Between Cups of Coffee

by Tajalli Keshavarz

  ‘So how’s the young lady of adventurous travels?’ he said with a camp accent.

  ‘Marvellous, couldn’t be better, I’m off in a couple of weeks.’

  ‘And when will we see you again?’

  ‘Who knows, start praying!’ Carol laughed.

  ‘I shall remain sleepless darling! And who is this young man? He will be shattered without you!’

  ‘This is Professor Hardag.’

  ‘Oh, my! A professor! How did that happen?’

  I said, ‘things happen, some have the wrong genes!’

  ‘Thank you darling, you are on my side! I keep on telling my mom but she still accuses me of depriving her of grandmotherhood! Do you want to see my mom? After all, this lady is vanishing! So why not be generous? Make a mother and son happy!’

  ‘I am against charity.’

  ‘And why?’ He had a sip of a pink drink and continued:

  ‘It is very fashionable these days. You might get a promotion too!’

  ‘I am afraid it doesn’t appal to me.’

  ‘Then you must see my mom. She must appeal to you. I will order her!’ He laughed and moved away.

  ‘I can see we are going to enjoy it tonight,’ I said.

  ‘Would I take you somewhere boring? Now, I am going to mingle. Do you want me to introduce you to anyone?’

  ‘No thank you, I am quite OK. If I feel left out, I will ask the charitable boy for help.’

  ‘I am sure he would be more than happy to oblige. He is ever so nice.’

  I stood by the table where the snacks were spread. I had no interest in talking to people but was in a happy mood. There was a couple standing next to me.

  ‘We could have gone to a movie,’ the guy said.

  ‘Why? Don’t you like it here?’ the girl said.

  ‘Not particularly.’

  ‘But you can meet lots of people.’

  ‘I would have preferred for us to be alone.’

  ‘We’ll have plenty of time for that; don’t be like this, let’s enjoy it.’

  ‘I am enjoying it, just that I thought we would have enjoyed it more had we been alone.’

  She was facing him but then turned towards me and smiled.

  ‘Hello, I am Amanda.’

  ‘Hi, David.’

  ‘Oh, this is David too, my fiancé, we are getting married next month.’

  ‘Congratulations. Have you been together long?’

  ‘Yes,’ the girl said, ‘we have been together for a year now, nearly.’

  ‘It is a nice party; do you know many people here?’ I asked.

  ‘Not really, just Robert. He is an old friend of mine, really, we were brought up together, we were neighbours. And you?’

  ‘No, I came with a friend who knows people here.’

  We stood there for a couple of minutes. The man did not say a word.

  I was getting bored. I needed fresh air. Carol was laughing away with a couple of boys on the other side of the room. I slipped out; out on the street there was a sharp blast of cold air. As I started to walk down the long narrow street, I warmed up. Was I getting old and intolerant? Why did I keep condemning myself for what I was, for what I was becoming? Yes, I would have mingled with people a couple of years ago, perhaps even a couple of months ago. But so what? Am I to be blamed because I didn’t want to stay and talk about the couple’s wedding preparations? I thought I might have been intrigued by them on another occasion; it all depends on one’s mood. Yes, I liked that logic but then it was obvious to me that I was in a peculiar mood these days.

  ‘You didn’t help that boy, you know, Richard; you didn’t go to the hospital to see Kate, you didn’t even phone her. You don’t like talking with your colleagues much: take Ian. You didn’t even want to talk with Anita! Don’t you think that you are behaving like one who has decided his time is over?’

  I didn’t like my train of thought. I started to walk faster. As I was turning into another street, I bumped into a man. ‘Watch it! Can’t you see?’ he said.

  He was a very well dressed middle-aged man with a serious face.

  ‘I am sorry.’

  ‘You think that’s enough?’

  I didn’t say anything and started to move on but he stopped me.

  ‘Wait a minute, you think you can walk so carelessly and then expect nothing to happen? Not even to receive a notice?’

  ‘But I said I was sorry! You seem OK,’ I said.

