The Voices of Discontent

By Aaron J Clarke

On the verge of committing suicide, Cécile, a middle-aged woman, suffering from Multiple Sclerosis, contemplates her life in Townsville, and with that of her husband, Alain – whom in hindsight she believes to have made a mistake in marrying. Cécile believes her marriage to be flawed because Alain is unsupportive of her artistic ambitions and her dreams of travelling. Compounding their mutual incompatibility is Alain’s authoritarian mother, Eleanor, who stays with them in order to care for Cecile; but in reality, she undermines her son’s marriage with her overpowering religious beliefs. Drawn into this marital melee is Julie, an old friend of Cécile’s but the secret lover of Alain: the duo insidiously plan to profit from Cécile’s death. In 'The Voices of Discontent', Clarke examines the effects of religion, disease, artistic ambition and adultery in an already unstable marriage, discovering that true love overcomes all of these obstacles.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aaron J Clarke
• Release date: Apr 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311190376

Aaron J Clarke

Aaron Clarke was born in Queensland on 24th January 1973, the middle child of two sisters. Like many other children, he watch a lot of television. Then one day he changed the channel to the ABC and saw "A Midsummer Night's Dream". Immediately taken aback by the lyrical beauty, he wanted to emulate Shakespeare.Aaron enrolled at James Cook University to study chemistry and biochemistry. In his second year he experienced his first psychotic episode and was hospitalised for several months. A year later he returned to JCU as an English student and started writing short stories and poems, which have been published in student publications and on the Internet.Please contact me at < [e-mail] > to discuss your opinions regarding my work, as I would greatly appreciate your point of view. Please address your questions as 'Reader Feedback' in the subject line of your email. Thanks, Aaron.

Book preview

The Voices

Of

Discontent

Aaron J Clarke

© 2016 Aaron J Clarke

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition.

For Tanita whose help and friendship is much appreciated.

Works by the same author

Novels

Epiphany of Life

The Sinner’s Kiss

Upon the Rock

The Cat

The Flowers of Spring

Before the Fall

The Road to Ignominy

Poetry

Selected Poems

Short Stories

Selected Short Stories

The Voices

Of

Discontent

Chapter I

September 4, 2001

Today, I will kill myself. I do not despise life, but fate has given me a weak hand. My name is Cécile. When I was fifteen, I wanted to be a poet. I wrote this poem thirty years ago when my life was full of possibilities:

The Clouds

Water laden clouds crying all night,

Flooding the world with its contempt for forty days.

Submerged cities whose wreckage drift

Like dirty icebergs across continents.

Swollen corpses explode polluting

The world with its impurity.

Raindrops bombard the world with its aqueous

Death, impressing its desire to kill.

After so much death, after so much destruction the clouds give way,

Allowing the sun to cleanse the world with its aureole purity.

All of a sudden, I became a fat middle-aged woman whose life was worthless. I know I would have been a great success. Life is particularly difficult now when I’m sick, and it is the disease that will destroy me. When my body is buried, I doubt that anybody will remember me. I reflect on my life and the way it turned out, and what I discovered as I read my journal is a woman who sacrificed her life to please her family. A year from now, I won’t walk, and I won’t talk – and more importantly, I will live in a nursing home. I know that I must, but I’m afraid, and so I read my journal...

September 2, 2001

....The trees projected their shadows on the house that one would have considered lifeless and absent of true love. Because this house reflected the toxic love where I am the victim and my husband the oppressor. Still, it was there that I have written about my journey from despair to my eventual triumph, but before that day arrived, I will be writing my impressions of my husband, Alain, who washed frequently, because he was afraid of germs ... I’m sorry my mind, like a damaged clock, gives the incorrect time because of my multiple sclerosis. This disease destroys my memories slowly destroying my hopes and desires to live a life where I can participate in the world. Alas, he will not allow me to commit suicide, for this reason, I hate him. Excuse me for my digression. Where was I? ... Moreover, such fears were the result of an authoritarian mother-in-law I have had the misfortune to know. She never liked me – maybe because I’d taken her son away from her, she was as hard as diamonds, and she criticised me so much so that I was happy when she left Townsville. Yet I was kidding myself, as she would call every day to the point where I disconnected the phone, hoping she would understand. Excuse me for my digression, but she gets on my nerves. Oh, yes. I remember now. I was talking about my husband, Alain. ... He usually washed four times a day so that his skin was red as a tomato and then he, after much delay, left home and went to work. I was happy because I could now write what my mind and what my heart wanted to say:

Sometimes, Alain looked at me with great tenderness – but that was a rare occasion. In the beginning of our marriage, he’d always say, I love you. Now that fondness slowly transformed into maliciousness, and this became clearer to me when he recently said sneeringly, I hate you. At the time, I did not understand why he felt that way, but now I believe he had discovered my shocking secret. So a day later, I asked him, Have I hurt you?

