Happy People Read and Drink Coffee

by Agnes Martin-Lugand

  In the darkness, I followed in their footsteps, into the living room where we would all be together. Colin would come over to me, I’d take off his tie, he would kiss me, Clara would stand between us, we’d have dinner, Colin would put our daughter to sleep, and then we’d be alone together, confident in the knowledge that Clara was safely in her bed, sucking her thumb.

  I realized that our apartment no longer existed; I had wanted to stay here to keep everything intact; I was wrong. No more files, no more hearing the sound of keys in the lock, no more racing around on the parquet floor. I would never come back here.

  Forty-five minutes on the subway only to end up stuck at the bottom of the stairs to the exit. My legs felt heavier with each step. The cemetery entrance was right near the station, but I didn’t know that. Just as I went through the gates, I told myself that I couldn’t go empty-handed. I walked to the closest flower shop; there were plenty in the neighborhood.

  “I’d like some flowers.”

  “You’re in the right place!” the florist said, smiling. “Is it for a particular occasion?”

  “For over there,” I said, looking towards the cemetery.

  “Do you want something traditional?”

  “Just give me two roses, that’s all I need.”

  Surprised, she walked over to the cut flowers.

  “White ones,” I said. “And don’t wrap them up; I’ll take them as they are.”

  “But . . .”

  “How much do I owe you?”

  I left the money, grabbed the roses from her, and rushed out. My wild race stopped when I got to the gravel lane of the main path. I turned around and around, searching in all directions. Where were they? I went outside again and fell in a heap on the ground. I hurriedly dialed Happy People’s number.

  “Happy people booze it up and have sex. How can I help you?”

  “Felix,” I whispered.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I don’t know where they are, can you imagine? I can’t even go and see them.”

  “Who are you trying to see? I don’t know what you mean. Where are you? Why are you crying?”

  “I want to see Colin and Clara.”

  “You’re at . . . at the cemetery?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m on my way; don’t move.”

  I’d only been to the cemetery once, the day of the funeral. I’d emphatically refused to go there afterwards.

  After running away from the hospital, the day they died, I hadn’t set foot there again. Both my parents and Colin looked horrified when I announced that I wouldn’t be there when they put their bodies in the coffins. My in-laws left and slammed the door.

  “Diane, you’re going completely mad!” my mother exclaimed.

  “I can’t be there, Mom, it’s too hard. If I watch them disappear into those boxes, that would mean it’s all over.”

  “Colin and Clara are dead,” she replied. “You have to accept it.”

  “Be quiet! And I’m not going to the funeral, I don’t want to see them go.”

  I started crying again and turned my back on them.

  “What?” my father spat.

  “It’s your duty,” my mother added. “You will go and you won’t make a scene.”

  “My duty? You’re talking to me about duty? I couldn’t give a damn about that.”

  I turned angrily towards them. Rage had replaced my grief.

  “Well, you do have responsibilities,” my father said, “and you will carry them out.”

  “You don’t give a damn about Colin, Clara, or me. All you care about is keeping up appearances, fulfilling the image of a devastated family.”

  “But that’s exactly what we are,” my mother retorted.

  “No! The only family I’ve ever known, my only real family, is the one I’ve just lost.”

  I could barely breathe anymore; my chest was heaving. I kept staring at them. Their faces contorted for a brief moment. I looked at them for some sign of remorse, but there was none. Their façade was unshakable.

  “You have no right to talk to us like that,” my father replied, “We’re your parents.”

  “Get out!” I screamed, pointing at the door. “Get the hell out of my house!”

  My father walked over to my mother, grabbed her by the arm, and led her to the door.

  “Be ready on time,” she said before disappearing, “We’ll come and get you.”

  They returned, as mechanical and exacting as a Swiss clock. They’d listened to nothing I’d said.

