Sunday, September 8, 2013

chapter Seven

to read from the FIRST CHAPTER




EPISODE 13



'And a love like ours, my dear,
Is best measured when it's down.'

(and when it's done, I should add)

from the song 'Strange Weather' by Tom Waits, with Marianne Faithfull





'I agreed with your mother that you were too young to understand some events.' -- Carlo said, gravely -- 'But now you are an adult, and you can use your discerning and understanding about the reasons why so many things have remained hidden from you. And the lies told to keep them secret... I'm sad that it has to be me telling them to you, my son, but I think Catherine will never find the courage...'




I felt a shiver of anticipation. And when I thought my father was going to start talking, he again retreated into a concentrated silence. I did not realize he was choosing the most skillful way of revealing the facts to me -- I thought he had chickened out.

'Is Armand my father?' -- I was direct and incisive. Wealthy, cultured, traveled, spoiled, a bit of a dandy, intellectual, even if he were a homosexual... now that I knew better my father's best friend,  I could imagine Catherine falling in love for a sophisticated man like him, and not with a pauper peasant like my father.




Carlo laughed happily. I had already realized that Gabriel, the handsome bartender, had been following our conversation from the distance, and he too seemed pleased to see my dad amused.

'Of course not!' -- he looked at me, surprised -- 'What an idea! I'm your father, Laurent. And this is not one of those stories of mystery and adventure that you wrote and illustrated in your childhood years...' -- and reluctantly, because his memories about his son could not extend beyond, Carlo added -- '... and early adolescence.'




Carlo seemed amused with my guess, his laugh was so youthful and full of joy, and since I liked to make people laugh, I continued:

'So... Armand is my mother?' -- in fact, I was anxious and distressed, and I could behave foolishly when I felt like that, especially in front of my father, whom I had not seen for twenty years -- 'I don't know... I was an apparition in this story... why wouldn't I be a freaking aberration, too? Born from the womb of a man with another man... Weren't you on an island with a powerful spell, the Island of Births?'




Carlo looked at me puzzled. Realizing that it wasn't serious, he again burst into laughter.

'Hahaha! I don't think even the natives have envisioned such a miracle, Laurent!' -- suddenly, Carlo became serious -- 'I'm glad you're in such a light mood to approach this story, son...' -- and he laughed again.

That laughter! It had been twenty years now -- or maybe more, perhaps much more, since Carlo wasn't very happy while we lived in France -- that I hadn't listened to his laughter.




Suddenly, scenes of my childhood came back to me, along with an impression of tenderness and the feeling of happiness. Precisely that period about which Carlo had talked, when Catherine had gone to France and it was only the two of us in Punaouilo... I had found out that I had the ability to make my father laugh -- for until then I had been trying it only with my mother, who was always seriously immersed in her books, and she looked on me condescendingly, a little sad at my childish jokes, as if saying... how silly my son is.




But my father could laugh at my jokes, and suddenly I found myself creating a repertoire to amuse and please him. It was during Catherine's absence that I truly became friends and affectionate with my father, because until then my focus had always been my mother -- seeking to attract her attention, win her approval. 

Interestingly, I remembered the joy I felt during that period, and that Carlo had taught me how to ride a bike and swim, and our mutual fondness -- but I could not remember my illness due to sadness that he had mentioned.



'When I got that huge amount of money from Davez' -- Carlo had recalled -- 'I could quit working as a house painter and exclusively devote myself to you, while we waited for your mother's return... And I could give you the bike you wanted so badly... You were so happy, and I was even happier!' -- Carlo was touched -- 'You never complained about not getting the things you wanted as a child, Laurent... We were almost poor... But then you had no terms of comparison, I guess, since the natives we befriended were also leading a very simple life... Those were happy days, only the two of us, all the time together...'




'Gentlemen, would you care for dessert now?' -- the bartender named after an archangel and with the face of an angel was again hovering near us -- 'And I would like to draw your attention to tonight's full moon, a privileged sight of our restaurant... Our best table has been kept for you...' -- Gabriel said, with a sexy smile and a touch of irony, since all tables were free -- 'with the best view we have... Could I serve you another drink there?'