For the love of God, how could you? You know very well that the child’s a godsend, a blessing. Don’t you remember we wanted a child? Now you selfishly killed our children. Fuck! Why?

Alain! I know what I did was wrong. But when I’m dead, how would you face life as a single father?

I noticed the effect my words had on him as his face was as white as a ghost.

For a moment, we were silent before he shouted, you’re not dead.

I was silent and then he continued with passion.

Doctors said that you would live a productive life for another three or four years.

Alain! My mind and my body are slowly going. I do not want that kind of life. If- if you want, then you can have my illness. I know about your affair.

There is absolutely nothing between us. She is a great comfort, especially during these difficult times.

I’m not passing judgement. I want you to be happy. Moreover, she is your future.

If you cared for me, and you thought only about my happiness, then you wouldn’t do what you’re doing.

Help me to die!

Cécile, I’m not a murderer.

Go!

So you can cut the cord of life that binds us together?

Go!

August 23, 2001

From time to time, when I got the blues, I listened to classical music, hoping it would distract me from the sadness that was eating my mind and my body. Yet the music intensified my emotions to the point at which I wished wistfully for death, but God would never allow. I wrote a poem and for a moment, I found the tranquillity that eluded me for so long:

Perspective

To the world, I am inconsequential,

A dying ember from the fire

Of freedom that once burnt in my soul.

To the world, I am invisible

Like the air one inhales.

To the world, I am a zombie

Aimlessly wandering life’s labyrinth,

Searching for love that is denied.

How the world sees me is not how I see myself.

To the world, I have already died,

But to me, I live for the moment when I can escape,

When I can be myself and find the coveted peace that has long since been denied.

I lost my train of thought because my girlfriend, Julie, knocked on the door. I staggered to the door, quickly opened it, and she said:

Hi, Cécile. How are you?

Very bad.

Why? I thought that you were getting better.

For a moment, I tried to think of a way to deceive my girlfriend of twenty years. But she often uncovered my secrets.

I’m doing great.

She sensed my dishonesty and she snapped, Liar! Why do you lie to me? When I just want to help.

For a moment, we were silent, and this silence helped me to formulate a response and thus, I said slowly:

I don’t know. I’m afraid you’ll judge me.

Will you give me an earful?

No, I want things to stay the same. But you know that I am sick, for that reason, I want you to take care of my husband. Take care of my husband, please! I begged.

I had known all along, that she was making love to him, but I became sure, when I saw in her eyes – guilt.

At times, I was not angry because Alain would be too busy to interfere with my writing. At any rate, I would create something profoundly beautiful because this book would allow me a certain degree of freedom. …What’s more, I arranged Alain and Julie like Dresden teacups according to how best they served my needs. But more importantly, these prized specimens were the implements of my grand scheme to get hold of a large sum of money. The reasons as to why I need money were basically to get away from Townsville, so that my remaining days were filled with joy in discovering the world. Ah, I shan’t tell you how, but, in time, that will be made clearer. And as I considered my options, Julie looked at me strangely afterwards she spoke slowly:

I promise. But are you sure?

Now more than ever, when my life runs out.

Everyone, especially Julie, believed my sincerity; they never knew I was capable of great rage. Nevertheless, such rage remains buried, yet if Alain does not help me, then that force would be triggered, resulting in an avalanche of acrimony. Still, there was the chance that I would have disclosed my sin, so I continued to listen to the boring words that came from her mouth. Minutes became hours, and when she could not speak, I said to her:

I’m tired.

For a moment, she looked at me with false pity as if to say, You should be grateful that I came when I could go shopping. Still, I smiled and I said goodbye.

August 15, 2001

Yesterday, I fought with Alain. He thought I was ungrateful to his mother who he said only wanted to help. I had had enough of people trying to help. They did not know what I face every day! They have no idea of the debilitating effects of MS. Last week, the left side of my body was paralysed, and just now, I dropped a cup and tried to sweep it up, but my hand could not hold the dustpan and brush. If Alain cared, he would do what I want: help me to die.

