The Road of Life
Page 8
Frank,Matthewandthetwins,LisaandJuliawerethere,drinkingbeerbythechickenpen.
“Seriously?Beerateleveno’clockinthemorning?”Iasked,disgusted.
“You’re always one of the first people to drink a beer, whatever time it is.” Lisa said, confused.
“I’mgonnaworkforabit.Ifyouneedme,I’llbeintheworkshop.”
They all nodded and I could hear them start talking about me, saying how strange I had beenacting over thepast couple ofdays. What was strangefor me wasdrinking beer at that timeofthemorning...mystatewascompletelynormal,ifwetookintoaccounteverythingthat had happened to me in the worst and most terrifying week of my life. The worst week in anybody’slife...changingcourseduetosomecurse,voodooorwhateveritwasthattheskinny littlewitchhaddonetome.Iwantedtorememberhername,Iwantedtorememberitmorethan anything...butitwasimpossible.
Iwasgratefulthattheworkshopwasempty,somewhatmoreorganizedsinceChristinetook mostofthepaintingsthepreviousafternoon.Iturnedonthecomputertotakealookatthestill pendingordersandIknewwhatIhadtodostraightaway.Iwouldcontinuewithmyabstract works,butIwouldgivethemalesscolorfultouch...thesituationwasnotthebestoneatthe time and I was in no mood to use a palette full of bright colors. It would be much more dismal...moresullenandautumnal.Yes.Ioptedtouseochres,greysandblacks.Worksofart flashedthroughmymindthatallofthewell-offwomenoftheUpperEastSidewouldwantin theirlarge,luxuriousandminimalistlivingrooms.
An hour later, I began to smell the smoke from the barbecue that was being prepared outside.Icouldhearmanydifferentvoicesalltalkingatonceanddecidedtogoout.Frommy workshopdoor,Icouldseealargegroupofpeople,allofmyage.Schoolmates,friendsthatI hadn’tseenforyearsbut,forthem,inthislife,Iimaginedithadonlybeenafewdayssincewe lastsaweachother.IsearchedamongthefaceforMarkandIfoundhimnexttothebarbecue chattingfriendlytoFrank.IcouldnotseeanytraceofPatricia.Good.Iwalkedoverquietly, greeting everybody there with a shy smile and looking down at my hands to make sure there wasn’tanyleft-overpaintonthem,somethingthatwasprobablyverycommonwithme.
“Thatsmellsgreat...”Imurmured,lookingatthelargesteakscookingonthebarbecueand watchedoverbyFrank.“Hi.”Igreeted.Markcaptivatedmewithhissmile,itdidn’tlooklike hehadanybadfeelingstowardme,despitehowIhadtreatedhim.
“Wow,so,nolostcontactlenstoday?”Heasked.
“No,Ifeltlikesayinghitoday.”
“Great.Canwetalk?”
MarkandIwalkedawayfromtheothers,standingclosetotheforestthatcausedmetofeel somuchinspirationandtranquility.Hispresencemademefeelbothnervousandintimidated, butforsomestrangereason,Ilikedhimmorethanbefore.InolongerhatedMark.Ihadbeen completelymistakenwithhim...insuchashorttime,Icouldseethathewasaveryniceman and,despitebeingafamouswritersurroundedbyadmiringfans,hedidn’tseemtobethetype whowalkedaroundwithhisheadinthecloudsandwhothoughtsohighlyofthemselves.
“Where’sPatricia?”Iaskedoutofcuriosity.
“She’s gone back to New York. She was getting a bit annoying and... well, it doesn’t matter.She’llbebackinafewdaysforthebookpresentationinthebookstore.I’mgladyou’ve decided to talk to me. I don’t know what’s been wrong with you these past few days but... I thought you would want to see me after all of the messages we’ve sent to each other... you know.”
“Well, a lot of things have happened, Mark...” A lifetime. A life where you didn’t exist, exceptforonthetelevisionscreenorinthedisplayforsomeNewYorkbookshop.