  In the state of exhaustion I was in, I didn’t have the strength to fight. Without the slightest hint of tenderness, my mother forced me to get dressed and my father shoved me into the car. In front of the church, I broke free of them and threw myself into Felix’s arms. From that moment on, I stayed with him. When the funeral cars arrived, I hid my face against his chest. Throughout the entire ceremony, he whispered in my ear, telling me about the past few days. He’d chosen the clothes they’d be buried in: Clara’s Liberty dress and the soft toy he’d placed next to her, Colin’s grey tie and the watch I’d given him for his thirtieth birthday. It was with Felix that I made the journey to the cemetery. I remained in the background until my parents came over to us. They held out some flowers to me.

  “Felix, help her to go over there,” my father said, “She has to do it. Now isn’t the time to be difficult.”

  Felix squeezed my hand hard and snatched the flowers from my mother.

  “Don’t do it for your parents, do it for you, for Colin and Clara.”

  I threw the flowers into the hole in the ground.

  “I came as fast as I could,” Felix said when he found me. “Let go of the roses, you’re hurting yourself.”

  He crouched down beside me, opened my fingers one by one, took the roses and put them on the ground. My hands were bleeding; I hadn’t even felt the stinging thorns. He put an arm around my waist and helped me stand up.

  We walked through the cemetery until we came to a water fountain. He washed my hands without saying a word. He took a watering can and filled it up. He led me along by his side, knowing exactly where he was going. He let go of me and started to clean a tombstone, their tombstone, the tombstone I was seeing for the first time. I took in every detail: the color of the marble, the calligraphy used to carve their names. Colin had lived for thirty-three years and Clara hadn’t even had the chance to celebrate her sixth birthday. Felix handed me the two roses.

  “Talk to them.”

  I put my ridiculous present on the tombstone and fell to my knees.

  “Well, my loves . . . forgive me . . . I don’t know what to say to you . . .”

  My voice broke. I buried my face in my hands. I was cold. And hot. I was in pain.

  “It’s so hard. Colin, why did you take Clara with you? You had no right to leave, no right to take her with you. The only thing I hold against you is that you left me all alone. I’m lost. I should have died with you both.”

  I wiped away my tears with the back of my hand. I sniffled noisily.

  “I just can’t believe you’re never coming back. I spend my whole life waiting for you. Everything is ready for you at home . . . People tell me it isn’t normal. So I’m going away. You remember how you wanted to go to Ireland, Colin, and I said no; I was stupid . . . I’m going to go there for a while. I don’t know where you are, the two of you, but I need you, watch over me, protect me. I love you . . .”

  I closed my eyes for a few seconds. Then I got up with great difficulty; I couldn’t get my balance and my head was spinning; Felix helped me steady myself. We headed for the exit without looking back and without saying a word. Before going down to the subway, Felix stopped.

  “You know, until now I didn’t believe you when you said you wanted to get better,” he admitted, “but what you did today proves I was wrong. I’m proud of you.”

  I waited until the day before my departure to call my parents. Ever since I’d told them my decision, the
y hadn’t stopped trying to convince me to stay. They called me every day and my answering machine worked wonderfully.

  “Mom, it’s Diane.”

  In the background was the usual sound of the television with the volume turned up as loud as possible.

  “How are you, my darling?”

  “I’m ready to leave.”

  “The same old song! It’s your daughter, my dear, she still wants to go away.”

  A chair creaked on the tiled floor and my father took the receiver.

  “Listen, my girl, you’re going to come and spend a few days with us and that will get you thinking straight again.”

  “Dad, that wouldn’t do any good. I’m leaving tomorrow. You still haven’t understood that I don’t want to come back and live with you. I’m a big girl and you don’t live with your parents when you’re thirty-two.”

  “You’ve never known how to manage by yourself. You need someone to guide you; you’re incapable of seeing a plan through. The facts speak for themselves. We supported you and if you have enough to live on now and carry through this absurd idea it’s only because Colin had some foresight. So frankly, going abroad is way beyond your capabilities.”

