chapter Three

to read from the FIRST CHAPTER

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EPISODE 5

"A fine romance 

with no kisses 

A fine romance, my friend, this is..." 

(from the song by Jerome Kern and Dorothy Fields) 

 I woke up to the faint sounds that started popping up in the immense silence that had its abode on The Birth Island, as the sun lazily made its way above the horizon. 

After so many weeks on a ship, it felt like something was missing, as there was no reverberation of waves crashing -- the ocean was gentler with the Île du Blanchomme than elsewhere, and the ears were met just by the murmur of caressed shores. 

There were no seabirds, no wind, and one could think the plants growing was audible.

Feeling the need to meditate, I left my room and went down to the beach, where I sat facing the sunrise -- setting a morning routine that I was to follow for the biggest part of my stay on the island.

The salty smell in the gentle breeze travelling from the horizon, as if blown by the sun itself, increased my awareness as I silently sat there, following my breath. It felt even more pleasurable, when I thought how effortfully I had gasped for a while, during the colder days spent at the old abandoned factory in Paris, when an incipient pneumonia had clenched my troath. 

I ended the session praying for the well being of all creatures, and that they may be free from suffering -- Armand especially.

I had been deeply touched by Armand's tears, the evening before.

I don't remember falling asleep, but a few minutes later I woke up to his crying, that rapidly turned into painful sobs. Why didn't I go to him, who was just a few steps away? 

As I opened my eyes, I saw he was still sitting on the sofa in front of my bed, and as he cried he hid his face with his hands, seeming deeply ashamed -- probably of his own emotions, was my guess. 

I could never have imagined that I was the actual reason for his suffering -- I thought it was his mother's eminent death that troubled and dilacerated him. She was on her deathbed, while he was on the other side of the world, in my company enjoying the sun and the moon, sun bathing and telling me stories and laughing along. I just felt it must be something very private, by the way he buried his head is his hands. So I pretended to be sleeping until he left the room, still crying, and in a minute or two I fell asleep again.

But in the morning I felt guilty, and tiring myself swimming against the currents hadn't brought any relief.

It was only partially true that I hadn't wanted to invade his privacy the previous evening. I had never seen him crying like that in all those years we had been inseparable, sharing not only the same room but, apart from our classes, almost the same daily routine, and thus I felt I wasn't prepared to deal with that. Nor even sure if I should be there participating -- maybe he had been crying for many nights in a row, and I had arrived to intrude in his privacy. Armand's unexpected tears had surprised me, and I was not sure how to interact with them. 

Hey mate, what's the problem? I now pictured myself walking over to him and patting him on the shoulder -- but I had been simply too tired and sleepy to force myself out of bed -- or just lazy, that was the shameful truth that was now troubling me!

 I knew his family was going through a very difficult moment.

During our final years at the École, Armand's mother had found out that Monsieur de Montbelle had skillfully hidden a second life -- he had had a lover for almost the length of their marriage, and with this other woman -- a famous actress -- he had had a daughter, who was only 3 years younger than Armand.

Confronted, Monsieur had demanded to divorce Madame, who had denied it, then flipped and afterwards grown increasingly ill -- and now she was about to retreat -- forever.

'How is your mother, Armand?' -- I asked, feeling a bit remorseful, since my question seemed to arrive late. I knew how hard it was for my friend to talk about his own feelings... I could understand it in relation to having a father that had thorough and consistently lied to the family all his life... A life of deceit and pretending, of daily falsehood and deception... How could it have impacted the De Montbelle family, and what kind of behavior could have Armand learned from his father, even if unconsciously, when the man had been lying all the time? I mean, maybe Mounsieur de Montbelle wasn't faking affection for his son like he was for his wife, but how to measure what was sincere and what was staged under the perspective of his lifelong deception? This in a way explained to me why my friend had always been reticent in the expression of his own feelings and emotions, so diplomatic and tactful, and it was my role  in our friendship to be uncomfortably direct and bring out his sincerity, though at the expense of my own diffidence. 

'How are you feeling about it?' -- I had asked, when he joined me at the beach, where I had been sunbathing, actually ashamed of going back into the house and meeting my friend, to whom I should but could not apologize without revealing the fact that I had actually seen him crying.

