‘Well of course.’
‘I doubt it. One needs to have ambitions, aims, plans, and be serious about them to have a firm grip on things, otherwise things slip out of your hands.’ I liked to be controversial.
‘All that happens is that one gets over-occupied, obsessed and exhausted. And as for an achievement, the enjoyment of it is short-lived.’
‘So you belong in the wily-nily land,’ Fiona said.
‘I don’t belong anywhere, even this argument, for me, is not something to stick to! But I think that if one does things that one enjoys, then the aim is secondary, only part of the process. If you achieve your goals, fine, if not, at least you have enjoyed the process.’
‘So you are a calculating man. This is a business deal: ‘how to behave to be happy.’ You do have rules and regulations for this and you are defeated by your own principle.’
‘You think so? So be it. He drank a last gulp of the white wine and started on the red. ‘May I?’
‘Yes please,’ said Fiona.’
‘Just a little for me,’ I said.
‘You are very cautious my friend! Are you a tightrope walker? You can’t walk there if you are cautious.’
‘I haven’t fallen so far.’
‘Perhaps you fall without feeling it, without being aware of it. This is sad: missing the opportunity to walk tall and missing the opportunity to see things, a double calamity!’
His face seemed to be in flames and the way he talked I wasn’t sure if he was serious or was acting. He spoke as if he was in a Shakespearean drama.
Fiona said, ‘I think we are taking ourselves too seriously! I drink to the jokers of this world.’
‘You will be drowned,’ he said.
We drank too much that night. In the coach back to the hotel most guests were asleep. Fiona had her head on my chest and I thought how the night would be if Kate was there at the dinner table.
The driver drove slowly. He had put on calm music, with low volume mixing with the sound of the engine and occasional snores. I was sitting by the window looking out. It was a country road passing through the woods. I remembered the only time that we went to the countryside, a day out, with Kate. We stopped at a pub for lunch. It was crowded but only with the locals. They wanted to know where we were from, how we liked their village, what we did. I said I was a salesman working for a computer company. It was an impulse of the moment. I felt playful. Kate went along with it. She said she was my second wife and we had married six months ago but because I was so busy, we hadn’t gone for our honeymoon yet. They insisted on buying drinks for us and invited us to their village for our honeymoon. In their jolly mood, I had some words of advice from them. An old man in a country sport jacket said, ‘you should know better! One lives only once. You must enjoy your life, every minute of it.’
The other said, ‘life is tough these days … we had it easy.’
We came out of the pub laughing. ‘I feel bad,’ I said ‘pretending those things.’
‘Well I don’t,’ said Kate.
‘But those were lies.’
‘Fantasies, we are permitted to have our fantasies. What are we without them?’
‘But that wasn’t a fantasy. I have no interest in being a salesman, let alone a computer salesman.’
‘OK, stories then. We like to tell stories, like a child. I don’t believe that children lie. They just live a life which is much fuller than ours; a life parallel to their daily activities: ‘Have you brushed your teeth? Did you take all your notebooks? No, not that shirt! I told you not to!’ And we crush them for living their life. We crush them because we have lost a big chunk of our life growing old, shedding stories, avoiding complexity. Do you know, through this we become boring. And if we aren’t, we get into this sea of guilt as you have dived into it: ‘Have I lied? Did I really do a bad thing?’ You went back to your childhood for few minutes, that’s all.’
Fiona moved her head closer to my face. There was a smell of perfume and wine. The coach was getting into the town.
‘Did you have a good nap?’ I asked.
She mumbled something and slept again. I tried to imagine her at her place coming back home, her daughter still out. Lonely nights, no family, no friends. Similar to me? I thought not. She liked her head next to something comforting. I liked my head single on the pillow. But where did that assumption of mine come from? How did I reach the conclusion that she had no family or friends? Was it the way she had her head on my chest?
The coach stopped. Sleepy passengers walked out slowly.
