chapter Five

to read from the FIRST CHAPTER

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

EPISODE 9

"Bye bye love

Bye bye happiness

Hello loneliness

I think I'm gonna cry"

(the "All That Jazz" version for this song, always!)

'Carlo...' -- I murmured, and I almost called my father "mon cher Carlo" -- 'Can I ask you when did you travel to the Île du Blanchomme?' -- the truth was I had no idea when my father had lived in Paris, nor any other date in his life, apart from the year of his birth, and that because he was my mother's age. I waited and observed him doing some mental calculations.

'It was the beggining of the 1970s... I graduated from the École in...1973, I'm almost sure about that. Or was it the end of 1972?' -- like a little boy, he was counting his fingers -- 'Then I spent a year, or almost a year... but at least three seasons in that abandoned factory in Paris...  Spring, Summer and Fall... So it must have been by the end of 1973 or the beggining of 1974 when I travelled to the Indian Ocean... Why, Laurent?'

'Nothing special. I was just curious, trying to picture you back then' -- but the truth was I was doing my own calculations. I had been born in 1975 in Punaouilo, where Carlo had met Catherine, and now I was wondering when... and why... and how... he had crossed from the Indian Ocean to the Pacific Ocean, and what had happened to Armand, who hadn't gone with him... Or had he? 

'Do you want to me to continue with the story, son? Or are you bored?'

'Bored? Mon Dieu, no!' -- I was intrigued, and invested in what I sensed was my father's upcoming confession of a gay love affair in his youth -- 'Please, Carlo, please!' 

After having slept only a few hours, I still woke up much later than the other days. Armand was sound asleep, and I let him sleep.

It had been a long night, full of acute revelations and intense emotions.  A lot for both of us to take in, but for my friend, who had been living in a state of tension and expectation for so long, it must have been exhausting.

The sun was high up and it was too hot to sit to meditate under the shade of a palm tree.

Instead, I decided to go for a walking meditation around the island.

But I could not concentrate on my breath nor my steps.

My mind was running wild, and for once I decided to let it run free.

It came as an insight to me that Armand and I had never been very personal in our conversations. The previous night, a tropical night on a secluded island, had been the first time we had really opened our hearts to one another.

We used to spend a lot of time together in Paris, even if we studied different disciplines at the École des Beaux-Arts. Architecture for him, and Fine Arts for me, which  had actually helped our friendship, since we had even more to exchange. And all the time, we had talked to one another, a lot, interminably during the days and often late into the nights, until we'd fall asleep, exhausted and satisfied.

We arrived in Paris in 1969. Everybody kept saying we were one year late, that we had lost one of the grandest moments in the history of the city, and that had affected the whole country, maybe the whole western world. Everything had changed, everything was new. And to me, a peasant from the isolated high mountains, it was all indeed new. But to Armand, a prince brought up in a castle not far from the City of Light, nothing was really new.

Or so I believed.

We had first met at a museum, starting a conversation over two paintings in a corner, that of the Russian writer Dmitriy Furmanov in an aristocratic pose, and the other of an anonymous young man sketching -- we couldn't have been each better represented in those depictions. I was visiting the museum for the first time, while Armand was there again just for his best loved paintings -- and from that specific pair, he knew plenty of details he was eager to share with me.

At some point during our conversation, he mentioned he had already seen me at the École. Naively, unaware of the wealthy person I had before me, I asked him if he knew someone who wanted to share a room, because I'd have to leave the Auberge de la Jeunesse soon --  and after a day well spent together, sharing impressions and opinions, he invited me to visit the apartment his father had rented for him, to see if I would like to share it with him.

For me, his small apartment was luxurious -- and for the next five years, he did not allow me to pay more than the amount I had payed for a bed at the Auberge, since I had insisted in paying him something at least. But he always found a way of returning the money to me, buying art supplies or even clothes for me.

We came from completely different backgrounds, and those differences fascinated us both. Armand thought it was magical that I could guess the weather from looking at the clouds, and point him that a rose was not an azalea, and that strawberries and pumpkins did not grow on trees. And if I had never been to a museum nor a theater before I had joined the École, Armand had already visited them all in most European countries, and was a most accomplished guide to the Parisian cultural life.