'Thank you for asking, Carlo.' -- Armand seemed relieved at my question, that finally gave him the opportunity to talk, and I considered it as my belated apologies for not having inquired about his mother the previous night -- 'I'm not happy about her death, of course, but I cannot be so sad either. She has written me a beautiful letter while I was in India. She said "I have always been something in relation to someone. First I was a daughter, then a wife, and finally mother. I am an orphan now, and your father practically doesn't live here any longer. I'm still your mother, and that seems to be the sole thing left for me to be. But since you've gone to Asia, I've turned into a mother that writes or reads letters about her son, who is experimenting a different existence in farway lands... a mother at distance, that's what I have ultimately become, which is not much. Sometimes I have to think... Do I still know who my son is? And now my husband wants to divorce me for some plain actress. I'd rather die and become nothing... than become a divorcée!" It was melodramatic; it made me feel guilty when I read it. When the silent retreat I was at was over, I phoned my mother in France and tried to reason her into becoming many new things, according to her eccentric logic, but she dismissed me saying she was "too old to start again". So now it is going to happen as she wishes.' -- Armand seemed quite serene about his mother's tragic decision -- 'She never refers to death, she calls it her "elegant retirement".'

'C'est terrible, Armand! What about you father?'

Armand was silent for a while.  I knew he had never been in good terms with his father, but now things seemed to have grown even more unpleasant.

'At the same time that my mother started spending more time in her bed, getting worse and worse, he started spending more and more time with his other family. "I'm not going to fell miserable nor be held hostage of your mother's blackmail", he had declared when I came visiting, just before I left on my one year trip. Surely he pays her the best nurses and buys the latest in terms of drugs, but I think he wants her to die, too. Their love has long died... if it ever existed. And when my mother finally could not leave her bed anymore, he wouldn't leave his lover's home anymore. They never divorced -- my mother calls this her "last victory" -- but they are separated, and my mother's death will finally and gracefully untie this knot.'

While telling me all this, Armand did not shed a tear. His voice was sweet and serene as usual. I was confused, and disappointed. I had heard him sobbing last evening, but now he was again hiding his feelings!


'Fratello mio, I don't want to hold you here.' -- I said, sincerely -- 'Please go whenever you need to go, to be by your mother. I'll leave when you leave, I'll manage to find another place...' -- though, sincerely, if you gave me a map I could not point where the Île du Blanchomme was, so lost was I.

'Please, Carlo!' -- he cut me short, though very delicately -- 'Please understand this... I am leaving... no sooner than the day when there is a boat for the continent, which is within a week. And you are staying. This is your house as much as it is mine, and I need you here to keep it alive and beautiful until my return... In a week you'll be all on your own, and I know you gonna love it.' -- Armand smiled, since he knew me so well -- 'So I'm not troubled with leaving you behind... As for now, I wish we would... be together... be really together... really.'

Somehow I was not convinced. 

Armand was no longer looking straight into my eyes when we talked -- in fact, he was avoiding my stare. He trembled and I could sense his tension as we hugged. Something was wrong, something had changed, but I did not want to press on my best friend. 

I was willing to go for a long swim with him, so that he could show me the spots for the hazardous currents, but he was hungry and wanted to fix something for us to eat. I guess I had been used to eating not much, after my long hunger diet at the factory, and the bland food at the ship hadn't really opened my appetite again.

Armand had never cooked well.

He was a prince, born to be served. He would have dined out every meal during the École, but to keep me company, since I was too poor to dine out even once a month, he would eat at home with me. He wasn't inviting me to the restaurants because we had actually been using the money his father used to send him for other things we loved better -- like going to the movies, to theater plays, and buying books... And since he did not stand my poor, meager meals, he had started cooking for the two of us -- even if it was something simple like sausages, they would have been the best German sausages money could buy.

'That is so like Catherine, I must say...' -- and I laughed. I did not want to interrupt Carlo's story, but I could not help the wicked comment.

'So you know it, already!' -- Carlo stared at me, surprised and confused -- 'I thought Catherine had always hidden it from you!'

'Know what? It's no secret that Catherine hates cooking, and that she would rather dine out every meal...' -- by my father's puzzled look, I realized he had been talking about something else entirely -- 'Know what, Carlo?'

'I thought you knew about Armand...' 

'What about him?' -- I insisted, but my father nervously changed the subject.

'Which reminds me... Do you remember Joanna?' -- Carlo asked.

