‘Can I have a picture of you?’ I asked her.
She had her hair loose, barely reaching her shoulders; a nice day with a cool breeze. Now I could feel her walking slightly ahead of me. I try, I cannot remember her face but I can remember the smell; the perfume in the breeze. The street is calm and there is no one in sight.
What would I do if I had her picture?
She would be eating with her family now, probably three kids and a high flier husband who goes to church on Sundays and plays golf with colleagues but has time to spend half an hour a week with each of the kids aged 8 to15. Perhaps she has finished eating and is now watching a series on the television. I can imagine that she has become a bit chubby. How would I fit into this picture? Not even as a neighbour who brings you the letters delivered to him by mistake.
I am the first one to admit. Yes, I could not fit into that sort of a picture. Yet memories have come back and forced me to walk by the river bank. Tomorrow I shall feel better.
38
It was early morning when we came out. It was still dark and it was drizzling. Carol had two big suitcases and two small bags plus her handbag. The taxi was waiting. I put her suitcases in the boot. We didn’t talk much on the way. It was a combination of early morning feeling, drinks the night before and going to the airport as if you were getting ready to go to war. Did you take everything? What a stupid question! What is everything? You mean passport, purse and ticket? Is that all? You mean toiletries? Would you please remember to say goodbye to such and such for me?
The airport was quite busy for the time of the day and for the middle of the week. I suppose it is always like that. I think, for some reason, our minds shift to useless dialogues, mundane things, ridiculous statistics; our eyes see little, just brush over things, and we hear repetitious announcements without taking them in.
We stood in the queue for a long time, in front of us people with big suitcases, children climbing the trolleys, couples arguing, children screaming. We went to the restaurant. We had plenty of time to have a big breakfast.
‘So, here we are,’ I said.
‘It is all your fault. You know that!’
‘Don’t start again! We’ve done this before. You can hardly blame me for your actions.’
‘It takes two to tango you know.’
‘Do you want to tell me you have cold feet again? This time somebody is waiting for you and you can warm up your feet together with him in a land where tango is appreciated.’
‘Last time my mother was so sad that I didn’t go to her. She will be disappointed again to find out I didn’t go to her to say goodbye again,’ she said.
‘But what difference does it make for her if you are here or in Rio? She is miles away anyway. In any case, this time she would be more understanding; after all, you are going to join someone a bit more masculine than your mother I suppose!’
‘Do you have to make jokes about everything? Is anything serious for you at all? Perhaps you are afraid of real things in your life. Do you know what is wrong with you? You don’t have the guts to take responsibility for anything. You are so full of yourself; there is no place for anybody else. I suppose I should be glad you accommodated me for those few days,’ she said.
‘Yes, you should. I think you should announce an annual thanksgiving from now!’
‘You see, you cannot be serious, Oh why do I bother?’
‘Exactly, you will be on that plane in an hour and you can wipe away any traces of that irresponsible man from your life. Think about Rio, think about good weather, good energetic friends, dance and parties.’
She stood up, came towards me and hugged me and stayed for a short while. ‘Let’s go. I want to go now.’
I did not stay to wave as she went through the security. I wouldn’t have stayed in any case, even if I were able to see her after that point.
As I was going to catch the metro, the sun had come out. It was a good feeling. I wanted to be in my office. I wanted to have the journey cut to a few minutes. I had the feeling of someone who is hurrying to go to a pleasant meeting with an old friend. The metro was full of tourists and their suitcases, intrigued about new places to visit, looking through their maps, looking at the main tourist attractions on the map, talking in languages I couldn’t translate; and I liked it that way. I wanted noise around me but didn’t want to participate in anything. I closed my eyes and imagined my flat.
It was quite sunny by the time I entered my office. The campus was unusually quiet. It was the examination period and most students were busy preparing for or sitting exams. I made some coffee, sat at my desk and did some paperwork but I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I was quite hyper and couldn’t think why. I dialled Fiona’s number without having anything to talk about, but there was no answer and I didn’t leave any messages. I thought that any minute Richard would come in with some request, but no, nobody came in. I tried to start with one of the many small niggling chores. The phone rang. It was Carol. ‘Hello, hello!’ A voice in a hurry. I said, ‘hello, where are you?’
Where do you think I am?’ her voice was angry.
‘What happened? I thought you were on the plane by now.’
‘Yes, that’s what you wish isn’t it?’
‘What do you mean? I thought you were enjoying your drink in the air.’
‘No such luck, the bloody flight got delayed. Aren’t you happy to hear my voice again?’
I didn’t know what to say. I did not expect her call. I thought briefly of the breeze outside in the airport.
‘You see, you cannot even bring yourself to lie. Come out with it. You are delighted that I am going, that I have gone. You wanted to get rid of me and you have done it now, haven’t you? Anyway you are lucky, they are calling now.’ She put the phone down. I didn’t feel like staying in my office any longer. I went to the library and looked through the latest issues of journals. Wrote down details of some papers for my team but didn’t want to go to the lab. I read in the library for three hours and was quite happy about it. Coming out of the library, I remembered the first time that I met Kate. I had taken some journals to her to take out. I thought I hadn’t seen her before. ‘Are you new here?’
