Munchausen Marriage - Part IV
I never stopped to think what married life would be like with Werner Forman. I really didn’t know my partner very well, and from the beginning I could sense that things were going to grow stranger and more confusing with each day.
THIS IS PART 4 of a TEN-PART STORY
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10
Werner & Nicole with her parents, who were only a few years older than Werner
There was a twenty-five year difference in age between me and Werner. I was in my early twenties, a young girl who already was beginning to drink too much. Werner, entering his fifties, looked handsome but definitely older with silvery hair and a lined face. On numerous occasions, people got our relationship wrong, addressing Werner as if he were my father, as in: “You sit here young lady; this chair is for your dad.” Out in public, I was constantly steeling myself for remarks like that, remarks that Werner would blithely ignore, but that I would find mortifying.
But deep down Werner was acutely aware of our age difference, and almost from the beginning that awareness had devastating effects on my friendships, of which I had quite a few -- my college roommate had moved to London around the same time I had, as had my oldest friend on earth, Celia, who’d grown up across the street from me. There was a little group of us who’d been to school together plus I had family living in London, so I knew lots of people. And Werner, a loner who was jealous of every connection I had, didn’t appreciate that.
Early in our relationship we were guests at a dinner party given by an art dealer in Paris. There were perhaps ten of us and I was seated next to a handsome young man who was about my age while Werner was placed beside an older person further down the table. Not wanting to arouse jealousy, I tried to talk to my dinner partner as little as possible but that was difficult as the guy was chatty and I spoke fluent French and didn’t want to appear rude.
After the event, back in our hotel room, Werner refused to talk to me. His face was cold and expressionless and not a single word came out of his mouth; in fact, he pretty much acted as if I wasn’t there -- all because I’d been placed beside a handsome young man at a dinner party.
That sort of behavior became typical. Out to dinner with friends, my mind would be half on the conversation and half on, uh oh I was going to be late getting home and I’d better call Werner. So I’d get up from the table in search of a phone and in a sweet wifely voice let him know I’d be back by ten-thirty. But ten-thirty would come and go, so I’d have to get up again with a new ETA of eleven o’clock. And then eleven-fifteen. When I finally did get home, the apartment would be silent and dark and I’d find Werner in bed pretending to be asleep, his body rigid with fury.
Cover Image: Werner & Nicole in the early days