'Of course!' -- hadn't I just thought of her, when I had mentioned the candle episode, when I had burned myself? She had helped, comforted me till I'd stop crying... and I had kept it a secret with her -- 'I might have forgotten other people from my childhood, but how could I ever forget her? We used to call her "Queen of the kitchen".' -- I replied, a bit indignant.

'Oh no, that's how you called her, Laurent!' -- my father had smiled at my remark -- 'And of course you should... she was the one feeding you all the time, not your mother... I did not worry about you when I was out working just because I knew Joanna would be taking care of you. While your mother just read, or wrote her novels...' -- nodding, Carlo dismissed that subject, too -- 'The rest of us used to call her "The Pearl". She was the guardian angel of our small family.' 

'Why bring Joanna into this conversation, Carlo?' -- I was intrigued.

'Just because, like you said, your mother never cooked, even when she had to feed you... Well, I guess Joanna has been there from the very beginning, the day your mother and I arrived at the mansion in Punaouilo, and from the day you were born... I'm sorry to tell you this, Laurent...' -- Carlo paused, looking outside for a moment. He took a deep breath and then said -- 'Joanna died a few months ago.'

'No!!!' -- I felt tears welling up in my eyes -- 'It can't be! I used to reply the Birthday cards she sent me at Catherine's, promising one day I would go back to the island to visit her...' -- and in fact, that year I still hadn't received it, but I thought it might be sitting inside Catherine's French postal box, now that she was in Russia -- 'No!!!!! No...' -- I felt tears begin to stream down my cheeks -- 'I didn't know she was ill...'

'She wasn't. She had a sudden death, a stroke. Quite unpredictable for such a strong woman. I'm sorry to tell you this now... But I could not help recalling her when you said Catherine behaved just like Armand...'

'What about them, Carlo?' -- I inquired again, drying my tears. Later, I would say a prayer for her, and I knew it would be more heartfelt than those I had said for Tarso, my great-grandfather, who had raised Carlo, and to Celeste, my grandmother from Catherine's side.

'We will come to that, in the appropriate time...' -- Carlo took a sip of his wine and continued with his story -- 'Those days we spent together on the Île du Blanchomme, Armand used to cook everyday. I was so surprised! And he had been doing so for quite some time now, since he could not dine out being on a tiny island in the middle of the Indian Ocean, haha!'

I was dazzled at how much his cooking skills had improved in the past year. He explained he had taken classes in many places in Asia, specially in India.

'I hope you'll like it, mon cher Carlo... Specially for you, the best dish on this island! '-- and he laughed. Armand seemed to be in such good spirits, and enthusiastic about his delicacy, curry vegetarian sausages with mango chutney and honey onions wrapped in naan rolls, all covered with fresh coconut slices. But when he realized I had tears in my eyes, he asked worriedly -- 'What is it, mon ami?'

And I finally told him how I had almost starved in that abandoned factory, and grown seriously ill. 

Not because I wanted him to pity me, but because I felt my life had dramatically changed for the better with his invitation, and I wanted him to have an idea of how grateful I was... I had also had an insight during the morning meditation -- on the Birth Island, just like I had said I had been reborn after my first swim in the ocean, I was sure to begin my life anew!

 'Thank you for sharing this with me, mon cher Carlo.' -- Armand was sincerely touched -- 'I should have insisted more that you came with me to Asia from the beginning... But you said you wanted to try life on your own, "without the De Montbelle's sponsorship", as you put it... Those words hurt me, somehow. After all, the money we had been using came from my father, not from myself... Ultimately, I wasn't being generous with you -- my father was... And when you did not answer my letter, I was convinced you did not want to see me anymore... I'm glad I was wrong. I'm glad I have misinterpreted your silence, as much as I'm sad to learn about your hardship and your illness, all on your own in Paris.' -- Armand sighed -- 'I can't be any happier now that we are together again, mon cher Carlo.'

'Yes, and I'm back to your sponsorship...' -- I joked, to immediately realize I was again being inconvenient -- 'I'm sorry. I'm very sad if I'd hurt you by expressing it in these terms, Armand... And yes, I know... This now is not a sponsorship. I'm here to work for you...' -- but Armand looked offended as he heard I was to be his worker -- 'No, ok, I'm here to help you...' -- but Armand seemed still disappointed at my words -- 'Whatever you are offering me, mon cher Armand, my dearest friend, this time I accept it, humbly and wholeheartedly.' 

And with another hug we moved on to our curry sausages that smelled so good!