  “Thanks Dad, I didn’t know I was such a ball and chain around your neck. I’ll make sure to think about what you said when I need cheering up.”

  “Let me speak to her,” my mother said in the background, “you’re getting her back up.” She took the phone again. “Your father isn’t very diplomatic, my darling, but he’s right. You don’t think things through. Now if Felix were going with you, we’d feel better, even if he isn’t the ideal person to take care of you. Listen, we’ve left you alone up until now, thinking you’d get better with time. Why didn’t you go and see the psychiatrist I talked to you about? It would do you good.”

  “Mom, that’s enough. I don’t want a shrink, I don’t want to live with you, and I don’t want Felix to go with me. I want peace, I want to be alone, and I’m fed up with being watched over, you understand? If you want to reach me, you know my cell phone number. And please don’t tell me to have a good trip.”

  Eyes wide open, I stared at the ceiling. I was waiting for my alarm clock to ring. I hadn’t slept all night, and the fact that I’d hung up on my parents had nothing to do with my insomnia. In a few hours I’d be getting on a plane, headed to Ireland. I had just spent my last night in our apartment, in our bed.

  One last time, I snuggled up against Colin’s side of the bed, my head buried in his pillow, and cuddled Clara’s favorite soft toy; my tears made them damp. The alarm clock went off and I got out of bed, like a robot.

  In the bathroom, I uncovered the mirror and saw myself for the first time in months. Swamped in Colin’s shirt. I watched my fingers open each button; one shoulder was freed, then the other. The shirt fell from my body onto the floor. I washed my hair one last time with Clara’s shampoo. When I got out of the shower, I avoided looking at the shirt on the floor. I dressed myself as Diane, in jeans, a sleeveless T-shirt, and a tight-fitting sweater. Immediately I felt like I was suffocating; I struggled to get the sweater off and grabbed Colin’s hoodie. I put it on and could breathe again. I’d worn it often before his death, so I gave myself the right to wear it now.

  I glanced at my watch and saw I had very little time left. A coffee in my hand and a cigarette between my lips, I chose a few framed photos at random from the living room and slipped them into my bag.

  I sat on the sofa waiting until it was time to go, nervously wringing my hands; my thumb hit my wedding ring. I would surely encounter people in Ireland and they would see that I was married; they’d ask me where my husband was and I wouldn’t be able to answer. I couldn’t be without my ring so I had to hide it. I opened the chain of the necklace I was wearing, slipped the ring on it, and put it back on, hiding it under my sweatshirt.

  Two rings at the doorbell broke the silence. The door opened to reveal Felix. He came in without saying a word and looked deep into my eyes. His face bore witness to the excesses of the previous night. His eyes were red and swollen. He reeked of alcohol and tobacco. He didn’t have to say a word for me to know his voice was hoarse. He started taking down my bags. There were a lot of them. I walked around the apartment, turned off all the lights, closed the doors to all the rooms. My hand tensed on the handle of the front door as I closed it. The only sound was the click of the lock.

  3

  I stood in front of the rental car with my suitcases at my feet, my arms hanging down at my sides, holding the keys. Great gusts of wind swirled around the parking lot, making me lose my balance.

  Ever since I’d left the airplane, I felt like I was drifting. I’d automatically followed the other passengers to the moving walkway to pick up my bags. Then a little later, at the car rental agency, I’d managed to understand the person I was talking to—in spite of his accent that you could cut with a knife—and I’d signed the contract.

  But now, standing in front of the car, freezing cold, aching all over, exhausted, I wondered what kind of a mess I’d gotten myself into. I had no choice, I wanted to have a home, and from now on, home was going to be Mulranny.

  I had to try several times before I could light a cigarette. The biting wind never died down and it was already starting to get on my nerves. It was even worse when I realized it was burning my ciggy down. I lit up another one before loading up the trunk. Then there was a powerful gust of wind and I set fire to a few strands of my hair that flew into my face.