When I was about to answer "No thank you", Carlo sprung up from his seat saying "Fantastico!", ordering yet another type of wine, and went ahead to the table, chatting with Gabriel. I overhead he was intrigued how such a wonderful restaurant could be totally empty -- and I knew Gabriel had rehearsed the right answer to give him.




I followed my father across the restaurant -- but my mind was elsewhere, and in another time. It had wandered back to Punaouilo, to my childhood memories of full moon nights... I recalled how lively they were, and how I'd stand alone in the back of the garden, close to the mountain and at the edge of the tropical groves, listening to the unruly noises of birds and other usually quiet animals, aroused by the full moon. I also remember in other occasions reading under the moonlight, fascinated by its intensity -- and that I could even cast shadows in such nights,  to me as a child it had seemed so magical...



'You were a fearless boy!' -- Carlo would comment about my childhood -- 'Not in the sense that you were brave or courageous... You were a peaceful child, with a confidence... a general confidence, in life, I guess... that kids don't seem to have at your age. Because of that, you seemed to face all things fearlessly.'

And in fact, I recalled having often crossed the garden at night, from our little cottage until the mansion, to deliver Joanna one message or another from Catherine or Carlo, and despite the darkness and the nightly noises, I walked confidently -- while Joanna herself, who believed in evil spirits hiding in the shadows, was terrified that I should be walking alone in the dark. It was only later, when we moved to France, that like her I would dread the night and the dark places, and become a frigthened kid -- but not in Punaouilo.




I realized I was feeling nostalgic... and affectionate. How could it be? I had foreseen myself enraged, calling for justice and atonement during that reunion with my father. 

HOW? and WHY? I was going to ask him, with the resentment I had cultivated for twenty years... Instead, he had taken the word and the direction of our conversation, taken me back to his youth, to rough times I'd never imagined had existed in his life -- and to that matter, in our life, the life of the small family he had tried to run... Stragenly, I could only remember the wealthy Carlo of the final years in Punaouilo and back in France, when he was already a fairly well know artist, his works being sold in a few galleries around the world, and he bought me plenty of toys and gave Catherine fancy dresses -- things he had been uncapable of doing in Punaouilo.




I guess I had also forgotten how friendly and charming Carlo was, and how he could change situations and even people's dispositions to his favor -- just like he was now doing it with me.

But that's not true. 

I had not forgotten it, and that was certainly part of my resentment -- why had I been deprived of his warm, affectionate presence for so long?




'After Armand left, I led a life of solitude, discipline and austerity on the Île du Blanchomme... but because they had been merrily self-imposed, it was a life of great peace and happiness, too...' -- Carlo recalled, a discreet smile lighting his face.





'Every morning I'd wake up before sunrise for my meditation session, and to the apparition that intrigued me and comforted me at the same time.' -- Carlo paused briefly, as if to punctuate my previous explosion at the mention of the apparition, and he smiled sweetly when this time I remained silent and attentive -- 'I still hadn't deciphered it. I was yet to understand the message it brought me, but which I nonetheless perceived to be that of a good future. And thus I grew very fond of the apparition, and that's how it started keeping me company on the Île du Blanchomme.'




I worked diligently in the garden, always on the shaded side of the house, to be gentle with the plants and with myself. Gradually, I managed to clean the weeds and the dead plants, and started applying compost to the soil. In response, the seeds finally started germinating and would grow many seedlings. It was a lovely sight, and the myriad of buds seemed to bolster the energy of the island!



 With equal commitment and determination I painted daily, although I hadn't yet found a theme in that lush part of the world -- unlike the old abandoned factory, where the decay and decrepitude all around had fascinated and stimulated me.

I still practiced every day, to soon realize the canvas scrolls that I had brought with me would soon end, and I'd have to leave the island to buy more -- not that I had the faintest idea about where to go. I sensed that when that time came, I should take the boat from the Île and just ride it to its final port, probably the same one where I had embarked with Armand. But at that moment, I did not even want to think about it!




Like formerly in the factory, I felt no desire to go out and face the world. My mind was the only wanderer, and sometimes I thought of my grandfather Tarso. How would he have reacted to the letter I had sent him from Paris, shortly before leaving for the Indian Ocean, saying I did not know exactly where I was heading to, leaving him no address, and saying that it was for an indefinite period? How would those careless lines and vague news about my plunge into the vast, unknown world have struck him, he who lived a rather simple and solitary life of a peasant widower, isolated in the high mountains? 

