“That’s sweet of dear Eliza, but I already made up my mind. I am marrying you tonight.”
“Okay. Me, too. Same here. I totally concur with your assessment. So we are formally engaged to be married. What a relief! Let’s shake hands on that, so it’s a done deal.”
Farfalla extended her hand and allowed it to be shaken.
“You know something?” said Gavin, dropping his hand. “This is a moment of triumph for us. You and me, by getting engaged like this, we’ve achieved something great. For us, an engagement is practically the same as marriage in itself, since, because we’re Futurists, we’re sure to go through with the ceremony.”
“That’s just how I feel about it, too,” nodded Farfalla. “Like my parents say, the marriage is just the empty formality. We could do that silly paperwork while we’re asleep.”
“Exactly. High time we get that formal marriage hurdle out of our path ahead. Because — as two serious Futurists, you and me? — we need to look right past theso-called ‘happiest day of our lives.’ Rice, flowers, a rapturous wedding night, that kind of hokum is strictly for amateurs. We need to get ahead of that curve and work hard on our ‘living-ever-after’ angle. You can’t compare the brief period of one wedding day to whole decades of our life together.”
“That’s just what I was going to tell you!” said Farfalla. “Now, that we’re formally engaged, well, we’re practically married already. See — just because you marry me... that doesn’t prove that you are my One.”
“Oh ,” said Gavin. “Yeah. That’s always the core for you, huh? Marrying some guy just because he loves you. That’s for the loser girls.”
“It’s because,” said Farfalla, “in a voodoo curse story, it always seems that life will be fine... beautiful, wonderful, the happy ending... a wedding day, songs, flowers... But then, there is some twist of words, and that’s when the awful tragedy strikes!”
“Can’t you be my awful tragedy? Maybe this story is all about my tragedy. Did that possibility even occur to you?”
“Yes, yes, of course, I foresee your tragedy!” Farfalla yelped. “I worry about you all the time — I obsess about you! While you were lost, and wandering around this town... doing whatever silly thing you think you were doing... and taking forever to find me... I had so much time to worry and fret! Is my story my tragedy? Your tragedy? What about the One who really loves me? What about him? That’s the part you never understand! Because my One is sure to show up, in our future life! That is fated, it’s certain, it’s foretold! But, I will be married to you!”
“Oh, come on, come on,” scoffed Gavin. “What kind of lousy creep shows up out of the blue, and breaks up a nice, long-term relationship?” He paused. “Mmm. Yeah... Well...”
“I always thought I would marry my One,” said Farfalla. “But, I’m probably much too wicked to marry my true love. Instead, I will live with you. Because, well, I have a devil inside, and I sure have a lot more dirty fun with you. If I married my One, I’d just be living ‘happy ever after’. With you around, I’m like a witch with jet engines.”
“Interesting image there,” said Gavin.
“Maybe that sounds silly.”
“Not at all. ‘A witch with jet engines,’ that sounds precisely like Carla Bruni in Italy, Sarah Palin in the USA, and Dilma Rousseff in Brazil. I’m figuring you’re one of a type there.”
“That’s because I am marrying you. I will be paranormal. And you’ll be my husband.”
Gavin watched a set of dirty pigeons scull across the maroon-colored, polluted urban skyline. “I like this new, inventive, farsighted way you’re approaching our issues,” he said. “Weird stuff like this never even occurs to me, when I contemplate our married life. Mostly, I just forecast our fantastic newlywed sex.”
“Gavin, we need to make plans. If you’re not my One, then my One will appear, in the future. You and I, we’ll have to fix that emergency. We will have to get rid of my One. Somehow.”
“We have to ‘get rid of him?’” Gavin said, delicately.
“I didn’t tell you to kill him!” said Farfalla. “Or to poison him. Or put a voodoo curse on him and drive him slowly insane. It’s just that we need to outguess him. And that’s tricky. Black magic is always very tricky.”
Gavin said nothing.
“This black magic problem in our marriage is all my fault, really,” said Farfalla. “I tried so hard to save you from this occult curse that haunts my life. Well, it’s too late for you now. We’re practically married, and there’s no going back.”
