We listened dutifully to the short speeches. Thankfully there weren’t many. Then he said, ‘perhaps we can escape from the plonk and have some decent wine.’ ‘Why not’, I said. I suppose I was curious to know him; a science lecturer who reads Hegel. Who else did he read? It would be nice to enjoy a different but relaxed chat.
We ended up in this small restaurant, simple, with good food. And the wine was fine. We didn’t talk about Hegel or students or colleagues though. He seemed to be somewhere else, totally. He talked about his experience when he was away to a meeting in another country; a boy on a motor-cycle was hit by a car. He went into the details, how the boy was thrown in the air, how he was crushed against the open gutter, and the blood. Then he started apologising. I was sitting there looking at him talking, watching the subtle changes in the skin on his face, how his hands moved, and the way he stared into the air as if he was talking to an invisible listener. Then he asked about me. This was so embarrassing. What could I tell him? That I lived alone? Big deal, so? Tell him that my parents separated ten years ago when I was a young girl? That I have completely lost contact with my father? I thought that the night was not going well! I asked:
‘Have you seen “Snakes never smile”?’
He laughed ‘Do you think I should have seen it?’
I said ‘Everyone talks about it.’
‘Maybe we could go see it together.’
I felt, in a strange way, at ease with him. He makes me think about books! I should take out and read again some of the books I haven’t read for some time. Have to say, the night actually did go well. We walked a bit and I managed to catch the last bus home. Oh, I just noticed, he didn’t say if he had seen the movie.
I remembered her when she jumped into the bus that night. She got in as it was moving away and I saw her going up the stairs.
I couldn’t continue with the reading. I left the notebook on the bookshelf, took my coat, grabbed the brolly and went out. The rain had turned into sleet. I had the corner bistro in mind. Its windows had steamed up as I entered but there weren’t many customers, only one table with a couple having coffee. It was still early for dinner but it felt good to be there. I had hoped to see a crowded bistro but I was happy to be in a warm place anyway. The Polish woman came over. She had a faint smile. ‘Good to see you again.’
‘Yes, I have been too busy with things.’
‘Would you like a coffee?’
‘No, not really, could I have a large whisky please? I would like to eat after that.’
‘Yes of course.’ She didn’t ask me if I wanted it on the rocks, with water or without. But she came back with a glass, a bottle, some water and some ice all separate. So I was in charge. I had never drunk there before. I poured myself a good portion of whisky and kept the glass in my hands to warm it up. The metal ice container had droplets of condensation on it which joined together and ran down its sides. I thought of the hospital where Kate was admitted. I started imagining as if I had gone there to visit her, the builders standing idle outside talking with their coffee cups in their hands facing the renovation work where a heap of cement, pieces of wood, some bricks and a cement mixer were spread out. I imagined coming out of the hospital there would be a small traffic jam because of the building stuff. I would wait there for a taxi. An old man would come out of a taxi slowly with the help of an old woman. His hands would be shaking and he would have a problem getting out. I would go closer but he would be out by the time I reach the taxi. He would look at me and smile: ‘thanks all the same,’ he would say. I would get into the taxi and say ‘the University please.’
As she was coming over to my table, I remembered the Polish woman’s name, Anita. She said, ‘are you ready to order?’
‘I love your soup.’
‘Yes, and anything else after?’
‘You choose something for me.’
She blushed.
‘I leave the whisky for you.’
‘Thanks.’
I still had some in the glass but I poured some more. The couple at the other table were laughing. I thought about the meeting and then Richard, the bus driver and then the flat and the coldness, the boiler. I had to do something about it. Then I thought of Carol and her Brazilian. Anita came with the soup.
The bowl was full nearly to the rim. I started to eat it as she talked:
‘I shall bring you something I prepared earlier; I hope you’d like it.’
‘I am sure I would.’