Now in my heart I apologized to him for being so cold and uncaring, and I promised myself to write another letter, that I would somehow send to him, describing my tropical idyll and renewed happiness.




When I thought about Armand, however, I was still saddened. Sure, we had already been separated before. Like when after we graduated, he had left for his tour around Asia. It had been without the promise of reuniting even, and yet I hadn't felt his absence so much. 

But there, on the Île du Blanchomme, all things made ​​me think of him, and I felt like I hadn't absorbed his presence enough -- though he had always been wise and generous during our Parisian years, after the crisis in his family and his experiences in India, he had become ​​far warmer, and more intense, more sincere, more affectionate.




Armand seemed to acquire a new importance in my life, more essential, and deeper... I started wondering if what I was feeling... affection... tenderness... a longing...  wasn't it what people called love? I had read novels, I had watched movies and plays, and yet, experiencing it was completely unexpected and new to me.

'And suddenly, being in love with my best friend seemed so natural and welcome...' -- Carlo sighed.




Listening to my father's words, at that point I thought I knew what he was going to tell me next. 

Our conversation had lasted only a few hours yet, but I already knew where his narrative was leading us to.

An answer, and an excuse to have abandoned me and my mother -- and they both bear the same name: Armand de Montbelle.




I had already realized his strong connection to Armand. I still pictured them as lovers, though Carlo was trying to be discreet -- even if for just a couple of days, two young males discovering the joy and pleasure of loving -- I knew so well how that was! 

And now he had named it himself -- love! Filled with suffering -- the suffering of parting that I knew even better.




My mind delivered hypothesis at an uncanny speed, leading to my birth -- had Carlo abandoned his beloved friend because of Catherine? Maybe when he had found out she was pregnant? Which equaled to say he had abandoned Armand for me, even if I was the tiniest little reason in her belly... And then, thirteen years later, had he decided to leave Catherine and me to go back to Armand? 

The law of karma -- the suffering I had caused with my birth had returned upon me, I was inclined to think... But I wanted my father to tell it himself, and knowing he had his own pace, I had decided to allow him the time to do it.





'Nights on the island were specially lonely.' -- Carlo recalled, and we were back on the Île du Blanchomme -- 'The immense silence, the vastness of sky and sea, the lights of the ships far on the horizon lead me to think of Armand, maybe already disembarked, his warm presence as far in time and space as the stars.'



I had never felt lonely before. 

I guess I was content with myself -- no matter how poor I had been, no matter how hungry, there had been this feeling of being whole. It was this longing for someone else that brought in the hollowness of feeling lonely. And the need for love... I had never pictured myself sharing life with someone else, but now happiness on my own seemed incomplete, if not utterly impossible.

I remember this one night -- because it was the last night, that's why it comes back so clearly. It was sultry hot, and humid. The weather was foreign to me in the Indian Ocean, and I wondered what season it was -- I recall having prayed to have the opportunity to live all seasons on that part of the planet, to get acquainted with the weather, for a good peasant I was.




I had decided to sleep outside, at the bench on the beach. I had been reading Herr Weissmann's journals, and he had spent many nights under the stars, before building himself a house, and I felt inspired to do the same.

But I had many terrible nightmares that night, and when I woke up I did not want to go back to sleep.




I tried swimming to tire myself, and though not being the least inspired, I even tried painting in the dark during that evening, like I had so often done at the old factory. 

But I had this lasting, inexplicable feeling of agony. I thought one explanation might have been my grandfather Tarso -- he was old, was he ill? Was I sensing something bad that he was actually going through?

And suddenly, again I thought about Armand. And I knew he was thinking of me, too. Of course! It must have been him! That pain in my chest. Had his mother died? Had he confronted Monsieur de Montbelle?




As much as I had been suffering, and I could sense Armand suffering too, all the suffering that there was in the world seemed to fall upon me -- I thought of all the people in pain, ill, being beaten, raped, tortured, losing someone to death... At that very moment... 

