advance? I never saw a mark
on her delicate face, nor a bruise
on her dainty arm, and she didn’t move
like one with hidden injuries; she was lithe.
Nor did she, later, reject his advances.
I wasn’t with him on that trip. But I knew.
Now also forms part of my 'Remembering Bali' series.
hm, complex encounter.
ReplyDeleteall don't respond the same way to beating i suppose and to play with others may have been away of reclaiming ownership, territory of herself.
It's too hard to know now, so long after. I myself was a different person then, in different circumstances, and my reactions and perceptions different too from what they'd be now.
ReplyDeleteSo glad to have found you, Rosemary-- this is lovely-- I've been perusing your blogs-- beautiful work! Thank you for your wonderful comment today! xxxj
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