  ‘Hah, I am OK but am not sure about you. You look to me like a desperate man in search of anything in the air. Watch where you go!’

  Then he walked away. I never thought I would be shaken by a silly accident like that, but I was. I just couldn’t continue. I thought to take a taxi and go home but I felt that I couldn’t face being alone in the flat; there was no taxi in sight in that street anyway. I turned back and hurried to the party. When I arrived back, the two couples were standing together arguing and Carol was still at the other side of the room. I found my way to her. She looked at me: ‘Where have you been hiding? I wanted you to meet my gorgeous friends.’ She introduced two men to me. I couldn’t register their names. They were both in their early thirties with imposing shoulders and had one hand in their pockets, another hand holding a drink.

  ‘What do you do?’ one asked.

  ‘I teach science,’ I said.

  ‘Interesting.’

  I thought he was insulting. I was about to move on but Carol stopped me: ‘David! This is the man who introduced me to Fernando.’

  ‘So he is the culprit.’

  ‘I am so thankful to him.’

  I was getting angry.

  ‘Do you do this sort of thing very often?’ I asked him.

  ‘What?’

  He was looking somewhere else.

  ‘Do you like to bring people together? Are you a matchmaker?’

  ‘You might say that; actually I have my own Estate Agency.’

  ‘I see! Once an agent, always an agent! And here you’ve been the agent of love, cupid!’

  I hated my sentences. I don’t know why I had engaged in that sort of dialogue. The other boy said to Carol, ‘I see you have a colourful friend!’

  ‘Oh! I love him to bits but he doesn’t see me. His eyes are glued to Eastern European greenery!’

  ‘What rubbish,’ I said and I wouldn’t let go. I turned to the estate agent:

  ‘I wonder how come you haven’t found Carol a nice flat. She has been looking for nearly six months.’

  ‘She doesn’t need a flat of her own; she needs a man that goes with the flat, preferably a house. So I told her I had one but she had to travel to South America to claim occupancy.’

  ‘I see! And what is your rate?’

  He just ignored me and said:

  ‘This is a lovely party, don’t you think so?’

  Carol said:

  ‘Yes, nice friends, good atmosphere,’ and she looked at me:

  ‘I need a top-up. David, would you be an angel? My Bacchus?’

  I couldn’t wait to go. I made my way through the crowd. When I came back, she was talking with some other people. I gave her the drink but didn’t stay with her. She seemed to have preferred it too. But then this man with a glass of wine in his hand came towards me. ‘I noticed you are with Carol,’ he said.

  ‘Well, in a way.’

  ‘I adore her, you are a lucky man.’

  ‘Not that lucky, we live in the same flat, she is leaving.’

  ‘Oh, you are separating? I am sorry.’

  He didn’t seem sorry at all.

  ‘Don’t be, and we are not separating, it is not like that. We are friends; she is going to Brazil for good,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, why?’

  ‘There is always another man! But you should ask her not me; anyway how do you know her?’

  ‘She wouldn’t remember but we were at the same school.’

  ‘An old flame then?’

  He remained silent. Then he said: ‘She was podgy then, she was
a real heart throb.’

  ‘And many of them were successful I suppose.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know, wouldn’t like to think that way.’ He paused, then he said:

  ‘It is a strange feeling, after so many years.’

  ‘Why don’t you go talk to her?’

  ‘Me? No, no!’

  ‘But why not?’

  ‘No!’

  I was surprised to see a man of his age, mid-thirties, to be so shy. He even blushed for a second. I suppose he was still living in the days of his early youth. He was still trapped in those days of walking to school with his heavy bag, with his mother or father at his back all the time. His mind had gone back to the times when a smile, a kind gesture that he thought was meant for him would remain with him for a while until he would find out that it was just an expression without significance. He had hoped for discrimination, but it was a world of equal opportunities, and this was a game he wasn’t prepared for or perhaps wasn’t made for. So he had gone back to the days when he went to school with sleepy eyes and unkempt hair. He had become more silent; more reserved and had heard his parents talking about him: ‘Do you think he is ill or something?’

