We decided to have dinner. There was a table, set French style with a tablecloth, right in front of the largest window, and it was overlooking the slate roofs above the Rue Guenegaud. As we were taking dishes and stuff out of the kitchen, we would touch slightly by accident as we would reach to get something from the counter. The power of the feeling scared me, and I wondered if she experienced the same thing. Yes, Ruthie, I am still wondering. After all these years …
Lindy was sitting at the table across from me. We were talking about absolutely everything. Julien and Alison were of course recurring subjects of our analysis, but somehow I think neither of us was bothered by the reference to the other person. It was almost as if bringing it all out into the open was somehow purging, cleansing, liberating.
We were eating and thoroughly enjoying the whole experience.
There were times when Alison and I would get together and do things, but she would often start daydreaming, or scanning the crowd for somebody she was dying to see, probably Marie and her new girlfriend. Lindy and I were talking about others, yet we were present and relishing each other’s company, at least for the time-being.
We were going over everything. She was actually asking me what it was like to live one’s life identified as a lesbian.
“Oh well, it depends,” I said. “Do you really want to know?”
She laughed … “You don’t have to tell me. Obviously, however, I am curious…”
I took a swig of wine, trying to stay relatively cool. “Sometimes, I think gay women are so screwed up that I would have been better staying straight. This Alison thing has made me question everything. If one were to describe her relationship with Marie as a man and a woman, it would sound horrible and abusive. Imagine a tough biker type with tattoos, and the broad he likes to make fun of and drive crazy with jealousy. Yet she hangs on, cuz he’s such a guy … Surabaya Johnny … I’m putty in your hands, that kind of thing … very twenties somehow. The straight world has gone beyond that, so why do gay women think this is attractive behavior? Why do they like sex to be so objectified? Why are they trying to be so tough and shallow, so exclusive and unreal?”
“I’m not so sure that the straight world has gone beyond that at all … ”
“You’re right … Of course, you’re right. But for some reason, I still think gay women should be above all this. Why? I don’t know … Maybe for the same reason someone like Gandhi thought the lowest among us were the chosen ones that would show the world the way to Truth.”
“It sounds to me that the key to all this is the same, gay or straight, Brahmin or Untouchable. Pariahs seem to me to be the result of a tacit agreement between the oppressor and the oppressed. Somehow, both parties have to agree, one to hate, and the other ones to hate themselves in response. Don’t you think?”
Lindy was walking on eggs trying not to be offensive. I didn’t care, really. I was not above any of the behaviors I was criticizing, and I agreed with her. I poured us some more wine, and the conversation moved on to easier grounds.
After dinner, we checked out Igor’s bookcase together. We found some books in French and English that we had read, some that we had never read but wished we had, and some we could never read no matter what desert island we were on. We sat on the couch, side by side, sipping some old cognac, and talking about ourselves, the world and everything else.
At that moment, I felt very close to Lindy. Compared to her, I saw myself as a bitter curmudgeon, full of resentments and judgments about everything and everyone. She seemed kind, animated by a natural love and enjoyment of all the nice things in life, from the simplest to the most difficult, like relationships and other hellish endeavors. We felt, in our review of the world and the past, protective of each other yet compassionate of others, as if some new understanding was dawning on us as we were discovering each other. Maybe this was the first real sign of love between us. The silences were easy, quite peaceful, and the nervousness of our first encounters had vanished.
“What are you thinking?” she asked as I was staring into space, evaluating the changes in my mood.
The magical courage came back to me, as it had so rarely before. “I was thinking of how all I could think about when I got here was whether or not I would ever sleep with you … ”
She smiled, easily, generously. “And right now?”
“Now my mind seems empty and devoid of any expectation. It’s strange … like all feeling of control is gone.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“It feels good, even though I would be at a loss to explain why.”
I asked her permission and lit an after-dinner cigarette, one of those that make you swear you will never smoke too much, so you can always enjoy that special moment. The smoke was bathing the room with some ancient, unspeakable mystery through the orange flickering light of the candles. Every object seemed to carry its own load of deep meanings, prophecies, and answers to the riddles of the world. Whatever tape she had been playing had run out. There was silence in the room. I could hear her breathe, and I could see her heart beating in the tender part of her neck. Behind her I saw a clock, and realized to my amazement that it was past two in the morning. Panic seized me, for whatever reason.
“Oh God! It’s so incredibly late! I am keeping you up. I should go.”
As I was speaking, I was amazed at my own fear and cowardice. Lindy, who in my moment of passivity I expected to pick up the reins and lead me back to sanity, followed my unfortunate lead and said as she got up, empty glass in hand, “Aie! Goodness, you’re right! And tomorrow is the only Sunday where I have to get up at dawn. We are shooting some location footage for the archives, and I have to be there. I’m sorry … ”
“No, I am sorry to keep you up so late.”
