Chrysalis

by Jeremy Welch

  3

  It had started slowly and with tentative movements. Their lovemaking was gentle and delicate, the act itself almost a rite of passage to the desired shared intimacy of lying in each other’s arms. Sebastian knew that it was for the future. Zoe thought it was a restart, a beginning of something constant. Since Sebastian Zoe had had four or five lovers, all of them based on a weak relationship hidden in a desire for sex. None of these ever replicated the post-sex intimacy of her relationship with Sebastian. With him there was always a mutual vulnerability resulting in a total trust of each other, an opportunity to say things that would otherwise have been unsaid.

  “It’s back, your passion, it’s back,” Zoe whispered almost to herself.

  “Yes, it is for the two things I want. Both of them in his room.” His eyes moved from her to the stain-covered book on his bedside. “Not quite complete though, is it?”

  She held her breath, was now the time? Was she too early? Would he say no? She wanted the answer only if it was a yes. She tried to let her breath out slowly as if everything was normal. But it wasn’t. She needed to know. It came out with the rush of her exhaled breath.

  “Why don’t you come back with me?”

  There was no response from Sebastian, no muscles contracted. He stroked her hair. She spoke quickly in the belief that the more she spoke the more likely the answer would be as she desired.

  “You could come and live with me in London, finish your book there.” She tried to paint the picture. “There is a spare bedroom, you could work in there. I would be out all day at work and in the evening we could cook and discuss what you had written. I have money to keep us going and with your rented flat we would be fine.”

  She raised her head from his chest and looked at his face. He was looking at the ceiling. He didn’t answer. It hurt waiting for the answer. She gently dug her nails into his chest.

  “Well say something, Sebastian.”

  She shut her eyes and waited, wishing the past two minutes had not taken place, prayed that she had only thought and not delivered the question. By the silence she already knew the answer but not the reason. She needed him, wanted him, wanted it to be like before; she knew that he would make her happy. She knew what she had been missing and that her lingering love for him had been just that.

  “Please, Sebastian.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “Please.”

  “I can’t, not yet.” He spoke softly hugging her gently. He felt her tense up, her muscles taut to repel his touch. She rolled away, pulled on his dressing gown, went to the bathroom and shut the door. He heard the stifling of crying, the flush of the toilet to destroy the evidence.

  The door swung open, her face blotchy with eyes red rimmed.

  “Why, Sebastian? Just tell me why.”

  He knew she had exposed herself, revealed not just her new found love for him but had shown her continued love for him. He wanted to go back with her but not yet, not until the book had been finished.

  “I’m not ready yet. I haven’t finished it. I haven’t finished it for you. When I have I will, I promise I will.” He tried to sound soothing. He knew if he went now he would have failed, failed himself and would be a failure to her. As her cheeks flushed red he knew it hadn’t worked. She was angry – blindly angry with him or herself, he couldn’t work out.

  “Alright then stay here, stay with all those weirdos at the circus, yes the circus. As for that thing helping you, helping you! Christ, some butch lesbian helping you. You know she’s not even read it. How’s that any help?”

  He knew not to reply. He could see the rage within her, not rage at him but more within her. She had revealed something dormant, something she had harboured.

  “What, nothing to say? Want to stay here and fuck those twins, that what you want, is it?” She collected her bag and started stuffing it with clothes.

  He knew he could easily make peace and just as easily leave now, like all the other times take the easy way out. Blame fate, circumstance and look back blameless. If he took that route he would be the same, the same for her, the same for himself. He knew that the finishing of the book was important to him and for them; without that he would never be complete; it was a risk he needed to take. If he didn’t he would have failed, again, both for himself and her. She was too important to him to fail; not this time he promised himself. Not this time.

  “Look, where are you going? It’s 5 am.”

  She continued to stuff her clothes in the bag; perhaps without thinking or consciously she pushed in the pyjama bottoms he had lent her.

  “I want to go to the airport, the flight’s at 11.00 and I don’t want to miss it.” Even as she said it she knew it sounded absurd but she needed to go. She felt alone and wanted to be alone.

  He approached her.

  “No, Sebastian, don’t, just don’t.”

  By the time he had put on his clothes she was standing at the companionway ready to leave.

  In silence they walked towards the station. It was quiet. The streets empty and the only activity was the flashing of neon advertising lights. The occasional snoring at doorways as the forgotten slept in sleeping bags or cardboard boxes.

  He tried to think of something to say, something that would make her understand that he was doing this for them. He didn’t know what to say and remained silent.

  The concourse of the station cold, grey and the concrete with a film of moisture from the floor-cleaning machine operated by a man in blue overalls. The ticket offices closed and only the automated ticket machines available to dispense tickets.

  Sebastian followed the instructions to buy tickets to the airport. His finger pressed two for the number of tickets.

  “No,” she said without taking her eyes off the neon instructions. Her finger pressed the back button and she pressed one.

  He walked her to Platform 1 and handed her the bag. She looked at him.

  “Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked, perhaps it was too early. Maybe I now know the answer.”

  Sebastian felt a wave of panic for something not yet lost; a small reach and he could grab it, take it back. But it would come at a cost too high, he knew.