My room had been cleaned and I went straight to bed. Throughout the night I dreamt of the driver of the coach losing control and the car going off the road and down into a deep ditch. I got up to drink water and go to the toilet. When my alarm went, I was already awake, very sleepy but awake. It was the last day of the conference and I wanted to hear the closing session; I also wanted to look at the posters. At the breakfast table I saw Fiona with swollen eyes. ‘Did you sleep well?’ she asked.
‘Not really, and you?’
‘Must be joking. I want to go to bed right now!’ And she did, after breakfast.
49
There were around 200 posters. Some so lousy I wondered why they bothered. I suppose they had to show some effort in making a presentation in order to be funded by their departments. I saw a puny East European girl standing by her poster. I went closer. Her face was small and very pale.
‘Is this your work?’
‘Yes. She gave me a one page A4, a very small reproduction of the poster. There were pictures of cows in a farm and smoke coming out from a city flat. The background showed people walking from the farm into the town. I thought she had chosen a clever picture.
‘What do you study?’
‘Social behaviour of Man.’
‘It sounds a bit generic but do you know? This is my personal hobby.’
‘I hope you like the poster then, I mean the text.’
I spent some time reading the poster. Somehow I always find it difficult to read a poster thoroughly but I read her poster. There was nothing exciting about it but it was a good, solid piece of work.
‘How much is left for you to finish your studies?’
‘Another year.’
‘Do you have any plans?’
‘Yes, I’d like to travel, perhaps for six months.’
‘Good idea, should be fun. I suppose it can be in line with your work too.’
‘Thank you.’
I looked at some other posters and went to the garden. I sat on a bench. An old man with the conference bag in his hand was walking slowly to the conference room. I remembered Ian after he had handed in his early retirement letter. He started using a rucksack and somehow his behaviour changed during the last days. He behaved like a young researcher; he wore sports shoes and didn’t mind stretching his legs onto a low table; a sense of freedom I suppose. I thought, I still have time. But time to do what? Should I always do something? Can’t I just enjoy the sunshine sitting on a bench? I suddenly felt that if Fiona didn’t come soon, I would have nothing to do. I don’t know any of the conference participants apart from Malcolm and Juan. But Juan was an organiser and I hadn’t had a chance to see him properly. And as for the man we met at our table the night before… I didn’t feel like seeing him again. I thought I was becoming bitter, but I wasn’t sure why. It was bliss to find myself outside a bar near the venue. I went in. There was a middle-aged man at the bar drinking beer. The barman was drying a glass. ‘Could I have a beer?’ I said.
‘Of course.’ The barman was a young local boy.
I started with a big gulp.
The man by the bar said, ‘come a long way?’
‘Now everywhere is near, don’t you agree?’
He sounded as if he was thinking about a serious problem in life.
‘I suppose so!’
‘And you?’
‘You can say that, a different continent!’
‘It must be exciting.
’
‘I wouldn’t put it that way. Calming! Calming it is. I am on my honey moon if you want to know.’
‘Oh, congratulations. So, you must be excited. Where is the lucky bride?’
‘There is none.’ He inhaled deeply. The cigarette in his hand was hand wrapped.
‘I thought you said you were on your honeymoon.’
‘Yes, and I have enjoyed it thoroughly so far.’
He was clearly enjoying having me confused. I wasn’t particularly interested but it was a good pastime.
‘Do you like mysteries?’ I asked.
‘Not really. I suppose that’s why I am not successful in my marriages.’
‘Marriages?’
‘Yes. All three of them so far and some more to come I suppose.’
‘But you are on your honeymoon. Which number is this one?’
‘This is after the third.’
‘I don’t need to be a mathematician to say this; it is your fourth marriage then?’
‘No, it is not.’
‘Well, you have managed to confuse me.’
‘You see, we live in the century of definitions, expectations, stereotyping.’
I agreed but remained silent.
‘I am on my honeymoon. I love every moment of it; after that horrible divorce I needed a honeymoon to be alone by myself regaining my sanity, tranquillity, independence. Honeymoon means a month of sweetness. This is what I have now!’