I was putting on my jacket, gathering my things. Oh, all was said and done. In Paris I did not work, and had very little tolerance for the obligations of those who did work … Why did she have to get up early tomorrow of all days? The sneaky impatience was coming back, along with the frustration of not knowing what I was doing. I mumbled something about helping with the dishes, but she said she would take care of it all, that she actually enjoyed washing dishes. We walked to the door together, she opened it, and turned around to say goodbye …
“Thank you, I had a wonderful evening.”
The courage came back: I had the nerve to look straight into her eyes and, when she hugged me, she left her cheek right there, against mine, without pulling back.
We were both rewarded for our courage, when we found ourselves involved in the softest, sweetest, fullest kiss one can imagine. When we finally pulled apart after quite a while, my heart was pounding away, and Lindy looked flushed and out of breath.
We both laughed, embraced in a final hug.
“I'll call you,” she whispered, and I was down the stairs before I could even think of looking back to see if she was still there and to catch a last glimpse of her. Instead, I bounced out into the cold night. I had no idea where the car was, but some inner pilot took over my feet and led me toward the bridge. I felt some huge wave of unreality wash over me as I walked across the shimmering river. The cathedral was still lit, and a late night promenade boat glided by like a waterfall, its searchlights on, illuminating the stone banks, and disappearing around the bend in a crown of light beams, bright as day, dream like … like life itself.
Chapter Eight
The idea of sleep was now foreign to me. I would constantly wake up and imagine myself getting up, driving or, better yet, walking to the Rue de Nevers, punching the security code that was engraved in my mind forever, climbing up the stairs out of breath, and knocking on Lindy’s door … She would be awaiting me and I would never leave Igor’s unbelievably idyllic bohemian apartment.
It took three nights … three nights of agitation and daydreams. I saw some friends, but my connection with them was hanging by a thread … I was not listening to any conversations. My only comfort was to walk, walk everywhere, until
I felt so tired that the idea of calling Lindy seemed like an impossible endeavor.
On the third night, I had come back from some dinner party where I ate nothing, drank nothing, saw and heard nothing, and I was finally in bed after having walked around the block about five times. The walls were oppressive like the torture chamber in the Cask of Amontillado. Closing in …
Suddenly I saw myself dial Lindy’s number. It was half past ten. If she is home, well that will be a sign …
Her voice on the line … with a French intonation … ”Allo?”
“Lindy?”
“Yes, Hi! I was hoping it was you … ”
“And it's you, you in person … How are you?”
“Well, I was wondering if you could possibly come over.”
“Now?”
She sounded as if she was joking, but there was also a nervous tone to her voice that was unmistakable. Again, it felt like a dream, but in dreams everything always seems so normal.
“Come only if you want to. You remember the code?”
“Yes, but … ”
“I think we need to help things go where they want to go.”
My ears were pounding with the bass drum of my heart. How can this woman be like this? Does she know what she is saying? Does she really mean what she says?
“What do you mean?”
I felt like a traitor. She knew I knew. Why was I still hiding and pretending? Lindy burst out laughing. “Well, if you don’t know what I mean, then maybe you should not come over at all!”
I was caught …
“I’ll be there! Don’t you fall asleep!”
She laughed again. “No chance!”
I got out of bed and put away the childish nightgown that I always wore when I was in Paris alone and in a state of total lack of expectation. I put on a T-shirt, jeans, a jacket, shoes … I was going through the motions. My mind was blank. I went down to the garage, started the car, and escaped into the shiny night and the pavements varnished by the drizzle.
It was on a weekday, and yet the streets were still crowded. Paris never sleeps. The world never sleeps. The monuments on the river bank were all lit up, like a special favor to me. I knew exactly where I was going and why, and I was ready for it. I did not feel like a tourist anymore, but not like a native either. Life had just become different in the past half hour.
I turned right on the bridge, and left, directly into the Rue de Nevers, where I proceeded to park on the sidewalk. In this new life, there were no cops to give you parking tickets. There was nothing crude or trivial like the shallow oppression of the everyday city. Paris would never be the same again.
The code … up the stairs … I was getting a little less confident. Did I understand all of this the way it was meant? Lindy …
She opened the door and said “All right …” with relief.
She closed the door, grabbed both of my wrists and sat me down on the couch. “This is OK, right? You’re not scared or anything, are you?”
“Hey, wait a minute! I’m the one supposed to ask you these questions. You know, I could never have imagined that you …”
She shrugged. “Sometimes things get really clear for me. This is what I want to do right now.”
I was staring at her, in awe of her poise, her beauty, and the way she gave in so easily to impending freedom. I regained my composure and proceeded with the matter at hand without further discussion.
Suddenly I felt I was becoming the adult I was meant to be, the one who savored all that life had to offer, the one who could share, give and receive joy like some spiritual homework given to us by a divine teacher. I had a thought for Alison, and somewhere in my mind I felt some regret for all the times that we did not make love while we were still together, young, lithe and free of all the betrayals to come.
