chapter Three

to read from the FIRST CHAPTER

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

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.

NEXT CHAPTER

chapter Two, continued

to read from the FIRST CHAPTER

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

EPISODE 4

no one to see

I'm free as the breeze

no one but me

and my memories

from Travelin' light with Billie Holiday

It hurt a lot, Laurent. Not my burnt skin. The canvases on fire. Most of my works painted during the École des Beaux-Arts. But I didn't cry over the ashes of that bonfire.

The next morning, as the sun rose, we left the port. I wasn't sure how much I was leaving behind... I had all my possessions with me, but it seemed that the years spent at the École were also staying behind. Memories turned into smoke had vanished during a single Parisian night.

If I had known I'd never return to Paris, I might have cried a little.

But I did not.

It was my first time on a such a huge ship. My first international trip outside Europe, actually. 

I'd never thought of myself as a traveler, and quite unexpectedly I was crossing oceans to the other side of the world! At first, the novelty of the vessel's routine and the sensation of movement made me thoroughly happy.

But as time went by, it started feeling like a prison. I felt like Rilke's panther in the zoo cage, going round and round and round, going nowhere -- though I knew the ship was ever moving.

Ports went by. 

Places I only saw from the distance. Places I didn't know, not even their names, and that I would never visit. Nor wanted to.

My heart felt peaceful, yet if sometimes painful, when I recalled my parents had died in a ship wreck... But I wasn't afraid to find myself on board of a ship, for no matter how hurtful, those were the faded memories of a little boy.

I didn't suffer from the growing distance that now separated me from the places I had known -- not the D'Allegro farm where all my ancestors had always lived in the Apennines, nor the Paris of my years of studies. Bland.

And I didn't feel any anxiety towards my destination -- the Île du Blanchomme was no more than an exotic name that did not correspond to any images in my mind. Blank.

I felt detached from everything. 

Days seemed incredibly long and plain, and at night I felt I was floating in a vast emptiness. Stars shone in the sky just the same as distant cities blinked on the horizon, and when they slowly moved before my eyes, I guessed they were other ships. If they blinked and disappeared to again reappear, I had already figured out they were lighthouses. And day after day, there was nothing else to be seen.

During those weeks on the ship, I dropped my meditation. Everything seemed to meditate around me -- everything was silent, neutral, empty, vast, uncertain, signless. And to my contemplative nature, life had itself become a single, uninterrupted meditation session.

I did not paint, not once, on the ship, nor felt any motivation for it, since that last canvas I had finished at the factory. It hadn't been a bad painting, not at all, and with it in my hands I had returned to the public hospital where they treated my food poisoning, and given it to the doctor to express my gratitude.

And I didn't make any friends among the sailors -- I did not try, I did not want them. At the end of my journey awaited Armand -- my best friend, my only friend, and that sufficed.

I drifted around my own essence, as the ship slowly and steadily moved towards my destination.

And my essence was that of the loner. But I never felt lonely.

An introvert, I rejoiced in isolation. Reclusive. Intentionally, spiritually -- I felt that was as much my destination as my destiny.

As usual, I felt more peaceful than happy -- and that seemed perfectly fine to me.

But because one of the ports of call had been on strike and the ship could not unload, I arrived at the Elder Sisters Islands some three weeks later than appointed with my friend Armand.

I was not surprised when he was not there at the port waiting for me, late in the night.

The port was empty, for no other ships had called in that day. The few locals with whom I could communicate were very nice but not very helpful.

No one had ever heard of the Île du Blanchomme -- at my question, they regarded me as a madman.

And I guess my thorn clothes were not helping me either in giving a good impression to the local people, all so tidy, using beautiful and colorful costumes like I had never seen before.

I had not thought of a plan B.

Actually, I had not thought of anything referring to my destination.

My friend Armand was the only plan.

That evening, I was so tired that I again slept rough, at the port, under the moon. Onto a table, because I was afraid the big tropical rats I saw around would bite me in my sleep, as if I were some kind of exotic food.

