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In Paris With You

Page 15

by Clémentine Beauvais


  at last gave way, and whispered:

  ‘I met someone.’

  She was going to say more – someone from our past,

  someone you know – but her words got lost

  in a swallow or a cough.

  Besides, for her sister, that was enough:

  ‘You met someone?’ Olga choked.

  ‘Well, that’s not good timing!’

  ‘I know, right?’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What does he do for a living?’

  ‘He’s a consultant.’

  ‘Where did you meet him?’

  This conversation, like a staircase,

  led dangerously to an attic of archives,

  all dusty and mouldy,

  and above them, a roof

  that was treacherous.

  Cautious,

  but no liar,

  Tatiana mentioned some mutual friends.

  ‘But he knows about San Francisco?’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘He knows you might just get a job there?’

  ‘Well, nothing’s actually sorted.’

  ‘I thought your supervisor had fixed it.’

  ‘Can we change the topic? I don’t want to jinx it.’

  ‘And how does your new boyfriend feel about all this?’

  ‘Nothing. It’s not like that.’ ‘Why not?’

  ‘Nothing’s really happened yet.’

  ‘Nothing?’ ‘Nothing.’

  ‘You haven’t slept together or anything like that?’

  ‘No, nothing like that.’

  ‘But then how do you know …’ ‘Olga

  Olga, please

  don’t pretend

  to be denser than

  you are. I just know.

  You always know

  that kind of thing.’

  Olga nodded, glancing at her husband

  who was stuffing his mouth with a Camembert bread boat

  the way you might shove something in your pocket.

  The affection in Olga’s eyes

  moved like an ocean,

  waves crashing down on

  this man who was listening

  to the chirpy TV host.

  ‘In that case,’ said Olga, deeply moved,

  ‘you know what you have to do.’

  ‘Really? What?’ ‘Oh, Tania …

  if this is true passion, if you feel that this is really what

  you want, I mean, if this is the kind of thing that happens

  only once in a lifetime, then you have to go all out!

  You have to sacrifice everything for it.

  We’re talking about love. It’s no laughing matter.

  You can’t mess this up or you’ll regret it forever after.’

  And as she spoke, Olga contemplated

  this very nice man whose name was Anthony,

  who wasn’t ugly

  and who was a pretty good father to the girls

  (well, not a bad one, anyway),

  who worked at a bank and who,

  feeling himself observed,

  unglued his eyes from the TV

  very slowly

  by degrees

  as if reluctantly

  before smiling

  agreeably

  at the two sisters who were watching him,

  one curiously,

  the other less so.

  ‘What do you think, hun?’ Olga asked him.

  ‘About?’ Anthony replied.

  ‘Tatiana’s in love.’

  ‘Uh-oh! Now we’re in trouble,’ he joked.

  ‘So I was telling her that love requires sacrifices.’

  ‘Well, of course.’

  ‘If not, she’ll regret it for the rest of her life.’

  ‘Oh yeah, absolutely.’

  ‘Whereas, with you, when you decided not to take the job

  in China …’

  ‘I never regretted,’ Anthony declared,

  ‘not taking that job in China.

  What would I have done in China anyway?

  Here I’ve got my three sweetie pies.’

  He looked at Olga and their eyes met in a gaze as sugary

  and shallow

  as a stretched-out rope of pink marshmallow,

  while on the walls,

  the countless pictures of them and the twins

  oozed gooey syrup as invisible violins

  vibrated in the air,

  and Disney lambs and fairies and bunnies

  danced over rainbows and the happy pair

  continued to stare

  at each other

  as if time had been suspended

  in a treacly cloud of sentiment,

  and Tatiana was so disgusted by the sound of the words

  ‘sweetie pie’ coming from Anthony’s gormless lips

  bloody hell if Eugene ever said that, I’d kick him in the nuts

  that she wanted to say no that’s not what I mean

  you don’t understand

  we’re not talking about the same kind of love

  what I mean is

  well, imagine an old love, buried in a trunk

  a love that had been serious, dark, baroque,

  as epic as the Napoleonic wars,

  something impossible and sleep-disturbing,

  not some cheap imitation love like yours

  are you kidding?

  she didn’t want to be insulting,

  but clearly there was some basic misunderstanding

  not some crêpe-paper school-fête hand-in-hand romance

  I mean the kind of love you read about in books

  and it got worse when her sister exclaimed:

  ‘Look!

  You have to live it, that’s the thing!

  You have to live it, Tatiana, you hear me?

  You have to live it completely,

  thoroughly resolutely interminably even

  past the madness of the first few months.’

  ‘What madness?’