  ‘No, can’t be.’

  ‘Perhaps he is taking something.’

  ‘Oh, God, I hope not.’

  And he had kept his silence, this time as revenge against them, against the girl with the generous smile, against the whole world around him. After all, how could his parents think like that about him? Him taking something! Perhaps he should! But he wasn’t interested; at the time he would have reasoned that he didn’t have the guts for any radical action. He had established in his mind that he was a wimp. So how could he do anything properly, effectively? He had become increasingly reserved, and this was a cosy state of affairs. He had created a picture of himself that others had accepted. He was shy, dreamy, absent minded and studious. He studied all the time to achieve just better than average marks. This way, everybody was happy. And he had kept Carol’s image in a hidden corner for himself. He would refer to her image from time to time and particularly when he felt lonelier than usual.

  ‘So what do you do for living?’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, I work in a bank. I am an accounts analyst.’

  I thought about the life he could have had with Carol! Him and her! This was an absurd picture. Him, coming home with a bunch of flowers bought from the station and kept carefully not to be crushed in the rush hour train; and her… cooking food? No, no! He would go home and start cooking, hoping for a day that his wife permitted him to become a proud father. Then he would take the child to his parents on Sundays to tell them, ‘look, this is your grandson, from a boy you thought was a junkie!’

  I smiled at the thought, I felt jolly! Perhaps it was the depth of religion in me saying, ‘look, it was for the best that they didn’t get together; what a misery it would have been. Whatever comes is good. There is a divine logic in it!’

  But then, immediately, I cringed. I started despising myself. I felt Kate standing next to me saying: ‘I told you, you and all your pretence about your love for Nietzsche! Deep inside you are superstitious.’

  I walked out of the party for the second time. This time I stopped outside the main door of the block of flats on the ground floor, waiting for a taxi to come. I knew it was too much wishful thinking to expect a free taxi to come this way, but I had no intention of walking to the underground station; I didn’t want to take the same route that I had taken earlier either. I stood there outside the heavy door for about ten minutes I think, then the door opened and Amanda, the future bride, came out. The bridegroom-to-be was not with her. I said, ‘coming out for fresh air?’

  ‘No, I’ve had enough,’ her face was red and her hands were trembling. She took a cigarette out of her handbag and lit it, ‘I’ve had enough.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Nothing new! Are you waiting for someone?’

  ‘No, I’m just hoping to catch a taxi.’

  ‘What? Here? Now?’

  ‘I know it’s unlikely but I didn’t feel like walking to the station.’

  ‘Come on, I’ll take you, I have a car.’

  ‘That’s kind of you, what about the lucky groom?’

  ‘He might be out of luck! Actually, I can do with talking to someone. What about a drink somewhere?’

  ‘Fine, yes. I am not in a hurry.’

  We ended up in this pub with a warm atmosphere. She looked nicer now sitting the other side of the table than standing next to her future husband in the party. Her face was relaxed and was even attractive.

  ‘Tell me David, you said you were with a friend.’

  ‘Yes, she is having a good time right now.’

  ‘So you just left her there like that?’

  ‘It isn’t that catastrophic, she knows her way back! Anyway we are not getting married next month!’

  ‘Ah that! We would have wanted to get married next month for a long time. It is becoming a very private joke for me!’

  ‘A bride with a sense of humour! But the joke is on him I suppose?’

  ‘I think he will know it too late. What was your plan for tonight?’ she asked.

  ‘To have drinks with you,’ I smiled.

  ‘Is that all? You seem to be more adventurous than that.’

  ‘I wouldn’t refuse exciting challenges.’

  We didn’t talk much. There was a short drive to her place.

  Her skin smelt of oranges. It was good that the next day was Sunday.

  28

  ‘Is that Elizabeth?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her voice was distant on the phone.

  ‘It’s David. I was thinking about the memorial.’

  She sounded pepped up. ‘Yes? I thought you weren’t interested.’

  ‘Oh, no, I am actually ready when you are.’

  ‘Oh, that’s very nice of you David. This is very good news. I’ll talk with people and come back to you by tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s fine.’