My body covered with sea mist, feeling hungry and miserably cold from the wind blowing, I opened my eyes to the sunrise. I was beginning to think I had made a huge mistake.

Anything could have happened to my friend, I thought, and by now he might as well have been dead. I had crossed oceans, I had changed continents, and the only reference I had was this awkwardly named island that no one had ever heard of.

Was I lost? Because I certainly was alone in a foreign land, with no money at all and a bundle of things to drag around -- namely, my easel and rolled paintings.

I felt silly. Either I was expecting too much from life, or trying too hard to change my destiny, when my best bets were to simply continuate the peasantry that had been our family history for centuries. My unrealistic dreams of becoming a painter had only led me so far to an abandoned factory and next, to the hospital, and now, I saw myself stranded on a foreign port.

'Carlo... Mate!' -- and that familiar shout ended my agony. I turned to distinguish Armand, tanned and his beautiful blonde hair grown, calmly walking in my direction on the pier. But I was so excited to see my best friend that I ran towards him. 

'Buongiorno! Bienvenue... I'm so happy that you are here, mate!' -- Armand's affection overflowed through his words and warm embrace -- 'I've missed you so much, mon cher Carlo! I thought I was arriving early to meet you... When did you get here? I was informed your ship would call in today at 7 am...'

'I guess the ship was three weeks late... but twelve hours early! Haha!' -- now that Armand was before me, my desperation had ceased and I felt like making jokes.

'Where did you spend the night, mate? You look like a wreck, literally... Was it this night? Or life on the ship was that terrible?' -- Armand inquired, between amused and worried.

'Don't worry, Armand. The ship was fine, and last night was nothing compared to how I have been living...' -- but still, I was so relieved to be seeing my best friend -- 'I'm so happy to be here, fratello mio! When are we going to the Île du Blanchomme? No one has ever heard about it, not even the locals!'

'Haha, I guess they all know it by another name... Luckily, the boat that heads that direction leaves tonight... If you'd arrived tomorrow morning, we would have to wait another week for the next boat!'

'You mean there is only one boat a week going to your place?' -- I exclaimed, still trying to understand the situation. Maybe it was having slept rough on my first tropical night, or having dropped meditation for so long, but I couldn't think quite clearly.

'Depending on the weather conditions, there is no boat at all!' -- Armand laughed -- 'But we are lucky! We can spend the day in town, maybe do some shopping if you need anything... Do you need anything, Carlo? I took advantage of the days I waited for you to buy enough food for the next couple of months, so that we don't need to come back here... any time soon... or at least, you don't have to... Where are your things?'

'I don't have anything, Armand. Just a small backpack, my easel and a dozen rolled canvases. And my painting supplies. The captain said wise travelers always travel light. I've taken his advice earnestly. Don't I look wise to you?'

'Mate, you look like a bum!' -- Armand said, jokingly, and then he changed to a rather worried tone -- 'Are you serious? Don't you have any clothes other than these?' 

'No I don't, Armand.' -- I answered, and it sounded quite defensive. Armand wasn't specially well dressed himself either, his leisure outfit looking simpler than anything I had ever seen him wearing before, but his princely manners and a natural elegance would have turned rags into design, and anything and everything he dressed adorned his discreet beauty -- 'Is it a problem for the Île du Blanchomme? I was hoping it would be barefoot elegance style...'

'Haha, you're funny, Carlo.' -- Armand stared at me, pensively -- 'It will be as you like. Let's go into town, and if you think there's anything you like or need, just let me know. You are my guest on this part of the world!'

And so we spent the day in town until sunset, 

and I ate mangoes ripened under the sun, as sweet as Armand's presence.

Bittersweet, actually. 

There was an unexpected and sad, tragical note to our reunion.

'We'll sail tonight to the island, mon cher Carlo, but I have to be back here in a week, with the next boat... I'm leaving to France. My mother is seriously ill. I should have gone already, but I was waiting for your arrival, and I prayed... to honor my appointment with life... and that means you, my dear friend... and the other one too, with death...' -- Armand's voice trembled -- 'I hope I can honor both.'