  ‘You know. At the beginning,

  when it feels like it just keeps

  growing and growing;

  but you know, even when it all stops –’

  ‘Stops?’

  ‘I mean the madness part.

  When you start

  feeling yourself again,

  and not just a big ball of desire,

  it just keeps getting better.

  The wonderful thing about really loving someone is that

  even

  when the first fires of passion have died

  even

  when the honeymoon is over

  even

  when you’re no longer head over heels

  – and yes, of course it’ll happen –

  you’ll be friends,

  you’ll build something durable and tender,

  a trust in each other;

  that’s not something your career will ever give you,

  so don’t even bother.

  I’m talking about something solid,

  that the two of you have built.

  From that moment on, you’re no longer living just

  for you,

  but for the other person too,

  and for the children that you’ll …’

  The children! thought Tatiana, with horror.

  No, seriously, Olga

  does not understand.

  ‘It’s not that kind of relationship,’ she replied,

  ‘I don’t think

  that’s what we have in mind.’

  Olga and Anthony smiled a complicit smile.

  ‘Not straight away, of course not; first you’ve got

  those months of passion, when everything is hot,

  but things will calm down eventually.’

  And suddenly Tatiana remembered the day –

  how long ago was it now?

  seven years?

  eight? –

  when Olga
had brought Anthony home after their third or

  fourth date,

  (he had more hair on his head then than now)

  and it’s true, they were – or at least they

  appeared –

  superficially, to those who don’t know, the way Tatiana knew,

  just how wild love is when it’s true –

  to be, well, in love

  (truly madly deeply, etc.)

  in almost the same way –

  let’s just say

  that the difference was not especially obvious

  to the naked eye –

  anyway, what I’m saying

  is that this love, between Anthony and Olga,

  did bear a certain resemblance,

  a little, at least, to what Tatiana

  felt now for Eugene.

  Of course, she could see now

  that it had been merely an illusion,

  a cheap imitation, the kind of affiliation

  celebrated in tacky Valentines;

  she could see now that Anthony’s sacrifice

  had been a huge mistake,

  that Olga’s pregnancy

  had been the end of everything,

  condemning them to decades

  of nightmarish evenings

  of Sisyphean boredom,

  him stuffing his belly, glued to the telly,

  her going through her list of Things To Do, stocking the

  (admittedly adorable) twins’ backpacks with snacks,

  but the strangest aspect

  of all this was that, back then,

  you never would have guessed

  that the love they shared was only phony –

  it seemed quite real – and stranger still, even

  now,

  even in the farcical fiasco

  of this mass-produced cheese chewed to the

  sound of the weather girl’s squeaking

  in the too-bright light

  of the living-room ceiling-lamp,

  in this excruciating state of existential

  famine,

  they did appear … happy odd, this –

  it seemed to Tatiana that they’d simply failed to

  notice

  that their lives consisted of opening tins of peas,

  teaching the girls to say ‘please’

  and picking up Lego from the carpet

  because shit it hurts when you stand on it

  don’t swear in front of the kiddies hun

  oops sorry sweetie pie

  oooooooohhhh I heard

  Daddy say a rude word

  Tatiana grabbed hold

  of her glass of wine

  to stop herself falling backwards,

  her Stark chair transformed to a rocking chair,

  the black and white tiles a skating rink,

  as she felt herself begin to slip and sink; no,

  I don’t believe it, it’s impossible,

  to go straight from the sublime to the ridiculous,

  from passionate lovemaking and transglobal backpacking

  to child-in-bed-tucking and Blu-tacking

  pictures

  to the wall

  in the hall,

  it’s impossible isn’t it

  after so much love and intensity

  to talk about the weather

  to be bored together

  bored together

  This phrase echoed in her brain like some sinister refrain

  heard long, long ago.

  It turned the blood to ice inside her veins.

  ‘we’d be bored together’ no

  it’s impossible

  She felt a bitter melancholy

  soaking through her,

  something between sadness and hate,

  as she remembered the origin of those fateful words,

  struggling against the weight

  of the past

  it’s impossible

  he was wrong not that not us it’s not possible

  well of course it is in fact, it’s even probable

  replied the sad refrain,

  you were warned, right from the start;

  it’s even inevitable.

  You’d be bored together, it’s irrefutable;

  and you know it. He told you before.

  But things have changed! We’ll be in love forever!

  No, Tatiana.

  The ending has already been written.

  You’ll be bored together.

  And while these memories marred and scarred her:

  ‘It’s worth every sacrifice,’

  continued Olga,

  ‘and you work too hard, you always have.