I was increasingly aware of the beautiful golden light that illuminated those very special days. How weird it was that we would meet again in a remote corner of the planet of which existence I had never dreamt of before -- and that Armand, who had been princely brought up, always wearing the best clothes and savouring delicacies, was now contentedly spending the days in a swimsuit and barefoot, eating exotic dishes he had cooked himself. 

The prince, turned into a bum, a hippie and transcendental bum, hanging around almost naked the whole day -- that would have been unthinkable just a year ago! And there was a new tension and a new ease about him that I could not quite well understand yet.

'Is Monsieur de Montbelle still mad at me because of India?' -- I dared to ask, as we moved on to our sunset session at the beach.

Drawn by the pictures in it, I had read this fascinating book on the spirituality of India. I had been searching for inspiration for my painting classes during the École, but I was to find another way of life -- and not only to myself. For when Armand was most depressed and lost within his sorrowful, desolate family situation, I handed him that book, and having read only its first chapter, he decided to go to India on his next vacations. 

It was the most liberating experience to him -- it had changed his life, mostly his relationship with his parents -- and that's when he had started growing his hair to the actual ponytail and had left home for good.

'Haha, I think he hates you, Carlo!' -- Armand had laughed joyfully -- 'As much as I... appreciate you...'


His father would never forgive me for having thus influenced his son, on what he thought had been an irresponsible journey to a wicked, dangerous country. What Monsieur did not know was that Armand came back from India willing to leave the École. He had always wanted to study Architecture elsewhere -- he dreamed of Berlin and the developments of the Bauhaus --, contemporary and not classical Architecture, but his father had imposed the traditional École des Beaux-Arts on him... And it was me to dissuade Armand from abandoning the École -- but Monsieur had heard none of this, and held firmly to his opinion that I was the worst influence for his son. 


Thus I had turned into "persona non grata" and never been invited to the Château de Montbelle.

But all that seemed so far away now -- the École des Beaux-Arts, the abandoned factory, the Château de Montbelle, Armand's family, my grandfather and his farm in the Apennines... 


And I had dived into the sea seeking to set me farther apart -- how I loved to swim towards the horizon, almost blinded, my face burning, following the liquid, golden thread towards the sun!

Oh

my 

God...

Dio, grazie.

Thank You

for your

Merciful Kindness.

I had never felt so connected to nature, not like on the Île du Blanchomme, and at least not since my teenage years helping my grandfather in the fields on the Apennines. 

And my meditation sessions seemed to increase that connection to all forms of life, its rhythms of birth and death, no birth and no death. The stars that could have died ages ago and were still blinking at me seemed to confirm eternity, made of a sequence of present moments.

I finished each session by praying.

May all sentient beings have happiness and its causes, 

May all sentient beings be free of suffering and its causes, 

May all sentient beings never be separated from bliss without suffering,

May all sentient beings live in equanimity, free of bias, attachment and anger.

'So you've taken up meditation, Carlo?'

I did not startle as Armand was suddenly by my side. Over the years I had grown accustomed to his inaudible footsteps, as if he floated around in a cloud instead of walking. I had learned to sense his proximity more than hear him approaching, as we do with most people, who are usually so noisy.

'Haven't you?' -- I replied, serenely. If Armand hadn't spoken, I don't think I would have found the courage to interrupt the immense silence of the nights on the Île du Blanchomme, that I was starting to revere.

I think I have already mentioned it to you, Laurent -- my interest about these practices were aroused by that wonderful book on India I'd read, but I guess it was more an intellectual curiosity, very theoretical. I only and actually learned meditation when Armand returned from his first trip to India -- he had been to several ashrams, done different retreats under the orientation of various gurus, and happily shared with me some techniques he had learned. Most important, his motivation and inspiration to meditate and free himself from all forms of suffering.

'I have, Carlo. Oh yes, I have.' -- his sweet smile shone in the darkness --'And meditating has brought me the fruits of a deeper calm, greater awareness, and it has broadened my understanding and aroused compassion in me. I no longer feel the need to change the world, when I can see it change inside myself, the way I see it and experience it. And I no longer need to try change my parents... I have learned to respect and love them the way they are, no matter how far they are from the ideal parents -- and family -- I wish I had had... And I'm beginning to feel acceptance towards myself, too, and starting to detach myself from the image of the ideal son I had to live up to...'

