‘To end this lecture,’ Roberto concluded wryly, ‘I would like to start at the beginning. In the beginning there was a . . .’ he paused. ‘No. I am misleading you. The beginning does not exist; it is indefinable, indefinite. We can only talk of where our knowledge begins. It is a beginning, not the beginning. In a beginning our great scientists tell us there was an enormous fireball, and in this fireball trillions of electrons and other particles jostled together in a sublime cosmic dance. Then there was a big bang and these electrons were scattered forming the universe. Some of these electrons came together to form stars. In time some of these stars exploded and deposited a shroud of carbon dust into the atmosphere. Layers of carbon dust settled on earth. As you know, carbon is life. Every living cell, be it in plants, animals or humans, contains carbon. So my friends, as you leave today console yourselves with this thought: you are literally made of stardust, and whatever becomes of you the particles from which you are made have been around since the dawn of time and will continue to live for ever. You are inseparable from your universe, you were once a part of it, you remain a part of it and you will always be a part of it. See you Wednesday. Thank you.’
There was a huge round of applause and an excited buzz in the room as the students gathered their papers and filtered out. Leo was trotting down the steps to thank Roberto when he saw Stacey.
‘Hey, what are you doing here? Aren’t you meant to be at work?’ Leo asked.
‘I bunked off, I wanted to hear Roberto speak. What about you?’
‘I was just passing and followed the crowd.’
‘Wasn’t he amazing?’ She had the flush of a woman who had fallen in love too fast. ‘We’re going for a coffee. Want to join us?’
‘I’d love to,’ Leo said.
Leo knew many scientists but none was quite like Roberto. He was neither dry nor shy and he had something of the missionary about him, ever able to use his faith in physics to offer insight, comfort and advice. It was the arrogance and certainty of youth, coupled with his searing intellect, that gave him the kind of iconic status that the young revolutionaries of the communist era must have enjoyed. He had gained a reputation at the university for trampling on the toes of more senior staff, many of whom despised his populist style, and for being the darling of the students whom he inspired. It was a reputation he did everything in his power to cultivate by dining in the student canteen and accepting invitations to student events. He was forever teaching, holding court at parties, provoking and cajoling his students. As for Leo, he was as vulnerable as a beetle on its back: he was seeking answers to big questions and in Roberto he recognized a man who was ready to provide them.
‘I thought a lot about Eleni during your lecture, and about the nature of death,’ Leo said, sipping at his coffee.
‘I wonder if the dead really die,’ Roberto reflected, ‘or do they just evolve into something else? On the quantum level everything is made up of tiny sub-atomic particles. Imagine then the universe as a sea of timeless electrons extending to infinity. What is a human being in that sea? A human being is merely a beautiful bag of particles. There is not much that distinguishes us from our surroundings other than shape and colour. But when we die our little electrons live on and blend into trees, flowers, sky and animals. Those we have lost are with us for ever, only a whisper away, in new shape and colour. It’s a kind of life after death. Eleni is nowhere and everywhere.’
This was a paradox of clarifying insight for Leo, for though Eleni was gone she was ever-present. From that moment forth he was hooked to the gospel according to Roberto. Over the course of the following weeks Leo immersed himself in introductory books on physics and attended more of Roberto’s lectures, from which he would often leave on a high, carrying an imaginary Eleni laughing and screaming on his back.
Roberto encouraged his students to carry a notebook with them at all times, in which they were to write down any illuminating thoughts. It was part of his crusade to get students to think more about the world in which they lived. He told them not to limit themselves to physics, but to take note of anything which inspired them, be it self-generated ideas, quotes from books, even photos from magazines. Leo obediently purchased a notebook, but struggled at first to find anything to write in it.
16
‘BE CAREFUL WITH ROBERTO,’ HANNAH WARNED ONE evening as they were sitting in Charlie’s ex-living room, ‘he likes to think he has all the answers. He is the vicar of physics and you can’t turn him off. He spends his entire life proving himself correct. He may be a great thinker but he’s not great with feelings.’