'I'm sorry to hear about your mother, Armand. And I'm sorry for being late... And... I don't know what to say... I hadn't planned leaving so soon...' -- I was disconcerted with that change of plans from my friend. Had I traveled so far to spend just a week on his island? And then... -- 'I don't think I have any where else to go...'

'Why are you talking about leaving, Carlo? You have just arrived! I'm sorry to tell you these news so soon, but I pondered you ought to know... So that we can really enjoy our short time together! And when I leave, I thought you could stay and run the house on your own until I come back... But we can discuss this later on. Let's get back to the port, our boat should leave soon...'

Nine hours later, we arrived at the tiny Île du Blanchomme, just in time to watch the sun rise.

Like a boy, I cheered excitedly at everything I saw -- the tall, elegant palm trees, or were they coconuts trees actually, their leaves rustling in the breeze, the fine sand shining so white, rocks of strange colors and shapes as if someone had sculpted them, the perfume of fruits rippening, the sea tinted with all shades of blue. My senses were exploding, and I realized how many things were perfectly new to me, as I ran towards the rising sun. 

'This is all so beautiful! I'm going into the sea to salute the sun, Armand! 

He is calling me! Aren't you coming, too? I'd like to swim... follow this golden corridor towards the horizon... Man, this is so gorgeous!' -- and I stripped down to my underwear.

'You can go on, mon cher Carlo.' -- Armand replied, calmly taking a seat and watching me while I hastily undressed -- 'Enjoy it! But don't go too far! Beware of the tricky currents around the island. They are really dangerous! That's just one of the reasons no one wanted to live on this island... I'll explain to you later... Now go on, I'll be watching you, I'll be your life guard, haha... I think I need to take a nap... It wasn't easy sleeping in town, I guess I've grown accustomed to the incredible silence on this island...'

Miracles do happen.

'So how was it, mon cher Carlo?' -- while I had been swimming, Armand had taken a restoring nap under the sun, and his lovely smile looked fresh.

'Call me 'Renato', from now on... In Latin, it means 'born again'... And that's exactly how I'm feeling! Armand... this is the most beautiful place I've ever been on Earth! I cannot ever thank you enough for inviting me here! How did you ever find this place?! And you said you've bought it! Mate, it is all so amazing!'

I was elated, in contrast to Armand, who serenely observed me as I danced and jumped on the beach in excitement.  I was aware he eyed me from head to feet, as if he had never seen me before... which, well, in a way was true, since I was being noisier and more expansive than usual -- and he had never seen me wet in my underwear either, haha!

'Well, I haven't actually bought it...' -- Armand explained, as I calmed down and we lay on the beach side by side, contemplating the horizon -- 'No one may own this island, but I now have the permission to live on it. And this island has actually no name... It was first called Île du Blanchomme by some bureaucrat of the Colonial Government, due to the only person that ever lived here before, a German engineer named Herr Weissmann... He built this house.' -- dominating the Île, beautifully constructed with the natural materials that could be found on the islands, was a suspended house which had all its rooms opening to a continuous veranda all around it, and to the gorgeous tropical scenery -- 'He was quite ingenious and developed ways of having energy and water on this tiny island... And then he died... Natural causes, it seems, but locals like to believe otherwise...' 

'This island had never had a name since no one had ever inhabited it, but it did have a function for the natives in the past...' -- Armand had a sweet, dreamy way of speaking, and his deep, silky voice, along with a precise pronunciation, made listening to his tales an addictive pleasure -- 'This was a "Portal Island", as they called it... Women were not allowed to give birth on the bigger islands, they had to come here to deliver... The belief was that the baby had to be born around sunrise, and towards that direction... Just as much as the old and the sick were taken to another Portal Island to die... And if they died before sunset, it was said they were going to be reborn in a better condition... What natives did not want was the transit of dying souls, and those to be incarnated, to unsettle the living ones, and that's why they separated and sent them to distinct places.' 