'That's another reason why I need to be present by my mother's death...' -- Armand took a deep breath, and after he had exhaled, he resumed his sharing with renewed sincerity -- 'I'll confront my father, peacefully confront him, and inform him about his ideal son's death...' -- as I heard Armand say those words, I shivered -- 'This will be another victory for my mother... My father might be happy over her death, but he'll suffer from his ideal son's death.' -- Armand smiled to himself, and I must have been staring at him so terrified with the prospect that his words contained, that he amended -- 'I'm not going to die, Carlo, don't misunderstand me! Just my ideal image is. I have no intention of building palaces any longer nor going into restoration anymore, my friend. I never had. It wasn't my heart's wish, but my father's will that I've taken as an obligation. In India, I've found what I want to do -- I want to build houses for the poor!'

I was merrily shocked at his decision, and I thought -- bad news, terrible news awaited Monsieur de Montbelle! His wife's funeral wouldn't be a party, after all!

And I was so happy for Armand!

'The only reason I have actually concluded the École was... you, Carlo... to stay with you!' -- my friend's voice trembled with emotion, but I realized we were also both shivering from the chilly wind that had started blowing from the sea.

That night I had my first hot bath in a long, very long time, sponsored by Armand.

'And by Herr Weissmann!' -- I was reminded by my friend -- 'It's weird... He might not have been the only person to die on The Birth Island... Like I have suggested before, there might have eventually been a baby or a mother to die here... But for sure, he was the only man, and I mean male, that did die here...' 

'And most certainly...' -- Armand had continued with his logic --, 'most weird of all, he was the only one to ever live on this taboo island, too... until us, now. Does that makes us taboo, Carlo? Haha!'

Armand had been standing in the bathroom while I was bathing. It was kind of a taboo, I thought, that Armand would see me naked -- for the first time in all our years together. My best friend and I had intimacy, but nothing like that. I must have been prudish like my grandfather, whom of course I had never seen naked, and since he had never seen me naked either, that made Armand the first person to ever see me without any clothes on. 

And that is another confession -- though being 24 years old, I was a virgin at the time.

'I can feel his presence everywhere...' -- Armand went on talking, following me through the house after I had dried myself, and as we moved into my room -- 'Herr Weissmann.' -- Armand clarified -- 'No, I'm not talking about ghosts... I mean, he built this house from scratch... see, he chose to leave all rooms open, with just curtains instead of doors... There is not much privacy, is there? I guess we have to change that if we want to run a guesthouse here...'

'Armand' -- was I entitled to pose my opinion? --, 'do you really want to run a guesthouse here? Have this place full of backpackers?'

'Oh no!' -- Armand laughed -- 'I was thinking of something a bit more exclusive... "barefoot elegance" as you proposed... I really like that expression! I'd rather keep this paradise to my own... for us... but I guess I'll have to make my own money after I tell my father about my decisions...' 

'I think that even before he lets you talk,' -- I added -- 'he'll be saying "Please have a decent haircut, Armand" Haha!' 

'Haha! You're right, Carlo. He might even say... "for your mother's funeral, at least." -- and blinking at his own morbid humour, Armand changed his tone -- 'I hope I get home before my mother dies... I think she'll be delighted to see my suntan and my hair grown long... She'll understand them like signs of a deep change, if only she's still conscious...' -- Armand continued, pensively -- 'She used to be a bit of a rebel herself, before she married, when she finally and definitely had to submit to her father's will and an arranged marriage to my father. She has since then submitted to Gaston, submitted to his rules and marching orders, to be rewarded with a "luxurious lie", as she has so elegantly described her deceitful marriage in retrospect. You know, some people say she has flipped in this process of growing ill, that she's gone crazy because of the things she now says... But as weird as it might sound, I think she found liberation to some extent in her illness.'

'Refusing treatment was the first decision not imposed on her and that she has taken all on her own in a long, long while...' -- Armand had a delicate, subtle smile on his face, and I could identify the love he felt for his mother -- 'I wish she had chosen otherwise, like to be a rich divorcée spending all her ex-husband's money with trips and parties... I could picture my mother having younger lovers, as a revenge. She has always been so beautiful and classy... But she has chosen to die... And on my part, I don't know how my relationship with my father shall evolve, without her intermediation. I really fear for us. She has always been like a shield between us... I don't know, Carlo...' -- Armand took another deep breath -- 'These are Armand's last days you are witnessing, do you realize it? And these are Armand's first days you are seeing!' -- he smiled.

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