Wives of alcoholics

Abstract

There is a tense, brittle air about that house. The children seem subdued, and move as if afraid to draw attention to themselves. The wife wears a fixed, determinedly cheerful expression on her face, while her eyes remain haunted, desperate . . . Another part of the city . . . In a tiny, dirty little hut, the ricevessel is empty once again. The children are crying, shrinking against the flimsy walls while the shrill, bitter notes of their mother’s voice clashes with the slurred, fumbling speech of their father. Their parents are engaged in yet another quarrel, because their father is drunk again. But here, the woman wears a hard, resigned look. This isn’t anything new. Men come home drunk, they throw their pay after those bottles — it is the way of the world, and one must accept life as one finds it.