9

Alone and with Others

I went to the park and thought about A. The bench where we once sat together had now sunk deep into the ground. Large, clear dewdrops hung on the grass next to the bench. It was as if they were tears I’d once silently shed in the darkness that had never dried.

There was a stone next to the bench. It looked to me like a gravestone for my dead love. I wanted to tie my love to the stone and let it drown. I can’t bear to hate him. I wanted to let my feelings pour out of me in tears.

But no, I told myself, I must not cry! I shouldn’t waste so much love on someone who wants only to live. I must forget him in the hustle and bustle of the life around me.

I went to a friend’s house, and I saw A. there. I wanted to leave right away, but I composed myself and decided to stay. I wouldn’t let him or the others see what I was feeling. I’d pretend to be happy.

The popular B. and his wife were among the guests. She’s beautiful. Everyone thinks of her as pretty and foolish and considers her husband likeable and very smart.

A. eyed Mrs. B. She’s nice to look at. She’s beautiful. Her jet black hair is the perfect contrast to her snow white face. When she laughs she displays her beautiful teeth. Maybe that’s why she laughs so often.

I started to feel restless. I didn’t know what to do with myself. If I’d been alone, I probably would have cried, but I was with others so I decided to laugh.

Other than A., B. was the only interesting person there. So I invited him to sit next to me and talk about whatever he wanted. He told me that he wanted to talk about something he’d been thinking for a long time. It was something close to his heart. He simply had to say it.

“Well . . .?” I asked.

“Didn’t I tell you once, a year ago, that I like you very much? Do you remember?” He asked, looking right at me with his bright gray eyes.

“I remember something . . .”

“Good. But you didn’t believe me. That’s just my luck. I say something serious and people take it as a joke. Now, let me say that I still like you, even more than before. There’s something about you that draws me to you. Something about your eyes, your whole being—your lips call to me, though your words push me away.”

“Now I remember,” I laughed. “You said the same exact words last time.”

“Even better. That shows my constancy. I don’t change my opinions as quickly as others. I’ll say to you now what I wanted to say to you then—shall I? Will you permit me?”

“I don’t know what you want to say,” I smiled coyly.

“Do you think you could love me?”

“That wasn’t a statement, it was a question.”

“Alright, fine, let it be a question. Let’s have a love affair. It will last as long as we love each other. What do you say? Say yes.”

“That’s a request.”

“Alright, then let it be a request. So, listen to my request. You won’t regret it. I’ll love you so well! Why won’t you let yourself love, like others do? Try to live a little and you’ll see how you’ll love it. Your little world will become wide and large, and you’ll understand what life is.”

“Now you’re speaking as though it’s already decided.”

“Who cares what form I use to express myself? My point is the thing itself, this feeling we’re talking about. I’m making you a proposition. Let’s decide on a period of maybe two or three months that we’ll love each other. Why are you laughing? How long do you think people can love one another? How long do you think you could love someone like me?”

“Someone like you? Forever.”

“Don’t joke with me. I’m serious. How long do you think you could keep up a passionate love?”

“Until it cooled off.”

He moved in toward me and whispered, “I could love you much longer than other women. There’s a quiet goodness about you that draws me to you. It would be a sin to leave you before you stopped loving me. You are one of those who would suffer silently, you wouldn’t show your frustrations or your pain.”

He spoke and I barely listened. His wife was chatting with A. She laughed and he laughed too. He avoided my eyes; he glanced at me when he thought I wasn’t looking. Was he trying, like I was, to cover up his inner turmoil with forced cheer? Or was he simply enjoying himself with a pretty woman, even if she wasn’t a very clever one?

The woman’s husband wouldn’t leave my side. He insisted that I answer his question. I knew that the socially acceptable response to such questions was to be insulted, to protest, to appear shocked, and so on. I didn’t do that. I felt such indifference toward myself that I didn’t want to defend myself. It didn’t bother me that he was taking such liberties. The best I could do was to give an answer that made it seem like I thought he was only joking.

“I see that you’re stubborn and I like it. You have spunk. The fiercer the battle, the sweeter the victory. So what do you say, should we have a love affair?”

I turned a blunt gaze on his sharp, fiery eyes and casually asked the banal question that any girl would ask, “What would your wife say?”

“My wife?” he exclaimed. “Nothing. Why would she need to know about it? If she carried on with a good-looking young man, would I forbid it? She’s younger and prettier than I am.”

“And it wouldn’t bother you?”

“No. Jealousy’s not my line. She’s not someone who’d try to trick her husband. And if she did, that wouldn’t bother me either.”

“Don’t you love her?”

“Love? How should I know? Maybe I did once. You know how it is. She’s my wife!”

“No, how should I know how it is?” I laughed.

“If you don’t know now, you’ll know when you’re married.”

“I doubt I’ll ever get married.”

“It’s better not to.”

“What do you mean it’s better not to?”

“Because I love you. I like you very much. Don’t you see?”

“And what difference would it make if I were married? Who would care?”

“Who? Your husband! But maybe it would be better if we went behind his back . . .”

“Could we?”

“There’s nothing we couldn’t do if we wanted to. That’s a law of nature.”

“That must be a new law.”

“Whether it’s a new law or an old one, it’s a good one. So, will you love me?”

“I can’t say.”

“Won’t you let yourself love me? I’ll come to see you. Do you live in a private room? I want to see you in your room, alone, without all these other people. Just with me. The two of us, alone.”

I jumped up and said it was time for me to leave.

B. insisted on escorting me. His wife, seeing that her husband wanted to leave, also got up. A., after a moment’s hesitation, stood up and followed her. They all accompanied me to the house where I board.

I said goodbye to all of them and caught my breath in the dark hall, behind the heavy door.

B. furtively glanced behind at my door. A. didn’t turn around to look.

For a long time I’ve been staring at A.’s picture and I see myself in him. Me, with my stubborn need to hide what’s going on inside my head. Maybe he was trying to run into me on purpose, just to make me suffer. Maybe he wants to wait it out until I finally talk to him so he can repair our broken “friendship.”

Which one of us will give in? Who, and when? He can take as long as he wants, but I will never be the first one to approach him. Not me.