I'll carry you till I'm Old

On my wedding day, I carried my wife in my arms. The

bridal car stopped in front of our one-room flat. My buddies

insisted that I carry her out of the car in my arms. So I carried her

into our home. She was then plump and shy. I was a strong and happy bridegroom.

 This was the scene of ten years ago.

The following days were as simple as a cup of pure water:

we had a kid, I went into business and tried to make more money.

When the assets were steadily increasing, the affections between us

seemed to ebb. She was a civil servant. Every morning we left home together and

got home almost at the same time. Our kid was studying in a

boarding school.

Our marriage life seemed to be enviably happy. But the calm life was

more likely to be affected by unpredictable changes.

Shira came into my life.

It was a sunny day. I stood on a spacious balcony. Shira hugged me from

behind. My heart once again was immersed in her stream of love. This

was the apartment I bought for her.

Shira said, "You are the kind of man who best draws girls' eyeballs. Her

words suddenly reminded me of my wife. When we just married, my wife

said, "Men like you, once successful, will be very attractive to girls."

Thinking of this, I became somewhat hesitant. I knew I had betrayed my

wife. But I couldn't help doing so.

I moved Shira's hands aside and said," You go to select some furniture,

 O.K.? I've got something to do in the company." Obviously she was

 unhappy, because I had promised her to go and see with her. At the

 moment, the idea of divorce became clearer in my mind  although it used to be something impossible to me.

 However, I found it rather difficult to tell my wife about it. No matter

 how mildly I mentioned it to her, she would be deeply hurt.

 Honestly, she was a good wife. Every evening she was busy preparing

 dinner.

 I was sitting in front of the TV. The dinner was ready soon.

 Then we watched TV together. Or, I was lounging before the computer,

 visualizing Shira's body. This was the means of my entertainment.

 One day I said to her in a slight joking way, "Suppose we divorce, what

 will you do?" She stared at me for a few seconds without a word.

 Apparently she believed that 'divorce' was something too far away from

 her. I couldn't imagine how she would react once she got to know I was

 serious.

 When my wife went to my office, Shira had just stepped out.

 Almost all the staff looked at my wife with a sympathetic eye and tried

 to hide  something while talking with her. She seemed to have got some hint.

 She gently smiled at my subordinates. But I read some hurt in her eyes.

  Once again, Shira said to me, "Ryan, divorce her, O.K.? Then we live

 together." I nodded. I knew I could not hesitate any more.

 When my wife served the last dish, I held her hand. "I've got something

 to tell you," I said.

  She sat down and ate quietly. Again I observed the hurt in her eyes.

 Suddenly I didn't know how to open my mouth. But I had to let her

 know what I was thinking. "I want to divorce." I raised a serious

 topic calmly.

 She didn't seem to be much annoyed by my words, instead she asked me

 softly, "why?". "I'm serious." I avoided her question. This so-called

 answer turned her angry. She threw away the chopsticks and shouted at

 me, "you are not a man!".

 At that night, we didn't talk to each other. She was weeping. I knew

 she wanted to find out what had happened to our marriage.

 But I could hardly give her a satisfactory answer, because my heart

 had gone to Shira.

 With a deep sense of guilt, I drafted a divorce agreement which stated

 that she could own our house, our car, and 30% stake of my company.

 She glanced at it and then tore it into pieces. I felt a pain in my

heart.  The woman who had been living ten years with me would become a stranger

 one day. But I could not take back what I had said.

 Finally she cried loudly in front of me, which was what I had expected

 to see. To me her cry was actually a kind of release. The idea of

 divorce which had obsessed me for several weeks seemed to be firmer and

 clearer.

 A late night, I came back home after entertaining my clients. I saw her

 writing something at the table. I fell asleep fast. When I woke up, I

 found she was still there. I turned over and was asleep again. She

 brought up her divorce conditions: she didn't want

 anything from me, but I was supposed to give her one month's time before

 divorce, and  in the month's time we must live as normal life as possible. Her reason

 was simple: our son would finish his summer vacation a month later and

 she didn't want him to see our marriage was broken.

 She passed me the agreement she drafted, and then asked me, "Ryan, do

 you still remember how I entered our bridal room on the wedding day?"

