The Course of Love. A novel pdfdrive com

We allow for complexity, and therefore make accommodations for disagreement
and its patient resolution, in most of the big areas of life: international trade,
immigration, oncology . . . But when it comes to domestic existence, we tend to
make a fateful presumption of ease, which in turn inspires in us a tense aversion
to protracted negotiation. We would think it peculiar indeed to devote a two-day
summit to the management of a bathroom, and positively absurd to hire a
professional mediator to help us identify the right time to leave the house to go
out for dinner.
I’ve married a lunatic, he thinks, at once scared and self-pitying, as their taxi
makes its way at speed through the deserted suburban streets. His partner, no
less incensed, sits as far away from him as it is possible to do in the backseat of a
taxi. There is no space in Rabih’s imagination for the sort of marital discord in

---

which he is presently involved. He is in theory amply prepared for disagreement,
dialogue, and compromise, but not over such utter stupidity. He’s never read or
heard of squabbling this bad over such a minor detail. Knowing that Kirsten will
be haughty and distant with him possibly until the second course only adds to his
agitation. He looks over at the imperturbable driver—an Afghan, to judge from
the small plastic flag glued to the dashboard. What must he think of such
bickering between two people without poverty or tribal genocide to contend
with? Rabih is, in his own eyes, a very kind man who has unfortunately not been
allotted the right sort of issues upon which to exercise his kindness. He would
find it so much easier to give blood to an injured child in Badakhshan or to carry
water to a family in Kandahar than to lean across and say sorry to his wife.
Not all domestic concerns carry equivalent prestige. One can quickly be made to
look a fool for caring a lot about how much noise the other person makes while
eating cereal or how long they want to keep magazines beyond their publication
dates. It’s not difficult to humiliate someone who cleaves to a strict policy on
how to stack a dishwasher or how quickly the butter ought to be returned to the
fridge after use. When the tensions which bedevil us lack glamour, we are at the
mercy of those who might wish to label our concerns petty and odd. We can end
up frustrated and at the same time too doubtful of the dignity of our frustrations
to have the confidence to outline them calmly for our dubious or impatient
audiences.
In reality, there are rarely squabbles over “nothing” in Rabih and Kirsten’s
marriage. The small issues are really just large ones that haven’t been accorded
the requisite attention. Their everyday disputes are the loose threads that catch
on fundamental contrasts in their personalities.
Were he a keener student of his commitments and disappointments, Rabih
might, in relation to the air temperature, have explained from under the duvet:
“When you say you want a window open in the middle of winter, it scares and
upsets me—emotionally rather than physically. It seems to me to speak of a
future in which precious things will be trampled upon. It reminds me of a certain
sadistic stoicism and cheerful bravery in you which I am generally in flight from.
On some subconscious level, I feel afraid that it’s not really fresh air you want
but that, instead, you’d ideally like to push me out of the window in your
charming but brusque, sensible, daunting way.”
And were Kirsten similarly keen to examine her position on punctuality, she
might have delivered her own touching oration to Rabih (and the Afghan driver)
on the way to the restaurant: “My insistence on leaving so early is in the end a

---

symptom of fear. In a world of randomness and surprises, it’s a technique I’ve
developed to ward off anxiety and an unholy, unnameable sense of dread. I want
to be on time the same way others lust for power and from a similar drive for
security; it makes a little sense, though only a little, in light of the fact that I
spent my childhood waiting for a father who never showed up. It’s my own
crazy way of trying to stay sane.”
With their respective needs contextualized like this, with each side
appreciating the sources of the other’s beliefs, a new flexibility might have
ensued. Rabih could have suggested setting out for Origano not much past six
thirty, and Kirsten might have arranged an airlock for their bedroom.