“I’ve spoken to Frank and thought about us. In the time that we’ve lost and what would havehappenedbetweenusifIhadstayedherewithyouinKutztown.”
“Wasitworthit?”
“I could have written here as well, Nora. I could have made the same contact and we wouldn’thavehadtohavesplitup.”
“I guess that you have been with a few women over the years... Twelve years is a long time.”Isaid.Marklookedconfusedatmywords.
“You know that I was with another woman. For five years but... she realized that I was thinkingaboutsomebodyelse,andthat’ssomethingyoucan’thideforverylong.Theyendup findingout,especiallywhentheyreadyourbooks.”Herepliedsadly.
“Thosebookswereaboutme?”Iasked,Marknodded.
IimaginedthatinthelifeIhadchosen,hiswordswouldhavebeenwrittenforsomebody else. Another person who had been in his life or maybe his stories were just part of his imagination.Inthisworldinwhich,bythelooksofthings,wehadlivedahappyrelationship together,hisnovelswouldhavebeenverydifferenttotheworldthatIknew...Buthissuccess wasthesame.ItwaspreciselyatthatmomentthatIrealizedthatrelationshipsandourchoices changedeverything.Evenwordswrittenonablankpieceofpaper.
“That’sreallyexciting.Ireadsomewherethatifawriterfallsinlovewithyou,youwill never die.” I said thoughtfully. I was fascinated by the idea of somebody basing their charactersonme...inthisoranyotherofmypossiblelives.
“That’s a nice sentence. I have another... Everything that happens once, may not happen again.Buteverythingthathappenstwice,willmostdefinitelyhappenathirdtime...”
“PauloCoelho.”Isaid.Marknodded,movingevenclosertome.Ourlipswereaboutto touchwhenIinstinctivelyturnedmyfacetooneside.ThatwasthesecondtimethatIfeltIwas beingunfaithfultoStuart,whileIlookedatMark’sdisappointedfaceandIsuddenlyhadthe urgetograbhimbytheneckandkisshimwithfervor.ButIdidn’t.Iheldmyselfback,tooka deep breaths and said the words that he most probably didn’t want to hear. “No, Mark... I don’t...”
Markreturnedsadlytowheretheotherswere.Ididn’tsayanythingtohimbecause...What doyousaytoapersonwholeavesandleavesyouwithsuchaconfusedfeelinginyourheart?
Wedidn’tspeakthroughouttherestofthebarbecue,inwhichIfeltquiteoutofplaceattimes.I hadnothingtospeakaboutwithanyofthepeoplethere.Themajorityofthehadgottenmarried and had children. Their jobs were routine Jobs and their lifestyle wasn’t that much different fromtheirparents,duetotheirfreechoiceofstayinginKutztown,ormovingtosomenearby town.Theyalllookedhappy,resignedtotheirlivesandpossiblythinkingthateachandevery oneofthedecisionstheyhadmadewasthecorrectone.Mymindatthatmomentintimewas completechaos.Sometimeback,IhadthoughtthatthedecisionofgoingtoNewYorktostudy andtoearnalivingonmyown,wasthebestthingthathadeverhappenedtome,oratleastthat waswhatIthought.Atthatmomentintime,asIlookedatMark,allIcouldthinkaboutwas whatthatlifecouldhavebeenifwehadchosenanotherpath...buttheinexistenceofmyson continuedtotormentmysoul.Andontheotherhand,Iwashappytobethereformymomwhen sheneededmemost.IfinthelifeIhadchosen,Ifoundoutaboutthenewswhenitwastoolate, Iwouldneverhaveforgivenmyself.
At six in the evening, the guest began to leave bit by bit and the farm was left empty.
Withoutmenoticing,Markhadalsodisappeared.Itwasjustthe“usual’s”leftbehind.Frank, Matthewandthetwins.
“Doyouwantabeer?”Matthewaskedme.
“Goodgo,you’reobsessed...I’mnotsurprisedyouallhavethosebeer-bellies.”Ireplied, laughing.Buttheydidn’tfindmyjokefunnyatall.Itwasobviousthatwedidn’thavethesame senseofhumor,orthatIwascruellyhonest.“I’mgoingtoseemymom.Seeyoulater!”