  “Finish the book then talk to me. Promise until you do you won’t contact me. Promise?”

  He could still smell the sleep on her from his bed. He could take her back, say yes, pack and be in London in her flat within ten hours.

  “I promise,” he said leaning over to kiss her on each cheek.

  She turned and walked down the platform, pushed a button, waited for the hiss of the opening door. It closed silently behind her. She hadn’t looked back. She had missed Sebastian silently mouthing, “I love you”.

  The lights changed from amber to green; slowly the train built up speed and the red tail lights disappeared into the darkness of the tunnel.

  She was gone.

  Chapter 12

  Sitting in a pew in Oude Kerk he felt at ease waiting for a prostitute. The service was not due for another two hours. The church was sparsely populated, mostly elderly bending slowly and painfully, the air sterile and cold. Were they forgetting the years past in the hope of everlasting youth when they died or were they praying for those departed who were forever young to them? Sebastian often wondered why people prayed to an unseen better being that never seemed to answer the collective prayers of the faithful as war, famine and misery continued to rise. Even on an individual basis He always seemed just too busy with someone else to provide succour to the pleas and promises of those requesting help. What a waste of time, he thought.

  He stared at the sunlight coming through the stained glass windows. The different-coloured lights reflected off the uneven wall surfaces like a kaleidoscope. Sebastian thought if at one stage during the day all the colours met at a single moment to create a white light shining on the crucifix it would be perfect, everything balanced. He would wager it ne
ver happened. The priest glided past him in the aisle and smiled at him to see if he could offer pastoral care.

  “No thanks, Father, I’m fine,” Sebastian said pointing to a middle-aged woman dressed in black rocking on her knees in front of an arc of candles.

  In the peace of the church Sebastian hoped the quiet might slow his thoughts. Had he blown it with Zoe? Their departure had not been quite as he had imagined. “Don’t contact me until the book is finished,” she had said. Had she said it because in the past he hadn’t and she thought he couldn’t? He was disconcerted and felt unbalanced. Too many things happening that he couldn’t control. The troupe would leave soon, leaving him alone in Amsterdam unless he could finish the book before they left. The book was nearly finished. Well not quite, mostly. Zoe had left him with the hope of a reunion, or was it in the knowledge there might never be one? He hated the responsibility of being in charge and the temptation to drift was strong, the current hard to resist. Let it all be someone else’s fault. He let his breath out in a resigned sigh.

  “Fuck it,” he muttered to the nave.

  He stood up to leave and walked towards the rear door. He turned with a cynical look at the crucifix. Below it was a woman walking towards him. She was pulling at the strings of a stained white apron revealing the uniform of all charity workers: practical loose-fitting trousers, soft nurses’ shoes and a patterned jumper. He waited for her at the door.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said wiping her hands on the apron. “They’re hungry that lot.”

  “Hello Rosie,” Sebastian guiltily replied as he had been caught in the act of leaving.

  “I’ll just get my coat.” She wandered off into the shadows, her presence now the smell of school cooking, cabbage mostly.

  Sebastian cast a last look around the church; the colours of the sunlight had moved and hadn’t become a white light, the crucifix still in the gloom. The black-clad widow calm now that the priest had his arm around her, still and peaceful.

  “Come on, let’s go, nothing happens here unless you make it happen, that I can tell you,” Rosie said as she slipped her arm through Sebastian’s. “You were about to leave, weren’t you?”

  Sebastian thought about lying but knew Rosie knew more about men, and everything about men’s lies, than men themselves. He nodded guiltily.

  “Well it’s my fault, well it’s the number of hungry folks’ fault. There are more arriving every day. Black, white, yellow and all shades in between. Who knows where they come from or how they get here but they do. Someone’s gotta feed them. You know there’s never enough money to feed them, always enough for political conferences to discuss the crisis, but never enough to feed them.”

  Sebastian shivered as he hit the sunlight, shaking away the cold air of the church. They were an unlikely departing couple from the church: the prostitute and the procrastinator.

  She cut through the perimeter side streets of the red light district to Dam Square with the ease of knowledge and the purpose of avoidance.

  “You can buy me a mint tea. Don’t want to have one back there as I never mix work with pleasure,” she laughed but it was a tired laugh.

  The square was bustling with summer traffic, tourists aimlessly wandering, the locals moving purposely.

  Unsure of how to start the conversation he looked at Rosie as she sipped her tea. Her hands plump and more suited to rolling pastry than flesh. She looked different in daylight: slightly puffed and with the air of a favourite aunt. A welcoming ready smile for the waiter, a soft confiding presence. She drank her tea from a spoon.

  “It’s so fresh the smell of mint, cleansing, don’t you think?”

  Sebastian sipped his bitter espresso and smiled, still unsure how to start the conversation.

  “Umuntu says you have something that belongs to one of the girls.” She would always make it easy for people, never leave them ill at ease; she had a rare inherent and noticeable kindness.

  “It’s a phone, it belongs to someone called Irena. She works in the red light district. I want to give it back to her, well actually can I give it to you to give back to her?” He put the phone on the table; he had even charged it up so that it could be used as soon as returned to Irena.