When he returned late at night, I told him, I’m sorry, but things cannot begin again like before. He nodded and he was about to join in, but I interrupted, I adore you Alain ... but you have to let go ... it’s selfish of you to pretend there is nothing wrong with me. If you really cared for me, you would –

He said bitterly, Kill you! Cécile, Cécile, I wouldn’t do it because it goes against the teachings of Christ.

With tears in my eyes, I said, Do you remember what you said on the day of our marriage ten years ago?

Of course.

Now, I want you to repeat what you said.

I would never let you down. But what you ask of me is the easy way.

Not for me.

August 14, 2001

I do not believe you would think that of me. I was never disappointed in you, Cécile.

I want you to stay home, Alain.

Don’t you see, I have to work to provide for you and this is why my mother stays with you during the day? Why are you telling me now? Were you two having a disagreement? If so, I am sure she will excuse you.

It’s not that.

Fuck! Just say you’re sorry and all will be forgiven.

What we are fighting about is something really unforgivable ... this is something that shames me.

What did you do? Damn it, I have a right to know. If you don’t tell me, then I’ll call mother, and she’ll tell me the truth.

Please don’t. Besides, she hates me, and she will tell you the most deplorable lies to even the score and perhaps ruin our marriage.

She is incapable of lying, and if she is, then I suppose her reason would be to protect me from finding out what you’re hiding.

August 8, 2001

From the window in the corner of the bedroom, I could see the sunlight glisten on wooden floors, and for a moment, my mind glided towards the river of time, where it stopped on the day of my wedding. It was a hot summer’s day, the earth sweated and the fragrant flowers drooped under the hot breath of the sun. My God, I was happy even when my mother-in-law looked at me disdainfully, and now this same look greets me as I slowly get out of the bed at which point she sighed sarcastically. I am tired so I take no notice, and instead I said cheerfully:

Hello, Eleanor. She smiled weakly at me and then I continued, Thanks for being a great help.

So you should be. Was her nasty remark.

Have I not thanked you enough?

Her hatred melted my happiness so again I asked after which she said coldly, I guess God punished you for your selfishness.

I was drained by the psychic vampire, and I asked, How am I selfish?

You know perfectly. My face was like a blank slate as she clarified, You have robbed me of my grandson. For this reason, I charge you with being self-centred.

I was surprised that she knew my shameful secret, so I almost begged, Do not tell Alain!

I can never hurt Alain as you did. Even if he had to ask me about any suspicions he may have, I wouldn’t tell him.

Eleanor, I did what I did because...

It isn’t necessary to explain because they cannot be justified. She shouted, Besides, this is divine justice that you are made to suffer.

You’ll never forgive ... Nor forget.

I know exactly what type of woman you are.

I guessed what she was going to say, but before I interrupted, she continued caustically, A femme fatale who enchanted Alain to serve her interests.

I was weakened by her diatribe. I begged her to go which she was too happy to do because she had triumphed when I failed spectacularly.

July 27, 2001

Normally at this time of year in Townsville, it does not rain, but the rainy season seemed to be the case during the last few days. The smell of rain gives one the feeling of regeneration as the environment washes away the sick and the dead. Perhaps, nature tells me to prepare for death, but it is something I do not want to hear. I do not want to die. On the other, I had always been optimistic, but since the MS diagnosis, I had slowly become pessimistic and hateful to everyone and God. I never ask to be affected with this disease. Previously, I was happy my marriage, for all practical purposes, was not bad. I planned to pay a visit to Europe for my forty-six birthday. I planned to register at the local university where I hoped to study French. Now, these goals are unobtainable. Time is precious so I will try to live for the moment, and try to enjoy the little things in life such as reading a book or eating a piece of chocolate cake. But whom am I kidding? Still, it is stupid to believe in miracles especially when doctors told me, You have one or two years to live. Fuck! I had lost a lot of my life not doing anything particularly important. I regret many things. For instance, I am furious with myself for having an abortion because I thought my child would need me. My God, I am selfish, but I had good reasons, or at least I thought so...

Life transformed my joy into its opposite, and this feeling flooded my mind, drowning it with hopelessness. Even so, I still believed there was the possibility, no matter how small, that the tears of bitterness would magically become something more appealing – euphoria. The more I