“Listen to you carry on!” Gavin scoffed. “We don’t have to stuff some guy in your cannibal pot! Even if your One does show up, and your One really does love you — who’s to say your One is not some gay guy?”
“What?”
“Maybe your One is ninety years old! Maybe your One is in a wheelchair! Maybe your One has cerebral palsy, or he lost both his legs in a war! You never think outside the box, do you?”
Farfalla looked stunned. “But that’s horrible! I always thought my One would be handsome, and strong, and perfect for me in all ways! How can you think that way, how can you say that? That’s so disgusting.”
Gavin struggled with the hot flush of rage creeping up his neck. “Look,” he said, “please don’t get me wrong here. You know I’m very jealous when it comes to you, all right? That’s a flaw, but that is my nature. You inspire me with a mad passion, and if you ever have an affair, I will build a giant Trojan horse and I will kill everyone in your town. But, well... your One, I’ll probably let him survive. Your ‘One,’ I feel sorry for that guy. Because he will have suffered.”
“I wish you would stop doing that,” said Farfalla. “Stop hacking my romantic narrative! Nobody else does that to me. It’s so geeky.”
“I’m just trying to think ahead,” said Gavin.
“No, you are not! Your ‘think-ahead stories’ never help me think about the future! They’re not even witty and funny! They’re just angry, subversive and weird! It’s like you have a compulsion.”
Gavin began to smolder. “Let’s get this straight- you have the compulsion. You have this compulsion to always go for the very darkest, kinkiest, most tortured situation! The kind where love always hurts.”
“But, that’s how real love really is!”
“Okay, fine. Yes, that is true, Farfalla. Exactly true. ‘Imagine a number of men in chains, all under sentence of death, some of whom are each day butchered in the sight of the others. Those remaining see their own condition in that of their fellows, and looking at each other with grief and despair await their turn. This is an image of the human condition.’”
“You really frighten me when you talk like that.”
“Woman, you can dish it out, but you can’t take it. A French philosopher said that four hundred years ago. Men have feelings too, okay? You can’t see that there’s a raw despair under every human narrative! All of them, even the love stories. All! ‘The heart has its reasons that Reason knows nothing of.’”
Gavin’s phone bleeped merrily.
“Can’t you get rid of that thing?” said Farfalla, scowling.
“I’m expecting a call from my dad,” he told her.
“Oh. Oh, well, that is the worst! You and your father! No wonder you’re suffering! No wonder you’re so impossible today.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” he said. “In these two weeks, while I was hunting all over for you, there have been some big business developments, here in Brazil. My dad’s business deal, with the chips, with the jets — I’m finally about to make that business happen. I’m about to make a lot of money. In Seattle, I can barely hold my own in tech business. Here in Sao Paulo, I’ve got the mojo. Brazil is strange... No, that’s not true — Sao Paulo is normal. It’s Seattle that’s strange.”
“Oh,” she said, “it hasn’t been two weeks. We haven’t been apart two weeks. I would have died of loneliness.”
Gavin put his phone away. “Let’s not fuss about the date
on our wedding day. This is our wedding day, let it fall where it wants.”
She took his hand. They lurked and dodged and shuffled through a pitch-black stairwell. Somehow, they came out the far side of it.
“Every time we climb another story in this tower — things get a little clearer to me,” said Gavin. He kicked sticky clots of rotten gunk off his shoes. “It’s like I’m shedding layers of illusion. I am approaching a higher plane.” He coughed. “Does that sound goofy? I’m losing my mind, am I right?”
“You would be goofy in Seattle or Italy. Here, you are realistic.”
“There must be some grand reason that we are climbing a haunted derelict castle in a slum. This must be part of some huge story, which is bigger than your story, and bigger than my own. It signifies that there is some tremendous future purpose we have, as a couple. Yes, I can see that now. Because now that I’m at this tremendous visionary height, I’m in mental command of all reality.”
She looked at him with pity. “Gavin, I live up here. I’m on this higher spiritual plane all the time.”