‘And what about you?’ Leo asked.
‘I’m a crap thinker and a crap feeler, in fact I’m crap all round – which has its advantages because whoever spends time with me is bound to feel good about themselves,’ she said.
‘And what about me?’
‘You think too much and you feel too much. You’re intense about everything.’
‘So I have no virtues?’ Leo laughed.
‘I didn’t say that. Intensity has its virtues when applied to some things.’
‘Such as?’
‘Love. Passion. Romance. We girls were all jealous of the commitment you showed to Eleni. That virtue alone would probably make up for all of your dreadful weaknesses,’ she said.
‘You think you’re very clever, don’t you?’ Leo said, prodding her in the ribs.
‘Yes – I am the oracle.’ She giggled. ‘Ask any question and you shall be answered.’
‘All right, your problem is that you don’t think about anything.’
‘Correct,’ she said in a deep monotone voice, ‘but that is not a question. The oracle can only respond to questions.’
‘Oh wise and all-knowing oracle, please tell me what’s wrong with thinking?’
‘It’s a waste of time and it’s boring,’ Hannah boomed.
‘Oh great one, what should one do with one’s time?’
‘Do.’
‘Do?’
‘The washing-up will never get done if you think about it. And when the washing-up is done do something else to take your mind off thinking.’
‘So action is better than thought?’
‘Don’t think about it!’
‘Thank you oracle, for illuminating me with the blinding power of your ignorance.’
‘It’s a pleasure, Leo. Now are you ready to go?’ Hannah asked impatiently.
‘Can the oracle ask questions?’
‘The oracle can do what the fuck it likes, smart-arse. Get your shoes on or we’ll miss the show.’
Hannah had bought two tickets to see The Winter’s Tale at the Barbican. It was an unremarkable production until the final act when Leontes stands before a statue of his wife Hermione, who died sixteen years previously. He stares in amazement at the likeness. He draws closer.
There is an air comes from her. What fine chisel Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me, For I will kiss her.
Leo, who had never seen or read the play before, felt a bolt in his heart. Immediately he was transported back to Eleni’s bedside at the hospital in Ecuador as he tried desperately to resuscitate her. How her raspy breath had simulated life for an instant and brought him joy! Paulina pulls Leontes back: ‘You’ll mar it if you kiss it’. She offers to cover the statue but Leontes will not let her, he cannot leave its side. Paulina claps her hands: ‘be stone no more; approach’. Slowly Hermione comes to life; her dead eyes awaken and look down on Leontes. For a long while he cannot move, but stands in awe. Eventually he raises his arm in disbelief and touches her face.
O, she’s warm!
If this be magic, let it be an art
Lawful as eating.
He gasps with such longing, such tenderness that Leo instantly burst into tears. He had played out this scene every night since Eleni’s death. Instinctively he grabbed Hannah’s arm and hung on like a rock climber who had lost his footing. The play was over.
‘I’m so sorry, what an idiot I am. I
wasn’t thinking . . .’ Hannah apologized.
Leo took a deep breath in an effort to master himself.
‘It’s all right. It’s good for me.’
A young usher interrupted them and asked them to leave the auditorium.
They walked back to Charlie’s silently. Hannah remembered how as a girl she had found a baby bird with a broken wing under a tree in the garden. It was tweeting forlornly. She had scooped it up carefully; how utterly helpless it was. Its tiny heart was racing and for the first time she had felt the fragility of life in her own hands, just as now she could feel it in Leo. She had taken the bird to her mother, who had bound its wing to a splint, and over a couple of weeks they had nursed it back to health. When later her mother was diagnosed with cancer Hannah had done everything a ten-year-old could do to help. She had tidied up after herself, looked after her little brother, Ed, brought her mum breakfast in bed, held her hand in hospital, but there was nothing she could do to make her fly again. Her mother had deteriorated rapidly, until one day her father had come out of the bedroom and told Hannah that she was dead. At the end of the play, when Hermione embraced her long-lost daughter Perdita, Hannah had melted into her seat as if into the arms of her own mother.