  Actually, it didn’t take until tomorrow. She phoned back in the afternoon. She had organised everything. All she wanted was a date from me, she had some dates ready. We agreed on a Thursday, 3 p.m.

  29

  I walked fast to the fourth floor where the library meeting room was. I was thinking that if Kate was there, this was the time we would go for a coffee. I had the talk in my pocket, just a few lines as aide-memoire; the rest I had left to be said spontaneously. I didn’t want to make a formal, distant talk. As it happened, I didn’t need the paper in my pocket. The room was more than a meeting room, I think they had it for some induction events for students, there were some chairs. When I arrived, around forty people were waiting already. Elizabeth was standing near the door. We exchanged greetings; she then went and sat on a chair; there was no need for introduction. I stood behind a table by a board. I felt animated:

  ‘It is awkward. It is the norm to say it is a sad occasion, and it is a sad occasion but I’ll skip those expected words. It is awkward like going to a foreign land, you don’t know the language, you want to get into a train and you feel things are unfamiliar, strange… unsure. This is the way I have felt since Kate left us. I have done my daily routine…of course…as we all do… feeling someone was there, not for me per se, but someone who could be there for me too. The sheer existence of her made the moments familiar, friendly, acceptable. I do the same things now as I did before but they are different, I cannot put my hand on a single thing and say, Ah! This is it, this is how things are different, but they are! Perhaps I say this to avoid facing the loss of intimate moments, to make things easier for myself to be able to continue. And how do I continue? It is difficult. It is not that I do anything differently in any tangible way, but I live differently. We didn’t live together, we didn’t have a family together, but we had those moments that for me go beyond description. I know I am talking about myself not about her. But whatever I say is her. This is her. I know she would have liked this. She was alway
s ready for a discussion about life but what happened to all that? If the cup of coffee was an ingredient of our moments of intimacy and intrigue, then those moments have gone although it is difficult to accept it. She would say: ‘You are too vague. I am not sure if you know what you are talking about yourself!’

  But I think I am quite clear on this.

  She would say:

  ‘But that’s what you think and that is surely not enough, you will need to have an audience who understands and if this audience didn’t, for whatever reason, then you are responsible for it!’

  I feel responsible for having lost her. The dialogue for me is not only a mixture of words. The touch of skin, the breathing together, the glances you have as you pass by, what you have in your mind and never utter, to me all these are dialogues and I am responsible for losing the dialogues. I know, this makes me a partner in crime, the crime of creating a situation where her body does not exist any more. And if I didn’t want to create it, if those moments of coffee and Nietzsche were so dear to me, how come I participated in a process of losing her? I know I seem confused, I know what I say might not make sense but perhaps she would have made sense of it…she could explain it all… But this doesn’t make sense because she is not here any more. This is not acceptable. When I live with a project, a proposal, I crave to attain it, I crave to see it materialise. If I am unsuccessful, I apply again, and again, there is a hope. Here, since she has gone, everything is strange, foreign, awkward. This is a checkmate. Here, there is no hope.

  Then I stopped and I left the room. I didn’t look around, just left. I walked out of the building. I wasn’t sure where I wanted to go. It was still early afternoon. I walked around the streets for half an hour. Then stopped at a coffee shop and had a cappuccino. I thought about my words earlier on. Why did I leave like that? There were perhaps 40 or more people in the room; some had come from other departments. I didn’t know she was that popular.

  30

  ‘You are a rude man’! The ticket man in the train station announced in the loudspeaker for all to hear. And by that he meant me! I suppose he was right as far as the passengers on the platform were concerned. I suppose he was right even by my own standards but not for the occasion he was referring to. I had waited in a short queue to buy a ticket. He was making jokes with an old local woman who was looking into her wallet for the right change. At first I was in good humour. I wondered why old people have this problem with paying. First of all, they love to pay cash rather than use their card. Secondly, they always look for the exact change; always look for that small coin which is mysteriously hidden in a corner of their wallet. But the ticket man went on and on with his bland joke and I got bored.