“I’ve scarcely known you for four months! Imagine when we’ve been married for years! Imagine when we’ve build some kind of daily routine for ourselves. When we’ve created our own future way of life! Farfalla, people should start running away from us right now! A pair of married neutron bombs would be less scary than us.”
“Has it really been only four months?” Farfalla started counting on her fingers. “Let me see, I met you on October 16, and...”
“We will become a star couple. We’re sure to be global celebrities, at the very least. We’re bound to become a world-famous couple, don’t you think? We’re paranormal and know the future, for heaven’s sake.”
“Oh, celebrity life, what a silly idea,” said Farfalla, dropping her hands. “To be a celebrity couple, in Italy. Idiots follow you around all the time, you’re insulted in the tabloids... That’s so degrading!”
“You’re totally right about that,” said Gavin. “I love Italy, but that paparazzi stuff really chews on the nerves.”
“And in Seattle, the famous people are so dull! Never one speck of fun. I would never want to be a famous couple in Seattle. The ‘Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation.’ Oh, Dio mio, what a bore.”
“Well, that would leave us with Brazil,” said Gavin. “Our future as a massively famous, well-connected, forward-thinking celebrity couple. In Brazil.”
“Pietro and Lina Bo Bardi,” said Farfalla.
“Who are they?”
“Well, they are dead. But they were just what you said. Exactly. They were Italian, but they lived in Brazil. A famous, influential, very classy, forward-thinking couple. Two married foreigners. Always very trendy.”
“Could we live like that? You and me?”
“Me? Me, be like Lina Bo Bardi?” Farfalla tugged at her hair. “Me, be like Lina? Yes! I knew her. My dad knew her, because she was an architect. Sure, I could swan around in my Pucci robes and play like I’m Lina Bo Bardi. Madonna, that would be such a picnic!”
Gavin stopped where he stood. He stared into the open air. “Hey, look over there. There he is! He’s standing there in his apartment! His curtains are open now.”
“Who is that?”
“That’s my host here in Sao Paolo! My new best-friend-forever, this accountant who’s been putting me up in his cool new castle, right over there. I bet — if you and I had been in there with his broadband connection, instead of this rotten skeleton of a ghostly junkyard, we would have signed-and-sealed that business deal two weeks ago.”
Farfalla followed his gaze. Her legs were trembling with fatigue, or with fear. “Your friend lives in such a nice new building. It is so high-tech and fancy.” She paused. “It would be so sweet to live in there, and not here.”
“That guy has all kinds of cool social contacts,” said Gavin. “He was such a fan of mine, too — he saw my panels at the Futurist event. Nicest guy you could ever meet! Knows all kinds of inside dope about the local urban politics — a fascinating character!”
“What is his name?” said Farfalla. “He must be famous.”
“Oh, he’s got one of those long Brazilian names, that rambles on forever, Something da-Something da-Something... I’m looking right through his window now! He’s got everything in there, and we’ve got nothing, but from up here, we could practically spit on him! I can’t believe his name has skipped my mind somehow. It’ll come back to me. He’s got this sexy girlfriend, who looks like a younger Michelle Obama.”
“How long were you in there with him?” said Farfalla. “It took you forever for you to find me.”
“It didn’t take me forever.”
“Yes, it did. Without you, every day felt like a year.”
“Look, I can settle this right now. Accountants are great at counting. We met in Capri on October 16, 2009, then we parted forever, then we got back together here on January 16 of the next decade, and today is February the 15th, twenty-ten.”
“No, it isn’t,” said Farfalla. “This is Thursday, February 5, because the repeats of ‘Xica da Silva’ are always on Thursdays, and I just saw that program. It was the most famous episode, the one where Xica wears her pink silk dress to the slavemasters’ ball.”
Gavin’s cellphone beeped again. He pulled it out, and spoke Italian into it. “Look,” he said, “my phone screen here states it’s February 15. Beat that for hard evidence.”
“Well, my birthday is Saturday, February 14, because I’m an Aquarian. I wouldn’t forget my own birthday, Gavin. Your phone is broken.”
