The Veríssimo Project

Nobody thought it was strange when, after twenty-five years of marriage, and after raising their children together, Dr. Pompeu's wife filed for divorce.  The reasons behind it were the usual for the time: she didn't want to be a housewife.  She wanted to live her own life, study psychology, have her own career.  Alright.  The scandal, evidence of lingering prejudices, really occurred when it was discovered that Dr. Pompeu had found a husband instead of a new wife.

Labels: adultery, Brazil, brazilian, divorce, gay, husband, men, Rio de Janeiro, wife, women

This is an exemplary story, it’s just not very clear what it’s an example of. Either way, keep this away from the children. It also has nothing to do with the Brazilian crisis, the apartheid, the situation in Central America, or the Middle East, or man’s adventure on this Earth. It is situated on the somewhat lower level of the minute afflictions of today’s middle class. Anyways. It happened to a friend of mine. Fictional, of course.
He was coming back home as he usually did, loyally and routinely, at the same time every day. A man nearing forty, at the age where he knows he will never own a casino in Samarkand, or have diamonds in his teeth, but can still expect a few surprises in his life, like winning the lottery or getting a flat tire. He got a flat tire. With difficulty he succeeded in pulling over to the sidewalk and was preparing for battle against the jack, a medium sized jack that probably did not work. He got the jack to work, lifted the car, changed the tire, and was closing the trunk when his wedding ring slipped off his oily finger and fell on the asphalt. He took a step to pick up the ring, but accidentally kicked it. The ring bounced off the tire of a passing car and flew into a sewer drain. There, it disappeared right before his eyes, a sight that took him quite a bit of time to process.
He cleaned off his hands as best he could, got in the car and drove home. He started thinking about what he would tell his wife. He imagined the scene. Him coming home and answering his wife’s questions before she asked them.
-You will not believe what happened!
-What?
-Something incredible.
-What?
-If I tell you, you won’t believe me.
-Tell me!
-Don’t you notice anything different about me? Isn’t something missing?
-No.
-Look.
He would show her his finger, ring-less.
-What happened?
And he would tell her. Everything, just as it had happened. The jack. The oil. The ring on the asphalt. The involuntary kick. The ring’s flight and disappearance.
-Wow, she would say, calmly.
-Isn’t that unbelievable?
-No. It’s perfectly possible.
-Well, yeah. I…
-YOU SONFABITCH!
-Honey…
-Do you think I’m stupid? Do I look like a clown? I know what happened to that wedding ring. You took it off to be with another woman. Right? To go on a date. You come home at this hour and have the balls to invent this ridiculous story only an idiot would believe.
-But, baby…
-I know where that ring is. It’s lost in the shaggy carpet of some seedy motel. Down the drain of some big, round jacuzzi. You bastard!
And she would leave, with the kids, without another word.

He arrived home and said nothing. Why was he late? Traffic. Why that face? Nothing, nothing at all. Then, finally:
-Where’s your wedding ring?
And he said:
-I took it off to be with another woman. To go on a date. I lost it in the motel. There. I have no excuses. If you want to end our marriage now, I will understand.
She looked like she was going to cry. Then she ran to the bedroom and slammed the door. Ten minutes later she came out. Said that this meant that their marriage was in a crisis, but that they, together, could overcome it.
-The most important thing is that you didn’t lie to me.

And she walked to the kitchen to make dinner.

Labels: adultery, brasil, Brazil, brazilian, cheating, divorce, husband, lying, Marriage, motel, Rio de Janeiro, wife