The couple at the next table were getting ready to leave. The woman was wrapping her woollen scarf around her neck. It was maroon with some small knitted woollen balls in grey. The man was tall, thin and had a flimsy dark blue jacket on. As they were leaving, she glanced at me with a satisfied look. The man seemed to be in a hurry.
Anita came with a plate of meat and boiled vegetable.
‘I hope you like this.’
I asked her:
‘Which town are you from?’
She said, ‘Lodz but that was a long time ago. I have been here for a long time, nearly 15 years now. I have my daughter you know.’
‘I couldn’t imagine you have a child and are married.’
‘Was. I left him and came here with my daughter. She was only one when I came over. I was lucky to find a job here in this shop. The owner is very good to me.’
I was relaxed after the whisky and the hot soup. I asked her to sit at the table and she did. We were now the only couple in the bistro.
‘I must say, this place is very homely. It doesn’t have a restaurant feel to it,’ I said.
‘I am glad to hear that….and John would love to know that too. If you tell him when he is in, he would be very happy. This shop is his life. For fifty years he has been running it, most of the time by himself with the odd help coming and going until I came. It was an afternoon and I just came in by chance; had no hope. Desperately needed a job having the kid and the money was running out fast. But it didn’t take him long to take me on. And I think I haven’t disappointed him. It is a matter of being at the right place at the right time don’t you think? I have been very lucky, in a way. No job, a one-year-old child, a foreign country! I don’t know how I did it, leaving my town like that. I think I was haunted.’
I looked at her as she spoke. I thought she was 35 but looked older with the wrinkles at the corner of her eyes.
‘I couldn’t have guessed that you had a 16-year-old daughter.’
‘She looks older, wiser than her age too.’
‘Has she got it from her mother?’
She blushed.
‘I thought I was wise when I came here to study. But I couldn’t. That wasn’t wise.’
‘But what happened?’
Three young men in business suits came in and Anita stood up.
‘Sorry.’
And she went to direct them to a table. All tables were neatly decorated with a small glass vase and a couple of paper carnations.
Soon after that another couple and then another couple came in. Anita had put a nostalgic old song on the CD player behind the counter. It mixed with the hum of the crowd. I had another sip of my drink, put money on the table and left while she was in the kitchen.
13
Next day I had to go to my office early in the morning to finish off some backlog by 10:30 a.m. I left my flat at 7:30 and walked fast to the bus stop. Round the corner, Anita was busy talking to a customer. I arrived at my office at 8:30 and started working. I worked without interruption for nearly two hours. Then I thought to have coffee in the usual place and return to go to my research group meeting. I went through my movements for the day while having a rushed coffee as if having it was part of the ‘dos’ of the day.
It was getting late for my meeting. I paid for the coffee and rushed to the meeting. My group was already in the room. I sat next to a new researcher who had started in my team three months ago. She had long curly hair and a full face. There were six others around the table; two were away at a conference. I
thought that with three more to come there will be twelve of them. It would be good to keep the numbers I thought; here’s not a case of bums on seats, it is a group of people trying to discover something new.
‘Who do you think you’re kidding,’ Kate would’ve said. I felt upset having that image in my mind. I thought, I don’t need to apologise for my thinking, I have good intentions, I am enthusiastic about my team and if others have a problem with that then tough! Others? Do I consider Kate as others? Surely! If she doesn’t understand what I say, what I think, then she is an outsider. But this defeats the issue! I am proving her right! I am sitting among my supporters – and that is debatable too – and I am saying that other people’s opinions are irrelevant. This is exactly what she would have said about me, arguing about!
Our meeting went well. Reports were mainly on target. Some with short delays and some a little ahead. I went to my office, had a sandwich while working. I had four courses to teach and one was in ten minutes. I grabbed the transparencies and rushed to the lecture room. I arrived before the start and was pleased about it. I could have an informal chat with some of the students before starting. But there was only one girl sitting there deep into her lecture notes trying to extract something, and then they came in dribs and drabs and all late. I waited ten minutes as they were coming in. There were twenty-three students eventually.