 This question suddenly brought back all those wonderful memories to me.

 I nodded and said, "I remember". "You carried me in your arms", she

 continued, "so, I have a requirement, that is, you carry me out in your

 arms on the day when we divorce. From now to the end of this month, you

 must carry me out from the bedroom to the door every

 morning." I accepted with a smile. I knew she missed those sweet days

 and wished to end her marriage with a romantic form.

 I told Shira about my wife's divorce conditions. She laughed loudly and

 thought it was absurd. "No matter what tricks she does, she has to face

 the result of divorce," she said scornfully. Her words more or less made

 me feel uncomfortable.

 My wife and I hadn't had any body contact since my divorce intention was

 explicitly expressed. We even treated each other as a stranger. So when

 I carried her out for the first day, we both appeared clumsy.

 Our son clapped behind us, "daddy is holding mummy in his arms."

 His words brought me a sense of pain. From the bedroom to the sitting

 room, then to the door, I walked over ten meters with her in my arms.

 She closed her eyes and said softly, "Let us start from today, don't

 tell our son."

 I nodded, feeling somewhat upset. I put her down outside the door. She

 went to wait for bus, I drove to office.

 On the second day, both of us acted much more easily. She leaned on my

 chest. We were so close that I could smell the fragrance of her blouse.

 I realized that I hadn't looked at this intimate woman carefully for a

 long time. I found she was not young any more. There were some fine

 wrinkles on her face.

 On the third day, she whispered to me, "The outside garden is being

 demolished. Be careful when you pass there."

 On the fourth day, when I lifted her up, I seemed to feel that we were

 still an intimate couple and I was holding my sweetheart in my arms.

The visualization of Shira became fader.

 On the fifth and sixth day, she kept reminding me something, such as,

 where she put the ironed shirts, I should be careful while cooking, etc.

 I nodded. The sense of intimacy was even stronger.

 I didn't tell Shira about this.

 I felt it was easier to carry her. Perhaps the everyday workout made me

 stronger. I said to her, "It seems not difficult to carry you now."

 She was picking her dresses. I was waiting to carry her out. She tried

 quite a few but could not find a suitable one. Then she sighed, "All my

 dresses have grown fatter." I smiled. But I suddenly realized that it

 was because she was thinner that I could carry her more easily, not

 because I was stronger. I knew she had buried all the bitterness

 in her heart. Again, I felt a sense of pain. Subconsciously I reached

 out a hand to

 touch her head.

 Our son came in at the moment. "Dad, it's time to carry mum out." He

 said. To him, seeing his father carrying his mother out had been an

 essential part of his life. She gestured our son to come closer and

 hugged him tightly. I turned my face because I was afraid I would change

 my mind at the last minute. I held her in my arms, walking from the

 bedroom, through the sitting room, to the hallway. Her hand surrounded

 my neck softly and naturally. I held her body tightly, as if we came

 back to our wedding day. But her much lighter weight made me sad.

 On the last day, when I held her in my arms I could hardly move a step.

 Our son had gone to school. She said, "Actually I hope you will hold me

 in your arms until we are old."

 I held her tightly and said, "Both you and I didn't notice that our life

 was lack of such intimacy."

 I jumped out of the car swiftly without locking the door. I was afraid

 any delay would make me change my decision. I walked upstairs. Dew

 opened the door. I said to her, "Sorry, Shira, I won't divorce. I'm

 serious."

 She looked at me, astonished. The she touched my forehead. "You got no

 fever." She said. I moved her hand off my head.

 "Sorry, Shira," I said,

 "I can only say sorry to you, I won't divorce. My marriage life was

 boring probably because she and I didn't value the details of life, not

 because we didn't love each other any more. Now I understand that since

 I carried her into the home, she gave birth to our child, I am supposed

 to hold her until I am old. So I have to say sorry to you."

 Shira seemed to suddenly wake up. She gave me a loud slap and then slammed

 the door and burst into cry. I walked downstairs and drove to the

 office.

 When I passed the floral shop on the way, I ordered a bouquet for my

 wife which was her favorite. The salesgirl asked me to write the

 greeting words on the card. I smiled and wrote,

 "I'll carry you out  every morning until we are old."