‘Not really. I’ve been here for more than six months now.’
‘Oh! This shows how often I come to the library,’ I said.
She didn’t say anything, stamped the journals and gave them to me.
‘See you,’ I said.
She smiled. I remember her smile but I don’t think it had a particular imprint on me. I think there is something special though, about a smile. I can identify, in my mind, people I have met through their smile. It is like fingerprints. Different in different people but it lingers in your mind and as you think about them, you smile years later, perhaps sitting in a train looking at the countryside as the trees pass you by.
The flat was silent. The bed was unmade as we had left it earlier in the morning dashing out to the airport. I tidied it up and went to the kitchen. I wasn’t sure why, I didn’t even feel like having a drink. I stood in the kitchen asking myself why I was there. Then I went to the sitting-room, sat on the sofa for ten minutes. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do next. The door to the wardrobe was open with some empty hangers. No letter was left on the desk for me. I scratched my face, could hear my nail on my skin. I thought that Carol should be asleep on the plane by now. I felt sleepy too.
I had lived like that before; always alone but with friends, seeing them in their places, in restaurants, in parties and in my place too; but I always kept my flat, its tranquillity to myself. I never craved having someone live with me, like those single men who arrive at the point of no return: ‘I have done my singles years, now it’s time to have a family, I cannot tolerate Chinese take-away any more ...’ For me, it will always remain bliss to be alone. In a sense, I have chosen my partner: it is my flat, it is the place I live in. So I have a dialogue with my place as I enter it. But this time, it was the flat that was lonely, it w
asn’t me. But I was sure it wasn’t because Carol had left. I had a feeling of freedom, one of those feelings that one has after a long period of studying, having finished the exam. The feeling of coming out of the last exam not knowing what to do... a sense of suspension without any obligation.
I sat on the sofa looking at objects in my flat. The table, the salt and pepper in the middle of the table, the coasters, the shelves, the books, and the books on Nietzsche that Kate had given me. I started to think about her, tried to remember her when she gave me the books. What was she wearing? Was it a sunny day? She wasn’t there any more to oppose my ideas or agree with them for that matter. The books were sitting on the shelf. I thought of having a look at them. I stood up but then I decided against it. I went to the kitchen, had a glass of water and came back.
It was an hour later when I woke up. I had dozed off on the sofa. I opened my eyes having Kate’s diary in my mind. I had forgotten all about it. I took it out from the corner of the drawer. Had I really forgotten it? If so, how come I remembered it so forcefully now that I was alone in my flat? Did I want to protect it by not referring to it while Carol was there? The wet pages were now creased and gave it an older look. Perhaps this was more to Kate’s liking. How could I ignore her diary now that I had read some pages? It was as if I was invading my own privacy, and by doing so I was taking away the sanctity of it all. Was I getting religious again? Very appropriate topic for discussion with her! I opened a page arbitrarily:
‘Today on my birthday, I received a bonsai tree from a colleague. A very thoughtful present, he is always very meticulous. What you expect from a good librarian. He knows I like plants, he knows that I live in a small flat, so what better than a bonsai? I was so touched by his attention to details. But I am now faced with a difficult question. This bonsai is equivalent to a 50-year-old tree. But it is the size of a short stem. What about the potential of the tree? I keep it inside, water it regularly, have to feed it with a particular chemical and have to learn how to cut the roots and branches. The tree needs open air, rain, cold, sunshine, breeze, wind and I will be depriving it of all these. This is a serious problem for me. What should I do? Keep it? By doing so I will create a dependency on both sides. I am not keen on watering it, taking care of it, learning how to prune, limiting myself to certain activities which I am not interested in. Throw it away maybe in a waste bin? The plant is in flower! Small white flowers, each time I look at it I feel uncomfortable. But can I throw it away? After all, even if I don’t think about the plant, this is a gift from someone who has thought about me. Should this act be considered as a binding factor? Definitely not! So I am left with a dilemma. I must discuss this with David. Yet another exciting topic! Now, I am looking at this as a topic for discussion, what about the life of this plant? I am becoming unscrupulous. Can I simply ignore it? I am entangled, in my small flat, with this plant. Each time I come in I feel the heavy air; the atmosphere is full of the dialogue, the presence of the plant. But, after all, am I taking things too seriously? We have all these varieties of dogs with different shapes and sizes, all of them cross bred to become strange creatures, and their owners love them. What about the dogs? I read somewhere that they suffer from all sorts of diseases from weak joints to different kinds of infection. Yet their owners take them to barbers’ shops and special clinics! And what about those women with their feet deformed in tight shoes from childhood? All this in the name of beauty! But aren’t things beautiful when they express themselves with their full potential? Oh, I don’t know. What I know is that I am becoming too choosy about everything. Everything poses a question; everything poses a different meaning as soon as I try to look at it. It is good that I got this off my chest but I will get up tomorrow and my eyes will catch that bonsai and I shall feel heavy in my heart. Then, the question will repeat itself... until?’