‘So, if it is so good, why do you predict another marriage?’
‘Because I can’t help it. I grant you, that is my weakness. Give me another month and my resolve dilutes in a sea of women passing by. It’s the way they move, the way they just manage their body, and I am gone!’
‘But why should you marry?’
‘Permanence! I love security, permanence.’
‘But you just told me you like your freedom, independence.’
‘Yes, I know. It is a dichotomy. I vacillate! But there you are. This is mythological! You know the myth of Sisyphus? There you are.’
‘But he suffered all the time, he was condemned.’
‘This is what Homer wanted us to believe! Nothing in life is exclusive, pure! You cannot have only joy or only pain. There is always some impurity. That’s what makes it so fascinating.’
‘But we try to achieve pure joy! You just said you desire permanence! But by what you say now, there can’t be permanence.’
‘Well of course. I did say I am searching for permanence but it doesn’t mean it can be achieved!’
I had a couple of sips from my beer. We drank in silence. Then he said, ‘I know I am full of contradictions. I am alive! But enough of me, what brings you here?’
‘I am at this conference here.’
‘I noticed there is a bit of movement around!’
‘It’s about science and society.’
‘Well you should be happy; I solved all the problems for you. We are not social animals… or maybe we are!’
A group of young university students came in with their poster holders. They were laughing loudly. I thought it was getting too crowded.
‘Have a good rest on your honeymoon!’
‘Yes I know! I will need my strength for the next stage!’
We laughed. He was gazing at his beer glass when I left.
50
We flew back on the same flight. I knew that Fiona’s mind was now totally occupied by her daughter and the backlog of work.
‘So, when will I see you again my religious scientist?’ she asked.
‘Not for a while I suppose.’ I wasn’t sure when. My mind was focused on nothing special. I was thinking of how to get back to my flat. I was happy that I had no plants waiting for me by the kitchen window dying of not having had water for several days.
‘You are silent. Is it my effect on you or has the conference has left you spell- bound?’ Her eyes were shining.
‘Do you have any doubts?’ I said.
‘Always… a small but persistent doubt is good for you. Didn’t you know that?’ she said.
I thought she would have made a good journalist. She could make up anything she wished.
‘And you like it?’
‘Every minute of it.’
‘But you don’t have doubts when it comes to me.’
‘I don’t discriminate!’
51
My flat was dusty. I had been away for only five days and it looked like a person ignored, left alone. I opened the window in the kitchen, opened my suitcase, put stuff out to be taken to the cleaners, hung the rest; put the items back where they belonged. I started dusting. I didn’t want to think. I wanted to avoid thinking as if it was a dangerous thing to do. I was both angry and sad but couldn’t find out why. I had had a good trip, a good time, my talk was received well, and so I had no obvious reason to be dissatisfied. Yet I was angry. I cleaned the flat, took a shower and went out. I couldn’t face myself alone in the flat on a summer’s evening, having nothing to do. I didn’t know what to do but it was obvious that I would end up at the bistro. Anita came over smiling but looked tired. ‘Hello David, you are already back?’
‘Just an hour ago, practically.’
‘How was it? Did you have a good conference?’
‘Yes, everything was good. How’s everything here?’
‘Well, Mark left.’
‘Oh, why? What happened?’
‘I really don’t know. Just phoned one day saying he cannot come any more. You know, I was very disappointed.’
‘Well of course, and what about Hanna? Did she know he was leaving?’
‘Of course not, not at all. And he didn’t say goodbye to her at all. She is very hurt.’
‘I can’t blame her. Of course one gets hurt. How is she now?’
‘She is in the kitchen, you will see her.’
‘Well, that’s too bad. Maybe I will talk to her.’
‘Yes, please do. It will help.’
‘Anyway, enough of us. What would you like?’
‘Just a whisky please.’
She left and did not return for a long time. Other customers were busy eating or chatting away. Nobody seemed to bother. Then she came with the glass of whisky on a plate.