At this very moment, Laurent. Do you realize it? Can you feel it too? People living in war zones, suffering from hunger and thirst, children being mistreated or abused, women being beaten and raped, elderly people abandoned and sick, and the animals being mercilessly slaughtered, or tortured in laboratories -- I sensed all that happening around the planet, moment after moment, and I sat to calm down, and during that meditation, in my heart I felt all the suffering that there is in the world... I was so troubled, for I didn't know any techniques to transform and heal that feeling, back then...




I was too tired to work the following day, and it was too hot as well. I was hoping the boat would come soon with the painting material that they had promised Armand to deliver at the island -- working in the cool rooms of the house would be nice for a change. I hang by the pool -- and it was the last time I'd think "life is a beach", for it was soon to turn into a "bitch".




Armand had warned me how invasive natives could be in their curiosity -- therefore I avoided being on the beach whenever I was expecting the boat to come to the island.

I spent that day mostly indoors -- Herr Weissmann had built the house several meters above the sea level, I had read in his journals, because of past tidal waves, and that had also made the house much cooler than the beach.




Even from inside the house one could hear the boat approaching by its engine or the whistle they blew, and if not those, because of the noise the natives would make, unloading the provisions onto the beach. 

But that afternoon I must have been really tired from the previous night of torments and unrest, for I completely overheard in my sleep the boat's arrival and things being unloaded, to suddenly jump from my bed, startled by the sound of the distancing engine of the boat.




I still waited a few minutes more before leaving the house, listening to the boat taking distance. When I was sure the natives who would eye me from aboard would see no more than a tiny figure on the island, I went down to the beach. 

I was so happy to see that the gallons of paint had been delivered, and I was intrigued with a backpack that was there as well -- I thought Armand must have sent me a gift, and my heart started beating faster!





In the seconds to follow, many thoughts crossed my mind, and because I had been meditating a lot, my mind was clear and I was able to observe them all, crisscrossing one another at an unbelievable speed -- Oh my God... wrong delivery... it can't be... she must have gotten off on the wrong island... what, now? wrong address... where is she gonna stay... shit, why did I wait so long... now the boat is too fucking distant... what if I scream... they have to come back... she can't stay... it's impossible...



'At last!' -- the girl whinged, angrily. Her voice sounded to dry leaves being crumpled and it surprised me, for it didn't match her petite figure -- 'They made ​​so much noise, and shouted, but no one came... I only stayed here because they assured me that there was someone at the guesthouse.' -- she moaned and shrank back against the barrels -- 'Where did you hide? Can you help me, please? But do you understand French?' -- she seemed suspicious, maybe noticing my total lack of action. 

I was stunned. It was worst than the first apparition -- there was actually another person with me on the Île du Blanchomme, and this time it was no ghost!




'We have to call the boat back...' -- I replied in my best French, trying to imitate Armand's pronunciation and cadence, as I always did in formal situations -- 'You cannot stay here.'

'I'm delighted to meet you, too! Thank you for your welcome...' -- affronted, she looked at me with sparkling hazel eyes, and again she groaned -- 'Is the guesthouse full, by chance? In any case, I need a bathroom...'




Just then did I realize how sick the girl was, her skin almost the color of the elegant dress she was wearing -- pale green, with a yellowish tinge. What guesthouse was she talking about? 

My God, she must have disembarked on the wrong island, I thought, and now she will be stranded here for a week or as much as the boat -- which at that point was an undefined tiny object heading for the horizon -- could take to return to the Île du Blanchomme.




Armand had never mentioned a contingency plan for when I needed the boat, out of its unpredictable regularity... Was there a light sign that I could use so that it was sighted from the nearest island? Should I light a fire on the beach? No radio, no telephone... no idea! What a tragedy!




'A toilet...' -- the girl stood up with great effort, her face contorted with pain -- 'Can I use a bathroom in the hostel?'

'There is no hostel.' -- I mouthed right away, even covering her last word as she was still pronouncing it -- 'This is a house, a private home.'

'Can I use the bathroom in your house then?' -- she pressed on, exasperated.

'The house is not mine...' -- I was astounded, and again I felt like the peasant who had been once a newcomer to Paris, feeling totally displaced and not knowing how to properly behave -- 'I don't think you understand it... You cannot stay here...'