I closed the diary and put it on my desk. I wondered how come she had not discussed the bonsai with me. I thought of what I would have told her:
‘Oh, come on! This is not a big deal. You just give it to someone who likes bonsai. I am sure there are loads of people out there who would be delighted to receive it. They will take good care of it too.’
She would say: ‘Deal! Deal! This is an unfortunate word you use here. This is an emotional thing for me and you say big deal as if it is a business transaction.’
‘It is a figure of speech.’
‘Yes, an unfortunate one.’
‘OK, but you do see my point.’
‘I do see your point but you don’t see mine! You can’t see that I have received this as a present from someone and it is really awful to pass it on to someone else.’
‘And what’s wrong with that?’
‘Everything! I am surprised you ask. Can’t you see? By giving it away you reject someone’s feelings.’
‘Is it that hard? We do it all the time. A student comes to me and pleads for a better mark! I always reject their feelings!’
‘This is totally different and you know it.’
‘In any case, what about your feelings towards the poor plant? You cannot see a plant deprived of its full potential! But the damage is done! Perhaps you can put it back into the soil? Is it possible? The poor plant will probably die like those wild animals people keep confined, and are then released into the wild, probably because the owners got fed-up with them or they can’t afford to keep them. Then what happens? The poor animals die as they cannot survive. They have forgotten their origins. In a way it would be better if they killed the poor creatures. But no, they can’t face their guilt. They console themselves by releasing them, condemning them to a death they don’t witness!’
‘Thank you for your added confusion.’
‘But what do you say about all those people who are deprived of their potential every day, every minute of every year?’
Kate would remain silent to see what I would refer to. I would have seen in her eyes a glint, a smile on her lips.
‘Do you know how many of these thousands of students we get into our universities are doing what they really want to do? It is our duty to bring out the best in them, to help realise their maximum potential, both for their own good and for the survival and betterment of society. Then what do we see? Groups of demoralised, indifferent young people sitting in the lecture rooms with their mobiles on their desk, day-dreaming! No! I am too optimistic here. They do not have a dream left in them. By the time they arrive in the classroom, they are not even a shadow of themselves. They are ‘creatures’ in search of money to survive to enjoy the banal, to enjoy imitating bloodless heroes where pictures are displayed everywhere for them.’
‘You are too animated now. I do agree with you but this doesn’t mean that I should not be concerned about my bonsai. You deal with your students, I will do something about my bonsai!’
Am I thinking too much about people around me and what they think?
Kate has gone now. It seems several years have passed. Yet, the dialogues with her continue in my mind. Would it matter if she still existed in the flesh? It would. We would get closer. There would be more emphasis on the physical side of our relationship, and then? Maybe the dialogues would die! We would wait for each other, go home together, talk about our colleagues, think about reducing costs by her moving in with me and then getting a bigger flat. We would continue going to the cinema, some alternative theatre, a poetry reading once in a while and all the time the dialogue would become thinner and thinner. And then the quarrels would start, criticisms, accusations, bitter nitpickings, and of course the making up, apologising over glasses of wine, making love as a sign of reconciliation while with each movement a wound would move in us, waiting to bleed again on a different occasion. Then it would be the case of buying a dog, taking it for long walks, the blissful moments when you walk the dog, alone with the poor creature that would seek other dogs but would be bound by the leash. But you would be relaxing, sitting on a bench looking at the tulips in bloom. Maybe a child would be a good idea? Yes,
that would be the time to transfer the faded hopes, to create other ones. After all, why should you be the only one to suffer?
But there is no Kate. Now, there is none of it. She has gone, the dialogue has stayed. Carol? She seems irrelevant. I do remember the scent of her skin though. Why should I assign some values to people, to appreciate them? My life is made up of these moments, slipping away while I try to weigh them. And all the time the moments creep out, taking away with them all their being, just like Kate and Carol. So I didn’t form that bond with any of them, I always wanted to go to my flat alone, with only brief lapses when other people breathed in my space. Am I unique in this? I see couples with their children walking, going to cheap restaurants that their kids love and they can afford. Is this what they have craved for? ‘Come here, don’t go far. Stay with your mum! Be careful! Good boy!’ And what happens to those intimate moments? The moments of youthful desire, plans for the future! What plans? These are so predictable!
Who said, for the first time, that man is a social animal? I dispute that. Man needs other members of his species for his basic needs. That’s all. Anything more than that is subject to a big question mark. When I look, things that cause dependency are those that are not essential for our being but, over the years, we are led to believe are necessary. Perhaps man would be much more creative than what he is now, if only he could get away from his fears.
Between Cups of Coffee Page 17