Back at Charlie’s Leo found some ginger cake in the fridge and made a pot of tea. Hannah sat with him on his bed while he showed her all his photos from South America and related his adventures with Eleni. Hannah could be a good listener when she had to be. Patiently she let him paddle woefully back through his story, even though it was the second time she had heard it, and when finally he finished there was a long silence. They stared at each other for a moment.
The evening had triggered an unexpected swell of nostalgia. Hannah looked at her untouched ginger cake. A fortnight after they had released the bird Hannah had returned from school to find a huge cake in the shape of a butterfly on the table. She had wondered what the occasion was. Her mum had sat her down and cut her a slice. ‘I need to talk to you, sweetie,’ she had said in a quiet voice as she handed it to her. Hannah had skipped lunch and was ravenous. Greedily she had devoured the cake whilst her mother revealed that she had cancer. Hannah’s only response had been: ‘Can I have another piece, Mum?’ Cake had since lost its sweetness, for now she could not disassociate it from death.
Hannah’s face flushed, she had to be alone, she grabbed her coat, got up and left abruptly. A few seconds of silence, a blush and a hasty departure. It should have been the most insignificant of events in a friendship, but Leo put a microscope to those few seconds and imagined an entire culture of hidden meaning.
Why had she not broken that silence with words, what was on her lips that she hadn’t been able to say out loud? Whatever it was it must have been embarrassing, for why would she blush? And then, of course, she had looked down. No, wait, it had been the other way round, she had looked down and then blushed; so staring at him must have been the source of her embarrassment, and she had had to look away. And what of her leaving without so much as a kiss? She always kissed him goodbye. Perhaps the kiss had suddenly taken on a new importance? Was she harbouring a secret affection for him? If she were would she dare admit it? Eleni had only died three months previously. Hannah and Eleni had been friends. Would Hannah dare step over the grave and declare her love? Leo thought that she wouldn’t, which would explain the silence. So that was it. She had fallen in love with him.
For the first time since Eleni’s death he allowed himself to consider what it might be like to be with someone else. Hannah was gorgeous, she was witty and compassionate, but he could not imagine having a relationship with her. They were very different people, she had said as much herself; he was intense and she was flippant, besides there was no room in his heart for anyone else. Although he desperately craved warmth and love, he was careful not to mistake his cravings for affection. If he were to start a relationship now it would be for all the wrong reasons.
He persuaded himself that he could not possibly love her, but he would not dismiss from his restless mind the notion that Hannah was in love with him. Every time they met he coloured her words with his suspicion. She gave herself away with her frequent hugs, inappropriate jokes and an apparent willingness to spend long hours listening to the outpourings of his tortured soul. She never once spoke about her feelings, but this, too, Leo interpreted as a sure sign. He even began to pity her; a love that cannot declare itself is a heavy burden to carry.
These thoughts began to infect his reasoning. Confusion seized him. He began to compare her unrequited love with his own. Leo was as unattainable for Hannah as Eleni was for him. I know what she’s going through, he thought to himself, maybe I can help her deal with it.
He invited her round for dinner and asked Charlie to go out. He tidied the flat, turned his bed back into a sofa and moved the kitchen table into his room, where there was more space. He bought flowers and candles to make the place look less grim. The previous day he had marinated some chicken breasts, and now he removed the marinade from the fridge, added vegetables for a tagine and slow-cooked it in a clay pot. When Hannah arrived he had already drunk a couple of glasses of wine.
‘Wow, Leo!’ she said as she came in. ‘I was expecting fish fingers in the kitchen as usual. Is it your birthday? Did I forget?’