“No way! Maybe we kinda fight a lot, but we can’t disagree on the date! A date is a matter of solid scientific fact, it’s not some goofy opinion! There are, like, atomic clocks in Colorado that keep track of all that stuff.”
“Well, you’re wrong about that anyway — no matter how atomic you are.”
“If we were standing anywhere, but inside this completely spooky place,” said Gavin, “I would pick a major fight with you about this. Your attitude is impossible sometimes. But... you know what? I can’t even remember how long we’ve been climbing these goddamn stairs. Every time we go inside those dark spaces, I can’t believe we will ever find our way out again.”
Farfalla spoke in a small voice. “Maybe you really are living in the middle of February, and I really am living ten days in your past.”
“You mean that we finally got together... and we both really want to be together... and even want to get married, today… but we’re together here on the wrong day?”
“Well,” said Farfalla, “who can live in the future? Who is truly ahead of our time? Is it Brazil, or America? Not to mention Italy...”
“That’s the freakiest thing I ever heard! That takes the cake! We can’t live together ten days separated in time! That is crazy! How would we kiss on New Years? How would our kids ever get a play date? That’s, like, worse than a restraining order!”
Farfalla put her arms around him. She held him tight. “I love you. I won’t let you go.”
“Are we really mixed-up with time travel now?” Gavin demanded. “Are you serious? Time travel is the wackiest stunt in the whole world! Time travel completely wrecks all rational cause-and-effect! We’re stuck in an Einsteinian time warp! If we’re time-travelling, we’re completely screwed!”
“Why? Let’s travel in time! You’re still here in my arms. I still love you.”
“Sure you do, but as soon as we leave the voodoo limbo of this unbuilt building, we’ll be straight into Schroedinger’s catbox! I’ll never see you again!”
“Oh,” wailed Farfalla, “don’t say bad omens!”
“Voodoo magic is like weak tea compared to a stunt like time travel!” said Gavin. “Time travel, my God! Well, cookie, this one is all my fault. I admit that. I used to fantasize about time travel, all the time. Time travel was always my secret dream. There’s not one techno-futurist in the world who doesn’t drool in his beard about time travel. Even though time trav
el is totally the most far-out, mystical, self-indulgent, fantasy schlock of all time.”
“Gavin, what on Earth are you talking about?”
“My God, I feel so ashamed of myself... I totally lost my grip, that’s what. I got techno-delusional. And now, look at us.”
“But, you haven’t done anything bad! All you did was come up here to find me. And you did, you found me, look, you are my hero, here you are, I’m so glad.”
“It’s good of you to say that,” said Gavin, “but let’s be honest. All right? Yes, you’re a priestess and a prophetess, who can foretell the future. I admit that, for a while, at first, I was uncool with that. Back when I first met you. Because it kinda clashed with my strictly materialist, cause-and-effect, rational philosophy. But Good Lord, like time travel doesn’t do that? My time travel is ten times worse than your occultist hokum!”
“What?”
“Look, it’s not some dealbreaker for me that you recite spells in Latin and you can conjure up ghosts. Given that we are gonna be man and wife, I’m prepared to overlook the small stuff! Time travel, though, that obliterates all the laws of physics! I mean, compared to that, your sweet little psychic nonsense is adorable.”
“That’s good of you,” said Farfalla, humbly. “You’ll never know how much of a curse that is for me.”
They crawled and staggered up another flight of pitch-black stairs. Farfalla led the way.
“Do you feel okay on this level?” said Farfalla, turning her big lamplight eyes up to him.
“No, I don’t feel okay,” Gavin told her. “Not okay at all. I feel completely freaked-out now. Every time we climb higher in this building, I can feel something stripping away from me. It’s getting very clean inside me now. And it’s bright. Too bright. It’s like being bathed in acid.”
“Let’s sit down for a little bit,” said Farfalla. “Just sit down here with me, and do some deep breathing. You’ll get over it.”
Love Is Strange (A Paranormal Romance) Page 40