'How do you want me to leave? Swimming? I don't think you understand it!' -- she sounded indignant, and finally I realized how rude I was being to her -- 'Do you have no compassion either, since you seem to have no education?!' -- and thus she hit me twice, exposing how weak my practice of compassion for all beings had been, since I could not include the first being that I had met in many weeks, and at once pointing to my peasant rudeness, which always left me feeling unhappy and inconvenient -- 'I need ...'

When I saw her stagger and almost fall over the barrels of paint, I stepped forward to support her, but she pushed me away, as she regained balance.



'Do not touch me!' -- she shrieked, walking away towards the stairs to the house -- 'Is it over there? If the house is not yours, then whose is it? Is there anyone else here? Someone else hiding?' -- she screamed sorely -- 'Do you work here?' -- the girl eyed me from head to feet, noticing with disgust the dirt and the holes in my clothes, with a look of disdain that made ​​me blush -- 'Oh, you don't need to answer...'




I instructed her on how to find the bathroom, and decided to wait at the beach... The bathroom had no doors, and if even with my mate and pal Armand it had been too embarrassing -- the doorless latrines seemed to be quite common in that part of the world, since the natives had an altogether different notion of privacy, or depending on the point of view, no notion at all, and Herr Weissmann seemed to have incorporated it -- that said, such an scheme with a girl would be impossible! 



But somehow we would have to achieve it... 

Because I was starting to conform to that situation. 

The boat was gone, and would be back only within a week or more. There was no way to resolve it otherwise. 



She would have to stay. I needed to prepare myself to spend at least a week on the Île du Blanchomme with Catherine Mortinné, French, resident in the 6th arrondissement and on one of the noblest streets and neighborhoods of Paris -- it was all that the label attached to her backpack and her address informed me. 

Moreover, a complete stranger to me.




Ashamed after having shown so much discourtesy to the girl, I decided to take her backpack up. It was actually light and seemed to be brand new, from someone who had been traveling just recently, and for a short time. 

At least she wasn't moving into the Île du Blanchomme, I thought -- but I was wrong, and how wrong was I!













6 comments:

  1. This was quite interesting. So Carlo was in love with Armand. Then the strange girl is dumped at the island.

    (I want to add that I found it a bit difficult to follow the conversation without the speech quotes. I had to re-read pieces because I wasn't sure if it was a thought or talking or who was thinking or speaking.)

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    1. thank you for your comments and reading the story, Zhippidy.

      I am aware of that difficulty with the speech quotes -- since I'm not a native in English language, I found it easier to stick to the Latin system that I know better, so that I don't get too confused...

      And perhaps I have read too much Saramago to still make a differentiation between the talking and the thinking... sometimes it's even difficult to guess who is talking or commenting... sometimes the pic shows Carlo, but it is Laurent's thoughts you read about... This is done on purpose, and has a meaning that should be clear by the end of the story.

      Love and Peace to you.

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  2. Ha! Gabriel is so intrigued by the story too he's just sitting there eavesdropping!

    It was a great thing what Laurent did, easing the tension by making a few jokes. It seems Carlo really appreciated it which is great!

    Like him though I am waiting to finally hear the story unfold!

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    1. Carlo is slow...

      he has always been considered a slow person -- not stupid, not lazy, just slow... naturally so, like the rhythms of Nature in opposition to urban speed...

      and he is taking his time to tell the story... he is not eager to reach that point where there was not turning back in his life.

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  3. Carlo realized he was in love... aww, how sweet. It's too bad he didn't realize it sooner. So that is how he and Catherine met, by chance when she misunderstood where to go. Poor Carlo, that doesn't seem like it would be pleasant at all for him, LOL.

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    1. In solitude and silence, Carlo was finally able to listen to his own heart -- it was softly singing Armand's name. And in the distance, he felt he was finally able to embrace his friend, and even physically long for him.

      This is totally new and comes as a shock for Laurent -- how his parents met. Their first contact is not very promising, and Carlo is not appeased with the idea of having his tranquility disturbed by a stranger. But the boat is gone, there is not else to do about that -- unless trying to get along for at least a week.

      And we do know Carlo and Catherine are going to make a baby, so unless something terrible like an abuse happens, somehow they will have fall in love...

      Thank you for reading and commenting, LKSimmer!

      Delete

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