'Alors, this is one 'Birth Island' we are now on. Even though, occasionally, a baby or a mother or both must have died here, I guess. Herr Weissmann was given the rights to build and to live here because the Colonial Government did not want these native habits to continue. They wanted women delivering their babies safely at the hospital, and registering them under the law. That was quite a while ago, and now the island is considered to be sacred -- or taboo -- by the natives. It wasn't easy to find a boat who would bring me here for the first time... And it was even harder to find workers to rebuild the house, that had been abandoned after Herr Weissmann's death.' 

'Natives believe the island is still full of spirits waiting to be born... And because they shall never reincarnate, at least not on this island anymore, they find themselves trapped here. They should suffer an awful lot, because of their lack of destiny, without any perspective of change for eternity... According to local legends, that should explain the strong and dangerous currents around the island, to be found nowhere else in the region. The tormented wandering spirits cannot leave this tiny piece of land and are constantly encircling it in a frenzy... But it is also thought that the currents keep them from fleeing and haunting elsewhere. It's like... with their torments, and the more they fight against them, they are creating their own chains to this prison. That's also why no couples should be allowed to live on this island. Because, if a baby was conceived or born here, it would certainly bear one of these tortured souls. And no one wants that, of course. But it is ok for a single man... or two single men... to live here, haha!'

'C'est formidable this story, Armand!' -- I had exclaimed at the end of his juicy narration --  'So this island is populated with spirits... Even this beach is crowded, right now... we just don't see it, haha!'

Armand laughed along.

'Of course, I don't believe in any of this! As much as it creates a secluded environment for the spirits, it creates an isolated paradise for us, keeping the natives away... and that's what really matters to me! The hardest thing yet was to arrange a boat to come here and deliver supplies weekly... This is an untouchable island after all... but money does wonders everywhere, even here! And since the workers have fled... they said they were being chased away by the spirits... I did not try to find anyone else. But doing it all on my own is quite hard, and boring, and that's when I thought... Who better than you to help me? My dear mate and best friend! And I'm so happy you are here, mon cher Carlo! I want to share with you my plans for the house... I'm thinking of maybe even turning it into a small guesthouse... Aren't you hungry yet?'

'I confess I am...' -- I answered -- 'But I'm also hot, and I'd like to go for another swim...'

'Okay, enjoy it then! I shall start cooking lunch...' -- Armand stood up -- 'Like I said before, watch out for the currents. They are tricky. Very dangerous indeed. That is no legend!'

'Don't worry, Armand, I will. I'm not going far this time. And then I'll help you with lunch.'

It was not until late afternoon that Armand and I finished lunch. We had a lot to talk about and catch up for the months gone by, since we had last seen each other, after we had graduated from the École.

'But now I want to invite you to go to the movies... Let's go back to the beach, mon cher Carlo!'

'Movie... what movie?' -- going to the Cinematéque Française had been one of our best loved activities during the École... but on that island?

'You'll see...' -- Armand smiled, as he took me by the arm and led me down the stairs -- 'But can you close your eyes until I tell you to open them again? Do you trust me?'

'This is it, mon cher Carlo. I hope you'll enjoy it.'

I gasped as I opened my eyes. A couple minutes had passed since I had closed my eyes, but now everything was beautifully illuminated by the golden setting sun. I had never seen sucha miraculous light, infinitely beautiful -- and spiritual.

'Armand, do you want to swim towards the sun? I think I have to! Like I saluted him this morning, I want now to say farewell...'

'Hum, actually I had something else in mind... You know, it's not just one movie, it's more like a film festival on this island... I'll wait for you here, then. Don't be long, ok?'

'Ok. It'll be just a minute!'

Grazie, Dio -- I had started praying once inside the water -- Thank you, Universe. Thank you, Life. Whatever name or form you take, thank you for keeping me alive until this moment. Thank you. Thank you.