  A sticker on the windshield reminded me that here you drive on the left. I started the engine, put the car in first and the car stalled. My second and third attempt to get it started also failed. I’d been given a lemon. I walked over to the office where there were five strong young guys. They were smiling; they’d seen the whole thing.

  “I’d like you to change my car,” I said annoyed, “It doesn’t work.”

  “Hello,” the oldest one replied, still smiling. “What’s wrong?”

  “I have no idea. It won’t start.”

  “Come on, boys. Let’s help the little lady.”

  I stood back while they went outside, impressed by their size. “Rugby players and mutton eaters” Felix had said. He wasn’t wrong. They walked me to the car. I tried to start the car but no luck. It stalled again.

  “You’re in the wrong gear,” one of the giants told me, laughing out loud.

  “No I’m not . . . not at all. I do know how to drive.”

  “Put it into fifth, what you think is fifth, and you’ll see.”

  He was looking at me but he wasn’t mocking me any more. I did what he said. The car started.

  “Everything’s backwards here. The side of the road you drive on, the steering wheel, the gears.”

  “Are you all right now?” one of the others asked.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Where are you headed?”

  “Mulranny.”

  “That’s a way off. Be careful and take care at the traffic circles.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  “A pleasure. Goodbye, have a good trip.”

  They nodded to me and gave me a big smile. Since when were guys who rented cars so friendly and helpful?

  I was halfway there and just starting to relax. I’d successfully passed the test of the highway and the first traffic circle. Nothing special along the way except some sheep and shimmering green fields. As far as the eye could see. No traffic jams, no rain on the horizon.

  Saying goodbye to Felix went round and round in my mind. We hadn’t exchanged a single word between my place and the airport. He’d smoked one cigarette after the other without looking at me. He only spoke at the very last minute. We were standing opposite each other, looking at each other and hesitating.

  “You’ll take care of yourself?” he asked.

  “Don’t worry.”

  “You can still change your mind, you don’t have to go.”

  “Don’t make this more difficult. It’s
time. I have to board now.”

  I’ve never been able to stand goodbyes. Leaving him was more difficult than I’d imagined. I crushed myself against him; he took a few seconds to react, then held me in his arms.

  “Take care of yourself,” I said, “Don’t do anything stupid. Promise?”

  “We’ll see. Get going now.”

  He let go of me. I picked up my bag and walked towards security. I gave him a little wave. Then I took out my passport. I could feel Felix watching me throughout the whole process. But I didn’t look back once.

  I was here. I was in Mulranny. In front of the cottage whose photos I’d hardly looked at on the ad. I had to drive through the entire village and take the twisting road along the beach to get to my house.

  I’d have neighbors. Another house was next to mine, a few yards away. As I tried to decide how I felt about neighbors, a tiny little woman in her mid-sixties came pedaling up the road on a bicycle. She dismounted and came towards me with a wave. I forced myself to smile.

  “Hello, Diane. I’m Abby, your landlady. Did you have a good trip?”

  “Very pleased to meet you.”

  She looked at the hand I stretched out to her with amusement, then shook hands.

  “You know, everyone here knows each other. And you’re not on a job interview. Please don’t get it into your head to call me Madam all the time. Same goes when it comes to consideration and good manners, OK?”

  She invited me into the place that was to become my home. I found it warm and cozy inside.

  Abby never stopped talking; I only listened to half of what she said, nodding in reply with a dumb smile on my face. She treated me to a description of all the appliances in the kitchen, the cable channels, the times when it was high tide, and when Mass was held, of course. That was when I cut in.

  “I don’t think I’ll be needing that, I have no interest in the Church.”

  “Then we have a serious problem, Diane. You should have done some research before coming here. We fought for our independence and our religion. You’re going to be living with Irish Catholics who are proud of it.”