The bedroom was on top of a couple of wooden stairs, a garret with a huge skylight and a bed that took up almost all the space. We undressed slowly, carefully, making a game of folding each item neatly. When we were done, we sat on top of the bed facing each other. Lindy reached behind her head and, keeping her eyes on me, shook her head gently and let her hair down. I had seen it done many times in movies, but nobody had ever let down their hair for me like that before. I had never realized the power and seductiveness of such a simple gesture. When I ran my fingers through her hair to keep it away from our faces as we kissed, it was thick, heavy, and fluid like water, and I knew I had been granted a privilege usually reserved to the Gods of Ancient Greece.
Lindy and I were in a situation close to a pick-up scene or one night stand. We barely knew each other and desire had driven us more than thoughts of everlasting companionship. Yet there was the recognition of love, and the intensity of our feelings betrayed a depth that we had not really prepared ourselves for.
It was late, and the faint light of day was beginning to grace Igor’s romantic skylights.
Lindy and I were finally taking a break and talking, since sleep seemed to be entirely out of the question. Sleep meant relaxing, and relaxing brought on more lovemaking. So we simply stuck to words for a while, like a connection to the secular world that had brought us together.
Then dawn finally won over the darkness. This morning the show featured ethereal streams of translucent magenta over a sky of purple agate. I could see it all from Lindy’s bed, through the skylights.
I asked Lindy how she could have had the nerve to ask me to come over so directly after I had spent three agonizing days of hesitation about calling her. Why hadn’t she simply called me first?
“Do you ever do this … put something in the hands of fate? Think well, if she doesn’t call me, that will be it. If she calls me, then it will be a sign and I swear that I will do the rest of the work, and take it all the way.”
“You did. And somehow, I did not do a very professional job … Well thank you for bringing me back to my senses, so to speak.”
I felt I had been cowardly, as usual, but Lindy reminded me that I was the one who came back to the café to look for her. I guess we both had done a good day’s work and were now collecting the fruit of our labor.
We were swimming in warm waters, in a cocoon of softness. Nature had become our friend and the sun our brother. We were very different people from the night before. Our conversation breaks were taking an alien turn …
“It seems to me that we are on a sailboat and we are gently sailing into the heart of the blue ocean. I feel like time has stopped, and I will never go back, nor will I wish to … ” The visions of my adolescence were obviously coming back to the surface.
“To me, it feels like I have come home to the place that I have been wanting to visit for so long … ”
Lindy did not seem to suffer from any fear of having converted herself to a lower form of human being. Instead, she seemed to enjoy it with a vengeance, pleased with herself, rolling around in her pleasure as in lukewarm tides of Caribbean surf … I was amazed that she did not seem to suffer the agony of “is this all right?” and the fear that every woman lover of women must feel at some point: the fear of the reversal, the betrayal, the 'I only wanted to be friends – what have you done to me? – I’d rather not see you again' rite of passage, rite of shame, plague that can break the most wonderful attempts at liberation. The love that dares not speak its name … indeed … To their credit, Alison and Marie dared speak its name … at least for a little while, and without a single thought for how much it might hurt me …
“What are you thinking?”
Ooops … I was exposed and felt disrespectful of the present moment. It was a crime against me and Lindy who was smiling as she was asking the question. She was definitely innocent of any such crime.
“I’m afraid I was thinking about Alison and Marie. How we think the oddest things at the oddest moment! But I was also thinking about you, and how you don’t seem to be feeling any fear … ”
“Fear of what?”
“Fear of being catalogued a lesbian forever, fear that I will
turn against you, or worse yet, that I will stick to you like glue and that you’ll never be able to shake me and get on with your life.”
“Are you feeling any of these fears?”
“You mean now?”
“Yes now … ”
I searched within the deep recesses of my heart, looking for my familiar insecurities, but could not find that many at all. In fact, I could not find any at that moment. There was only a welling up of happiness, calm, laughter, and the green green eyes of Lindy that were watching over me in the blue light of dawn over the roofs of the Rue de Nevers …
We made love one more time and, by then, we had all the skills and effortlessness acquired through a long and full night together. Afterwards, we slowly got up, relishing the delightful weariness in our bodies. I took a shower while Lindy was making some coffee. We sat on the couch where we had sat that first night when we had dinner. The day was really here, and the noises of the cars on the Quai were finally penetrating the reverent silence of Igor’s apartment.
We were making plans of the greatest importance. I was going to leave and go home as if nothing special had happened. Then Lindy would go to work and I would have a normal day, except that I knew that when the evening came, I would go back to Lindy and we would have this most wonderful secret affair … Maybe before I had to leave, we could spend 48 hours together in a row. Would everybody know about this?
She said she might tell Julien, but she would be afraid he would ask her to bring me over to his house so he could watch us and do it with us.
She was laughing and we felt so strong, so indestructible, maybe a little smug … Well, we had an edge on the world …we were happy, pure and somehow sanctified.
It was time for me to go if I didn’t want my mother to think that I had disappeared with her car. It was light out. The mystery had been replaced by the ordinary. Yet, the magic was lingering, with me, at the door.
Travels Through Love and Time Page 10