It was a day of doing nothing in particular, there was no pressure but I was exhausted. As soon as I arrived home I went straight to bed. It had gone just after seven. I knew Carol would come in at some point and it wouldn’t be a good sleep but I didn’t expect not being able to go to sleep at all. Yes, it was unusual for me to go to bed at that time and like that with no food and no drinks even. But I felt low and I couldn’t put my finger on the reason. I was uneasy, worried even, and there was nothing to be worried about. Then I thought about Kate, her pale skin and the way she talked, the way she discussed with passion. I got off the bed and went to the sitting room. It was cold. I took the notebook, sat on the sofa and started to read it:
We had an argument. I don’t know how it started. I was ready for a good afternoon coffee with him, to relax a bit, just for a break. The air in the library was too stuffy and he had not phoned but as I was going for coffee by myself he rang. I was so happy to hear his voice! But from the start he was fidgety. I suppose he was in a bad mood and wanted to vent his anger somehow. He didn’t say much about work but I knew he was irritated about something. I just don’t know what I said exactly but it was something like: ‘Sometimes one has to make sacrifices’. I wanted to console him. It was just an innocent remark. He interrupted me abruptly: ‘what do you mean? Do you suggest to suppress what one really thinks, what one really desires, for someone else’s satisfaction even if you believe he is wrong? How can you say that? If that’s the case, then what is the meaning of your existence? You might as well forget about it, about your beliefs! Be one without any principles!’
‘I just wanted to say…’ I said.
‘What? What could you say? That it is in the nature of Man to be forgiving? I am sick and tired of all that tripe! And we are fed it everyday…continuously. It is not even force feeding! We just eat it and feel satisfied. But this sort of junk does not alleviate my hunger. We are fed with this tripe by the sanctimonious and what they do in reality is something else. Just open your eyes to see what happens around you!’
I was in a daze. What was the big deal, why was he so animated, I didn’t know. But I also liked him for it; his passion was so much in contrast with the sleepy stuffy library atmosphere. Then I felt a sense of mischief and I enjoyed it. I said:
‘And what is the big deal? You think you have discovered something?’ Suddenly I thought that if I continue on this line, I will enter a different phase with him but I had started and there was no stopping:
‘Those books that you read are full of these sentences. They remain as sentences…rigid… and so do you! If you are so much against sacrifice, why do you spend your valuable time with a bunch of disenchanted boring students who don’t know what they want in their meagre lives? Look at them with their mobiles, their outfits, their … I don’t know what! Is it not a sacrifice wasting your days hoping for a change? If this is not a sacrifice then it is stupidity living like this with a heavy bag on your shoulder, practically! Is it your cross? Are you paying back for the sins you committed by being born?’
I was furious. I know I had gone too far but I could not stop myself. Maybe it was because I expected to have a good, relaxed coffee and that I had ended up with a man in a bad mood! Maybe I was angry with myself that I was unable to calm him, to create a good atmosphere; even worse I had inflamed the situation! He put his hand under his chin and looked at me. He had suddenly gone quiet. He had a sip of coffee.
‘Do you know? Prometheus did not bring fire for Man because he was tired of Gods. He didn’t do it because he felt sorry for Man’s ignorance. He did it just because he liked to do it. The fire was not his cross, it was his extension!’ he said.
Then he stood up with the cup in his hand, had a quick sip, left the cup on the table and left!
I sat there and looked at the pavement. The students were coming over. Their classes had finished. Soon the coffee shop would be inundated by them. I came out. I walked to the bank to cash some money. Then I went back to the office.
I poured some whisky for myself and continued from another page:
So this is it. Something I always feared. A fear I couldn’t place, I was never sure of the reason for my unease and now, I know. The doctor was very professional. I saw him early, 8 in the morning, before going to work. I suppose he saw several more patients before he went for his coffee; like us. We see students coming with their requests and problems. We all gather in the coffee room unless we decide to go out for coffee as I have recently done. Such a pleasant deviation for me; only for a short period. And the period will be cut short!