'Carlo, please come!' -- Armand shouted from the beach -- 'The other session is starting soon!!'

As I silently sat there with my friend, our backs turned to the most beautiful sunset I had ever seen, I have to confess I was a bit disappointed with Armand. 

He was certainly trying to be the best host, and so I should try to be the best guest... But staring at an empty sky seemed pointless to me. Unless it was another meditation technique he was trying to teach me...

Then, I suddenly saw it.

I sat there mesmerized, as an enormous full moon rose over the ocean. I felt my heart swell, and tears came to my eyes.

If there was one other person that like me cherished his privacy, it was Armand de Montbelle. That's one of the reasons we got along so well -- we understood each other's need to recharge in solitude, and as roommates in Paris we had respected each other's seclusion. 

It was thus such an unique privilege to have been invited to his private hideaway. And because he was like a prince and enormously polite, he had himself found me an excuse -- that he needed my help "to refurbish the place" -- but I knew it wasn't true. He could have brought the workers he wanted from Europe; he did not have to depend on the locals -- or me -- for his well being.

I needed him, much more than he needed me. He had always been the generous, loving part of our brotherhood. Paying for the rent and the food, being supportive, patient and kind. What could I possibly have given him in exchange? "You give me the wonderful opportunity to help and to share, and I'm so thankful to you", he once had said to me, princely.

After all those months of hardship, the deep and essential detachment I'd felt on the ship, suddenly I felt like I again belonged. 

To that friendship.

I had arrived. For the first time in years, I felt I had arrived, and I knew I was welcome.

'Fratello mio...' -- I liked calling him that, specially since I was an only and orphaned child -- 'this has been one of the most beautiful days in my entire life! I cannot thank you enough...'

'You don't have to, mon cher Carlo! I cannot express my happiness in this moment, either... And the day is not over yet... The night has just begun... Can I introduce you to the nightlife on the Île du Blanchomme?'

'Haha, after this superb film festival I'm thrilled about the nightlife... But not tonight, Armand. All I really need now is a bed.'

'Are you serious, mate? Then I'll show you the lodging options, haha!'

'Are you sure you're gonna be fine with this tiny bed, Carlo? I suppose Herr Weissmann had a child...' 

'Sure, this is a good enough bed! You have no idea how I've been sleeping lately, Armand...'

'Yeah, you keep telling me that... But I haven't heard a word said today about your life since we parted at the École... And by now you know most of the stories from my tour in Asia... What are you hiding from me, Carlo?'

'That's why I keep saying you are the generous and kind part of our friendship!' -- I replied -- 'But I'm gonna tell you all about it tomorrow, I promise, Armand. I have nothing to hide from you. I've never had. No one else knows as much about my life as you do, mon cher. You know that. We've always been completely honest to one another. I had never actually trusted anyone before I met you... And I still don't trust anyone but you! Now, do you mind if I get into bed?

'Please! But are you sure you don't want to share the double bed with me, Carlo? Like in the old days of the École, when we shared the bed on the coldest nights to be warmer...'

'Warmer, here? Are you serious, Armand?!'

'No, that's not what I mean... it's exactly the opposite... I mean, we won't be warmer... It will be cooler...' -- Armand seemed unusually confused -- 'The room where I've been sleeping is much more ventilated than this one...'

'I'll be fine, Armand. Thank you so much for your hospitality.'

'You're welcome, Carlo. It's really my pleasure!' -- Armand took a deep breath before suggesting -- 'I see you are getting red, mate. Do you want me to apply some lotion on your skin? It was given me by natives... prepared with coconut oil... powerful stuff.'

'Never mind, Armand. It will have turned into... a nice suntan... tomorrow...' -- it was impolite to yawn, but I could not help it -- 'It's always been... like this. I have the skin of a peasant... remember? I spent my childhood and... teenage years... working on the fields... and the sun... in the mountains... Oh, I'm... so tired... Thank you... for being there... mon cher...' -- and I had fallen asleep.

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