  She looked at it, picked it up and turned it on. The screen shone with the photo of Irena and her parents.

  “Tell me how you got it?” There was no suspicion in her voice; his friendship with Umuntu had endorsed Sebastian’s qualifications as trustworthy.

  He told her of the assault in the park, his fruitless intervention; he left out the argument with the others.

  Throughout the retelling she remained silent. Once he had finished she reached for his forearm and squeezed it gently.

  “I wish I had met someone like you when I was a younger. What you did took a heap of courage. Umuntu tells me he took you on a tour of my workplace. I think you know what I mean by courage now. I admire you.” She meant it too.

  He blushed at the praise.

  “If I give the phone to you can you get it back to Irena?” Sebastian knew only too well that his act of intervention was foolishness; he wanted nothing further to do with the traffickers, prostitutes or the red light district. He was scared. He wanted abdication. He had lost the rabbi-induced resolution.

  She didn’t reply, she just looked at him, studying his face and reading his thoughts. Her eyes gentle and moist like a calf.

  “Well I’ll have to find her first. I know most but not all of the girls. She’s not one from De Rode Draad, I would know that. You’ll have to give me something to go on, what she looks like now, age and all that then I’ll ask around. She will look different from this now.” She looked at the image on the phone. “They always do. But I will find her, then you can give it to her. These phones are important to the girls, it’s what keeps them safe and in touch.”

  “No, no, Rosie, if I give it to you, you can give it to her.” He said it quickly to get out of the whole episode before the door shut with him still inside. I’ve done my bit, I have enough of my own problems, too many in fact, he thought.

  “Sebastian.”

  She paused, looked at him, assessing. She wanted him to know the answer to a problem, not just know the answer but comprehend the route to the answer.

  “You must try to understand the women that work in my business have a mixed relationship with men. For those that choose to do it, it is always due to circumstances. Mine, well I needed the money for my family. For some it’s to feed a drug addiction, others because they like what money can buy but that always comes at a price. Some to get out of debt. Many were abused as children. There are a thousand reasons why the girls work. None do it as a career choice, but they do it in response to their circumstances and hope it will be temporary. They have the ability to put what they do in a sealed compartment separate from the rest of their lives. They work for themselves and hope to decouple from the compartment one day. Some succeed, those that don’t? Well time, wear and tear exclude them from the business. You following me?”

  Sebastian felt the warmth of the sun on his face but the words made him shiver. He nodded; she took that as acknowledgement but he didn’t understand, not really.

  “For some, quite a lot in fact, it’s everything and nothing to do with circumstances. They have found themselves in a situation where there is no option, none. They are known as the ‘forgotten ones’. These girls are owned. That is their life, there is no separate compartment. They are owned by someone else and have to do it. They do not work for themselves and they are in the compartment, they cannot ever get out of the compartment. There is a difference, you understand that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, yes I do.”

  And he did, he had brushed up against the owners and he knew what they were capable of. Christ, how do they get into this situation? he thought. How had it come to pass that he was sitting with a matronly prostitute on
a sunny afternoon discussing the personal and professional circumstances of working girls. He needed to get away, to go back.

  “The forgotten ones are usually from small towns and cities in the East. They are easy targets for the boyfriend trap, the start of the journey to captivity.”

  “Rosie, I’m struggling with this, I mean ‘captivity’? We aren’t talking about a performing circus animal here, these are humans, they can walk away.” He paused, looked at her nodding his head in the hope of her mutual agreement. It was not forthcoming.

  “They can, right?”

  She looked at him kindly as if trying to explain a difficult maths homework problem to a child. The child would get there in the end, would understand but needed it explained. Explained simply and in detail so a full comprehension achieved. She needed him to understand.

  “They can’t and yes they are just like performing circus animals. The red light district for the forgotten ones, well that’s their big-top tent, the circus. The clients, the participating audience.”

  He interrupted; he didn’t want to understand, he didn’t want to comprehend.

  “But they can walk away anytime they like. They can go to the police, catch a plane, a train, a bus, they can get away.” He was speaking too fast trying to counter his thoughts that were conjuring images of darkness, misery and hopelessness. He knew they couldn’t walk away, not the forgotten ones. He didn’t know why and didn’t want to know why but he knew they couldn’t, not ever.

  Patiently and kindly she started to explain. She wanted him to understand, not for chastisement of men but for him to comprehend.

  “They can’t, Sebastian. For many reasons. It usually starts with a love affair. The girls live in some rural town out east. There is no work, the system has collapsed. The parents exhausted by subsistence living but in the evening on the TV they see a life beyond the decaying, given-up-on town. They are old and tired, it’s too late for them. America, Paris, Amsterdam, London… names that offer work, money, freedom and a better life. The colour of the clothes, the success so young. Why you can even be President even if you are like me, black. Everything is possible. The TV screen shows laughter, happiness, perfect family life, there is no wanting, no back-breaking labour. They want it for their children, they love them so much. Oh, the love of a parent for a child knows no bounds.”