‘No, Hannah, I wanted to thank you for being such a good friend.’ Leo could see she was touched. He offered her wine, but she refused, so he poured himself another glass. The meal lurched from one awkward conversation to another. Hannah was less humorous than usual; she was uncomfortable and refused to drink even when Leo opened the second bottle and proclaimed it a particularly good wine. Hannah’s edginess did not concern Leo, this was part of the challenge. She was struggling with her feelings for him, looking for the right moment to open up. He asked her several times if there was anything she wanted to talk about; he even asked her if she had met anyone she liked recently. She would not be drawn. She was proving a difficult nut to crack. She had resolved not to confess at any price. Leo would have to adopt a more overt strategy.
Coffee was on the table when Leo broke the unbearable impasse. ‘Hannah, do you fancy me?’
‘What?’
‘I want you to know that it’s fine if you do. I mean I know there are a lot of reasons why you wouldn’t want to say anything, what with it being so close to Eleni’s death and her being a friend of yours . . . but that’s just convention. I mean, emotions aren’t convenient, you can’t control them just because you’re supposed to . . . they . . . they pop up at the strangest times and demand to be heard . . . so I thought that you should know that I can handle it and I’m ready for it . . . we can erm, you know, discuss anything you want, Hannah.’
‘But I don’t.’
‘Don’t what, Hannah?’
‘Fancy you, Leo.’
‘Look, I don’t mind if you do. Really, it’s OK, Hannah. It won’t upset me. You know maybe . . . look, I love Eleni but I might like you too.’
Hannah laughed. ‘You’ll never pull with lines like that.’
‘I’m not trying to pull, I just wanted you to know that we can get things into the open . . . that there’s no point hiding things from each other. We’ll be the stronger for it.’
‘Why on earth do you think I fancy you, Leo?’
‘Oh come on, Hannah, don’t put me through this, you know why. You’ve made it so obvious.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘All that blushing the other night and running off in a hurry. Come on, Hannah. I told you I don’t mind. You see, you’re doing it again.’
‘What?’
‘Blushing, you’re blushing right now.’
‘Am I? It’s because I’m embarrassed, Leo.’
‘Oh, thank God, at last you’re prepared to admit it.’
‘No, you don’t understand. I’m embarrassed because you’ve got it completely wrong. If I was blushing it was because I was thinking about my mum . . . about when she died. The
last thing I wanted to do was cry on your shoulder when I was supposed to be helping you deal with your own grief. So I kept it bottled up inside and it got too much. I had to leave before it all came out.’
Leo was crushed. ‘Well, why didn’t you say so at the time?’ he complained.
‘I told you I didn’t think it was appropriate,’ she said.
‘But I’ve poured my heart out to you and the very least you could do is reciprocate . . . you’ve been patronizing me. It should be equal. I’ve given so much time, so much of myself to you, and you’re giving me nothing in return.’
Hannah shuddered. ‘How can you say that? I’ve spent hours listening to you . . . supporting you . . . I don’t know what you want from me . . . you’re pissed . . . we’ll talk about it tomorrow.’
‘I want you to be fucking honest with me like I am with you,’ Leo shouted.
‘I’m really sorry. I’m going home now. Thank you for a lovely meal,’ she said, standing up and reaching for her jacket.
Leo would not let it go. ‘There you go again . . . patronizing me . . . It wasn’t lovely, it was bloody awful every sodding minute of it. You hated it from the start. Why can’t you admit it? Why can’t you just be honest for once in your life?’
‘Leo . . .’
‘No, I won’t stop. The problem with you, Hannah, is that you’re all bluster and smiles. You’re a fake. You never let anyone know what you’re thinking. Everyone likes you but no one knows you. That’s why you can’t hold down a boyfriend . . . it’s because you’re shit scared that they might get to know you . . . and we can’t have that, can we, Hannah? That’s why you always go out with jerks who you know you’re going to chuck in a month’s time. You’d never go out with someone who could actually love you and make you open up, because you’re too scared. Admit it . . . go on, admit it.’ Leo was off his chair haranguing her all the way to the door. She was crying but he didn’t notice.
Random Acts of Heroic Love Page 14