‘She does not want to come out. She says she is not in the mood to talk.’
‘I understand that. It’s quite natural.’
‘Yes but for how long?’
‘That we wouldn’t know. But you must give her a breather.’
‘I don’t know, let’s see. I don’t have any choice anyway.’
I had the whisky quickly. I thought about Ian when I saw him last in the bar. What was he doing now? Perhaps sitting at a round table at home with a couple of stamp albums looking at them methodically, row by row. And what about his wife with her interest in dance clubs? Perhaps he has enrolled her in dance classes. What does he do with the rest of his time?
Anita came over. ‘Another one?’
‘No thanks. Better be going. Keep in touch, let me know about Hanna.’
‘I will.’ Her face was pale.
I came out. Now it was dark. I went to the other side of the road and started walking. I had no plans.
I walked for a good couple of kilometres without thinking. There was just a sentence in my mind repeating itself. ‘I am a fake.’ It just started repeating itself when Anita told me that Hanna did not want to come out to talk. Now, after some fresh air, I started at myself again. Why did I stick to that sentence? I was a man, alone, without any commitments. I kept myself to myself. So where did this ‘being fake’ come from? OK, I did not make an effort to see Hanna. I did not insist that I must see her. So what? Does it mean that I was not honest in showing my sympathy? Perhaps it was better for her to come to terms with the facts of life. Why should I have protected her, consoling her for a very day-to-day event? How many other people had gone through a similar thing on the same day? These sorts of events were not exclusive to her! But this reasoning did not convince me
. I had the sentence ringing in my head. I sympathised with Anita and yet I didn’t do anything. And what about Carol? All I did was to take her to the airport a couple of times! I was actually happy that she was leaving, going out of my life. Letting her stay in my flat before her leaving was no big deal. But was there a meaning for me in all that? I could have done much more for her and I didn’t. But why should I have done anything anyway?
I was walking faster and it had started drizzling. I thought that I was even a fake with students. I wasn’t bothered about Ana’s future. I wasn’t bothered about her leaving her PhD programme. I showed concern but in reality my concern was for my research, my group’s progress. But what is wrong with that? I was entitled to have my research group and be concerned about its integrity. What about Richard? He was just an undergraduate student. Did I expect initiative from him? a miracle? By not giving him the exam timetable, did I want to teach him a lesson? Give a lesson to a miserably dependent student! Great. I was convinced that I was right too. I am sure I was, but how relevant was my act? I was just doing it to prove my authority. I was a fake.
I was getting wet under the drizzle but I just couldn’t let go. I had just come back from the conference. How much attention did I give to Fiona? I say I like her but all the time I was dismissive. I had a good relationship with one aspect of her only. So what? She was happy with that. Yes, she was, but was I? I stopped. I turned around. The drizzle had turned to rain now. But I wasn’t finished with my thoughts yet. What were my feelings about Kate? Had I ever faced them? Yes of course we had good conversations, enjoyed each other’s presence. But this doesn’t say much. Why didn’t I go to the hospital all those days when she was dying? Had I ever thought about her after her death? OK, I didn’t promise her anything. I didn’t promise anyone anything but does it make me an honest man? Shouldn’t I be happy with myself rather than seeking to find approval from others? She was always content anyway. So was Fiona. But what about me?
Maybe I am too harsh on myself. I criticise myself all the time. I am under constant criticism. Does it matter how I am? How I behave? I am alone, I do my job, I have some friends, perhaps better call them acquaintances; I do my bit for them from time to time. So who cares whether I do this because I like my image, because I want to leave a good name! Hah! If I died in my room, who would know? The first one to know is a top floor neighbour going down one day, smelling something unusual. So, do I care for my name? What happened to Kate? At least there was a memorial for her! Then, the ambulance will come and if Anita is standing outside the bistro, she might think, what is the ambulance doing in front of my flat. She might put two and two together and ask about me. But then, she might also think that I have gone on a trip for my work.
Between Cups of Coffee Page 21