To me it was a budding period, and Armand rejoiced introducing me to so many wonderful places and things. We would stroll through the city for many hours, and he would point me all sites of interest, and tell their history. Whenever he had two tickets or the entrance was free, we would go to museums, theaters and the movies together, preferably at the Cinémathèque Française. Chabrol and Costa-Gravas, Louis Malle and François Truffaut, Godard and Resnais, but also Visconti and Bergman and Tarkovsky -- I discovered them all under Armand's guidance. And from his frequent dates he would always bring me the exquisite booklets of the best operas and plays in town. What else could a peasant like me have wished for? My life was already richer than I had ever pictured.

For many days we would debate about a controversial play or movie we had watched. We also shared his books, and many times we agreed on the authors, more than not. I had never read French poetry before he gave me Baudelaire's "Les Fleurs du Mal", followed by Rimbaud's "Le Bateau ivre". I flipped. In the five years we were roommates, he erected a wonderful library in our apartment, that I profited so much from... We used to call it "The Church". "Let's go to the church?", "Let's meet at the church after class?" It sounded completely démodé, and our colleagues from the École regarded us as two antiquated religious fanatics, while we rejoiced with our private joke.

It's funny to recall how much time we spent just talking, debating, discussing. Many times we would miss a meal or even class because we engaged in a conversation and forgot about everything -- and everyone -- else.

We rarely discussed politics, but religion was an almost daily topic. Actually, it was more on spirituality, since none of us was religious, despite our joking about "The Church". We both agreed that religion actually parted us from experiencing the sacredness of all things. We debated about God -- the concept, the idea, its existence or non existence -- and on faith. That strengthened our bonds, since not many students our age had interest on those topics.

The meaning of life? Were we born with a mission or a purpose in life? Or was the purpose of life simply giving life a purpose? 

Armand was highly cultivated and would bring quotes from Plato, Kierkegaard and other names I'd hear for the first time in our conversations. I'd talk about the crops and the seasons, about magnificent lightning storms and the fierce winds in the mountains, about observing a baby deer daily evolving, and all the corresponding insights I had gained through those experiences.

But to me it actually didn't matter whether we agreed on a subject or not -- I didn't have to like Heidegger nor the Bauhaus school; to me it was important how these new things Armand kept bringing up would help me to avert my peasant past and build a brand new future. I easily gave in to his opinions, and let him conduct me in the world of high culture, just as he let me guide him through the gardens and along the alleys of the Parisian parks naming plants and animals for him, directing his awareness towards the birds singing and the rustling of the leaves, the perfume of the flowers or the scent of rain coming with the wind. He introduced me to Kandinsky and other wonderful painters, while I made him notice the intricately beautiful patterns of moss.

He too, with my company and rather erratic guidance, had started diverting from his past. But who could have guessed the ashrams in India were coming?

I had heard Armand wake up, but he didn't come down to the beach to greet me. Instead, he went about his things -- he must have had things to organize and do his packing, for the boat should come to take him in two days.

Sensing he wanted to be left alone -- risking to be completely wrong and delivering the dangerous message of rejection after his courageous coming out --, I decided to go back to my paintings, and give him time to sort his feelings out.

But after a couple of hours, I understood I'd have to take the initiative upon myself again -- that of going to my friend to start a decisive conversation.

'Buongiorno, fratello mio...' -- I met Armand in his room and softly greeted him, trying to sound as casual as ever we had been -- 'Did you sleep well? Can we talk?'

'Bonjour, mon cher Carlo. And thank you for again coming to me.' -- he smiled serenely, as he seemed to have been bracing himself for my approach --  'I thought I'd give you all the time and space you needed after my...' -- and he was embarassed when he said it -- '...confession last night.' -- I though I saw him blush.

'Haha!' -- despite that being a sensitive moment, and I realized we were a bit disconcerted with our physical proximity, I still had to laugh -- 'And I thought I was giving you the time and space to sort your feelings out!'