The doctor said:
‘I am afraid I have bad news.’
Do they practise for sentences to use? Do they learn them from TV programmes? They are so lousy doing it. But I only remember some of his words. I suppose he talked quite a bit.
‘Still, all is not lost. There should be some time, you can enjoy life day by day.’
So it is just a matter of days, not months not years. Perhaps I should be grateful. The agony will be short.
I came out of the clinic. There was a cold wind. I didn’t need to worry about catching a cold now. I had something superior! Now, how do I continue? I didn’t tell anyone of the scare, that I had gone to see the specialist, that I had to go through the usual rigmarole of samples and tests and waiting. But it is over today. Now I have to think. What am I saying? Now it is the time to forget about thinking. I can do anything I want. It is a freedom to be cherished, not to forget! I can give my notice. They will say why! And I can give them any answer I liked. ‘Oh, my rich uncle died!’ A running joke for all to laugh at. I can go out and kill someone, Oh, not only one, several. As many as I can before I get killed or detained. ‘Why did you do that?’ they will ask, ‘why does an obedient, silent, responsible respectable young librarian kill people?’ It will be a hay-day for the journalists, for the newspapers. ‘Oh, I just did it because I felt like it, because I wanted to experience how it feels, because I wanted to see what Albert Camus had in mind when he was writing…’
No, I haven’t told anyone about it. Perhaps I should. Do I need people’s sympathy? David talks about the miserable state of those who love to show that they sacrifice everything, those eternal martyrs, those who continue living just to see people admiring them for their ‘courage’. But I cannot continue to live! I just see no reason to advertise my state! I don’t see myself killing people either. And I still love my work! But there isn’t much left of me now. The best way to accustom myself to having to leave is perhaps to go on a trip. I can get six months, a year off, go around the world. Yes! I might even be able to trick the trickster!<
br />
Another page:
Yes I was always afraid of a catastrophe. Now I am in it, I live with it, live! And now I am not afraid at all. I can be drugged; I will be drugged as they see me going through the procedure. It is like anything else really. Buy a ticket, cash or credit? Go onto the platform, wait for the train, wait for people to alight first, then get into the train; as you are going in, eye the seats, is there a seat available? Is there one that you prefer? And soon there will be the time to get off, prepare yourself for it, stand up before the train reaches the station.
So they will increase the dose as we go; now I feel the pain, now I don’t. And then there will be the big dose as a matter of routine.
The basil pot in the kitchen needs water.
14
It was the semester break. There was a relaxed feeling walking with Kate knowing that we had plenty of time going to bookshops, flicking through books, going for a drink, seeing a light movie and being together without rushing. She saw a pretty clean, as if untouched, book: ‘Death of the myth’. I didn’t know the author. I didn’t know the book. She bought it and we moved to the bar nearby. It was crowded with cinema goers, art lovers and tourists; now that I think about it, it was a strange combination. I got a couple of drinks and just before sitting down she said:
‘The fact that someone claims the death of something, it means that it exists or at least it has existed at some point in time. And if time is an illusion… if time does not exist… then it means that that something exists anyway.’
I said:
‘Then by your own logic, if you say that time does not exist, it means that it has existed, at least at some point! This means that time does exist. And if time exists, then we can claim death!’
It was a point of potential argument and serious disagreement but we laughed. It was a rare occasion when we did not continue a discussion, we started looking at other people in the pub and tried to guess who does what and what each couple’s relationship was, how they would behave in private and in public. Then somehow we started again talking about the death of heroes, the death of God, the death of ideas, ideologies, and it was all fun talking about a concept sparked in us by the name of a book, second-hand but shiny, revived after perhaps a long stay in an outdoors second-hand bookshelf.
Between Cups of Coffee Page 7