  You just keep working harder and harder;

  I know your work gives you satisfaction and

  your successes make you proud,

  but watch out for the excesses,

  Tatiana, you know you’re allowed

  to think about yourself at times too.

  Life doesn’t have to be a sad ballad.

  When it comes down to it,

  you have to live your life for you.

  Anyway, who wants the rest of the salad?’

  *

  She really had to get back home.

  Her flight left early the next day.

  ‘Well, let me know what happens,’ said Olga, ‘and I hope,’

  she added with a simper, ‘that you will introduce us to your

  boyfriend one day soon.’

  In desperation, after refusing the last piece of quiche,

  when Anthony went to the toilet,

  Tatiana attempted to reach

  out to what perhaps remained of the teenager

  Olga had once been:

  ‘Don’t you sometimes think your life would have

  been better with Lensky?’

  ‘Len-sky?’ repeated Olga, as if those two syllables had

  never before left her mouth,

  ‘What on earth made you ask that?’ And she laughed.

  It was laughable, after all.

  To ask a question like that! It was mad.

  It was sad –

  there were better topics with which to end an evening.

  Tatiana insisted:

  ‘I just think that back then when we were younger,

  it all seemed more intense, your feelings seemed

  stronger,

  bigger, truer, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘It’s funny you should say that,’ said Olga,

  ‘because just the other day –’

  she stood up –

  ‘I found my school journal –’

  she opened a drawer –

  ‘look, this is hilarious,

  look at what my friends wrote in this.’

  Tatiana looked. Page after page, day after day,

  between another bloody maths test

  and geography p.68

  English find definition of ‘Sunday best’

  were many impassioned messages, written in gold

  or glitter ink, or in those inks that were scented,

  but which had since lost all their scent,

  Olga I luv u so much best frenz forever

  (‘That was Philippine,’ said Olga,

  ‘you remember her?

  I have no idea what she’s up to now’)

  and hearts made up of lots and lots

  of coloured dots, stuck to the page,

  and vaguely manga-like sketches …

  Beatrice + Olga = amour toujours

  (Olga: ‘I have no memory of who Beatrice was’)

  The +++ gorgeous in the Cou-cou City Club

  ‘The name of that club means nothing at all to me.’

  Olga kept laughing.

  ‘Crazy, isn’t it? We must have been convinced,

  or at least a little part of us must have believed,

  that at fifteen years old we’d already discovered

  our best friends forever, our immortal lovers.

 
Don’t you think it’s sweet how important it all seemed?’

  But suddenly she grew serious again.

  ‘Lensky … Lensky …

  that’s a much sadder story, of course.

  You know what his tragedy was, poor boy,

  his big mistake? It was his blindness …

  you might almost say

  his madness …

  anyway, his total trust, his absolute faith,

  believing religiously

  in those feelings we wrote in four-colour biro in the break

  between History and Biology.

  Alas, poor Lensky.’

  Olga closed the diary, using a fingernail

  to smooth down a Linkin Park sticker

  that was coming unstuck,

  and whispered to Tatiana: ‘Look,

  you know, I do sometimes think

  about his death …

  you remember how devastated I felt?

  But not because I loved him. No. Don’t you see?

  It was because I’d never loved him, not really,

  not the way people can love. I mean, I did try,

  but I just never had it in me, and nor did he,

  for all his promises and poems,

  all his sky-high sentiments …

  The truth is: we were young, and we

  didn’t understand love yet, we had no idea,

  and he killed himself so stupidly,

  for a teenage crush.

  That’s what upsets me – even to this day –

  so much

  when I think about it: what a waste, what a shame,

  to kill yourself for a love not worth the name.’

  Moved by this memory,

  Olga dabbed with the corner of her sleeve

  at two tears as they ran down her cheek

  and, eyes red, nose very white,

  she hugged her little sister very tight

  as Tatiana tottered,

  lashed by a blizzard of cold grey words

  boredom waste teenage

  nothing promises boredom stupidly crush

  children sacrifice boredom

  Olga continued to hold her in her arms,

  comforting, warm, soft-skinned, full-breasted,

  and Tatiana, engulfed in her merino tube-sweater-dress,

  shivered,

  wondered if it was true, what Olga had said,

  if all passions were doomed to wither,

  if it was true that we’d be bored together,

  and all the while the scent of her sister filled her,

  a smell she knew so well:

  some Chanel,

  a costly one, dark yellow like amber.

  The same perfume as their mother’s.

  One that comes with experience.

  One with no citrus fruit in it,

  no hint of summer,

  no chance

  of an exit.

  *

  Not for a second had Eugene believed

  that Tatiana wouldn’t write to him while she was away.

 

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