'I'm sorry...' -- Armand said, sounding rather melancholic -- 'I have to apologize for the embarassing situation I've created between us. You are my guest, and as your host I have behaved monstrously...'

'Armand!' -- Had my laughter hurt him? For my friend seemed to have retreated back into his princely politeness; only it now seemed like an imposture -- 'Do you really feel like that? You have been my host and I've been your guest for five years!  You always made me feel at home! I never saw our relation in such formal terms... We were best friends, we were like brothers... That's what we still are, from my part.'

Perhaps my first reaction to his coming out hadn't been so reassuring, and now I wanted Armand to feel totally at ease and accepted.

'You know, Laurent... During my walking meditation that morning on the Île du Blanchomme, a memory came into my mind... I recalled how I'd watched an albino baby chamois starve to death because he had been rejected by his mother. How old was I? Nine or ten... perhaps eight, or eleven? Anyways, being an orphan myself, these matters struck me hard. Grandfather agreed I tried to feed the baby, but the poor thing was so afraid of me that it injured itself trying to evade my cares. Maybe I even hastened its death by trying to help. But Armand... He was my mate! I knew I had to help him. Even if I didn't really know how, one thing I knew... I didn't want my friend to be even close to feeling any rejection from my part...'

Tears came to my eyes, and my heart skipped a beat. I recalled Carlo had already told me that story about the albino baby chamois during our visit to the D'Allegro farm in the Apennines, but apparently he had forgotten.

'Carlo...'  -- it's a pity I could not bring myself to call him "dad", just as I had stopped calling Catherine "mom" almost completely now -- 'That is the most beautiful thing you could have done for him...' -- I was touched by my father's sensitivity. And why haven't you been there, I thought, when I came out?... Memories of my own process mingled with the story my father was telling me, and I already deeply empathized with Armand, knowing how much harder it must have been for my father's friend to come out some 30 or 40 years ago.

'I wasn't sure what I was going to say anymore...' -- Carlo continued with his story, going back to that point in the past where my birth was not even to be guessed -- '...since Armand had just apologized for his coming out... But anything I could say or do to help my friend suffer less...'

'Mon cher Armand... I want you to know how important last night was for me. I had never heard someone express love for me before in words.' -- and by Armand's look I thought the same was true for him -- 'Certainly not my grandfather, who has always been stern...' -- and probably on Armand's side, not from his parents either, I guessed -- 'So that your declaration touched my heart deeply... It wasn't an embarrassing occasion and you don't have to apologize for it. I don't think you forced it upon me. It happened, like a night flower blooms when touched by the moonlight... And it gave me the chance to express love for the first time, too! I think I won't ever forget last night.'

'And when I told you that I loved you...' -- I continued -- 'It was true, it was serious... I mean, it is true! But I tell you this as a brother... To the brother I'd never had before I met you... I love you, Armand.' -- I paused. Should I say or not? -- 'But I'm not attracted to you. You are a beautiful man, generous, kind, so polite, cultured and travelled, bearing a thousand other qualities... It is an unbelievable privilege and honor for me to have your friendship, brotherhood, and now... your love.' 

I was aware that for the first time we were missing the sunset and the moonrise, but Armand didn't seem to care about that either.

'Thank you for having confided in me.' -- I went on, trying to be tactful --  'But I'm afraid I cannot requite the love you feel... the way you feel it... and want it from me! I have caused you a lot of suffering these past days, and I might bring you more... frustration. Dear Armand, if you want me to, I'll leave this island the day after tomorrow with you in that boat... And I'll leave your life, too. I don't want the be the cause of your suffering anymore.'

Contrary to what I had expected, the effect of my words was terrible -- it was as if I had punched my friend. He closed his eyes and gasped loud.

'Ha...' -- Armand gave a sad, soft, very low laugh, after a long and tense silence -- 'Mon cher Carlo, how could you stop my suffering by leaving the island... and leaving my life?' -- he sounded at peace, yet sad, and resigned, a bit like Tarso, my grandfather -- 'No, that has not changed... I've told you before, I don't you to leave the island! And if you would... If my love was to kill our friendship... My deepest fears would have come true! No, please!' -- at his words, I felt Armand's intense and true sadness and desperation, as if they were mine.

"I don't want you to be unhappy, or ashamed, or sorry..." -- Armand murmured, his voice so low -- 'I'm thinking of Louis Malle's movie "Le souffle au couer", that we watched together... I'm sure you remember it. How Lea Massari, who plays the mother, reassures her son... Laurent was his name, if I'm not mistaken... by giving him the notion of how solemn, perhaps terrible it is what has happened to them, but still she wants to preserve the tenderness of the moment, turn it into a loving memory, and she asks the boy to do the same... It's such a beautiful, memorable moment in the movie...' -- I had difficulty in following Armand's low tone, as my head had began to feel heavy and I struggled with a sudden exhaustion -- 'I'm asking you to do the same here, Carlo...'

'Because I'd rather suffer with you around than suffer without you, or not suffer at all, Carlo...'

 I'm not sure if those were Armand's last words, because I don't remember the moment I feel asleep at his feet, surrendering to an emotional fatigue. I have no idea for how long we slept, but I woke up when my head bumped into his knee, or was it the opposite?

'I want to go for a walk... Do you want to come with me, Armand?' -- my friend hadn't left the house that whole day, and even if there were no doors and a gentle breeze continuously danced through all rooms, I felt a heaviness in the air.

There were no ships to be seen anywhere. The horizon was vast and calm, a line that could barely be divisible between sea and sky -- to which did the horizon belong, actually? With the lights of the house turned off, a myriad of stars seemed to have come to birth. In the past, lying on the grass of Parisian parks looking at the skies, Armand and I had been fond of sharing mythological stories about the stars, but that night we remained silent.

For everything else was incredibly silent, that evening. Sometimes I doubted Armand's plans of having more flowers on the island to attract insects and birds. Wasn't it uniquely perfect, peaceful and silent the way it was?

'How are you feeling?' -- I asked Armand, after the night air had refreshed our senses.

'Relieved.' -- he smiled -- 'What was the name you used on your first day on the island? Renato! That's it, today you can call me "Renato, the reborn"!'

'Can my Renato be friends to your Renato?' -- I joked.

'Only if it is... Forever!' -- Armand had replied, playfully.

But it was too cool and humid to remain outside, and again we entered the house, leaving it dark as it was. Armand's room was  illuminated only by the moonlight.

'Can I ask you one last question?' -- I had someone from the story he had told me continuously popping into my mind, though it was an image without a face, for I had never met the guy -- 'What about Raymond?'

'Are you trying to find me a boyfriend already, Carlo?' -- Armand laughed softly -- 'I just came out to you and you want to pair me up? Haha!' -- he gulped -- 'He is in Bangkok, at the embassy there. I wrote him a letter, that I did not send, guessing diplomats must have their personal correspondence scrutinized. I just sent him a note inviting him to come to the Île du Blanchomme. I don't think he ever will. But most important -- you, Carlo, did come!'

'I'm not sure I love Raymond, the way I'm sure... about you. I'm sorry to bring this up again...' -- and I noticed Armand's eyes were full of tears, gleaming in the dark.

Suddenly I thought how unfair it was to feel such a great love and suffer because of it. To have to apologize for loving. To be punished because of love -- but where did that punishment come from? Who was punishing my friend? Had Armand been punishing himself? How strange to cultivate love and desperation in each moment and at the same time, as if two opposite feelings were pairing to create a single one. Love like a torture, love as shame. How must it have been to have hope and be so helplessly hopeless at the same time?

He must have been feeling so lonely, I realized, his mother on a death bed, his father with some other family, and me, his best friend... sitting just across the bed, but ages distant from his longing, as if I were sitting on another planet, a dead trunk fallen in front of a rock.

'Can I give you a hug, Armand?'

Armand cried on my shoulder, as I held him tight for what seemed like a long time. Slowly, our bodies adjusted and we lay on the bed, side by side, cuddling.

I wanted him to know he was no longer unseen, no longer alone, but accepted and loved.

NEXT CHAPTER