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I entered my mom’s house without knocking. I ran up to the bathroom on the upper level where I could hear her crying distressingly. The image I encountered broke me. Mom was croucheddownoverthetoiletvomitingandcryingatthesametime.Shehadthrownherblond wigonthefloorandherconditionwasdeplorable.
“Mom...let’sgotothedoctor,please.”
“No,no...I’mfine.”
Butshewasn’tfine.Shewassweating,herfacewaspaleandtwistedinpainandshehad darkbagsunderhereyesthatcouldeasilyhavereachedherknees.Ikneltdownbesideherand strokedherback,tryingtocomfortherduringthosedifficulttimes.Hervomitingdidn’tcease andhertearsdidn’teither...Atthatmoment,Isawthatmymotherwasdying...Ihadn’twanted toadmitittomyself,Icouldn’thandleit.Weendedupkneelingonthecoldbluetilesonthe floorforalongtime,hugging.Weakened,Ihelpedhertoherroomandputherintobed.She fellasleepinstantly.Idecidedtostayatherhousethatnightincaseshewokeupinthemiddle ofthenightandneededsomebodytotakehertothehospital.Iwalkedintowhathadbeenmy room since I had been born. It was still intact, just as I had left it. Mom hadn’t gotten rid of anythingatall,shehadsimplyclosedthedoorandhadkeptmyroomlikeitwassomesortof sanctuary.Ilaydownonmybed,whichurgentlyneededanewmattressand,withmymindfull ofworries,Ifellasleephopingthat,whenIwokeup,everythingwouldbebacktonormal.
AWEEKENDINPARIS
JustasStuarthadpromisedBonnie,thatveryFridayevening,theyarrivedinParisonaprivate jet and stayed at the Ritz hotel: built in the nineteenth century, located just a small distance away from the Louvre museum and the Opera House. Stuart and Bonnie ate delicious foods from one of the two restaurants in the hotel that very same night, with no more accidental broken wine glasses and enjoyed the romantic and stunning Louis XIV style gardens and the indoorswimmingpoolwheretheycarriedoutalustfulactoflovewhich,fortunately,nobody elsesaw.
TheydidalotonSaturday.Startingthedayoutwithenergy,thankstoagreatbreakfastin which they ate the famous French macaroons. They spent a couple of hours shopping in the LafayetteGallerieswhereBonnie,finallycouldspendeverythingshewantedthroughacredit card she didn’t even remember having. She still remembered her austere life in the Bronx, where she didn’t want to return even in her worst nightmares and especially did not want to receive another visit from the witch of her mother, among infernal flames and through the mirror.
Theyenjoyedthewonderfulstreetartistsandtheirperformances.TheyvisitedtheLouvre Museumand,eventhoughtheycouldn’tseeitfully,theydidadmirethestaroftheplacewhere hundredsofJapanesepeoplewiththeircamerasimmortalizedtheirmomentstandingnexttothe imposing Giaconda by Leonardo da Vinci, which was the true protagonist of the museum.
Holding hands like two young people in love, they walked along the fruit and vegetable markets,wheretheymanagedtoseeatrueParisian,dressedinhisstrippedshirt,blackhat,red neckerchiefandholdinganexquisitebaguetteunderhisarm.Theyrelaxedforhalfanhourin theChampdeMarsandtheyateinLeMeurice,consideredtobethesecondmostexpensive restaurantintheworld.Intheafternoon,theywalkedalongtheriverSenna,contemplatingthe water,whiletheyhappilysang,notcaringwhattheaggravatedpeoplearoundthemthought, La vieenRose.
AlthoughtheticketsforanyoftheshowsoftheMoulinRougehadsoldoutmonthsbefore, Stuartwasamanofmanyresourcesandmoney...alotofmoney.Andtherewasnothingthat moneycouldn’tfix,atleastnotinthisworld.Andso,withBonniedressedupfortheevening andStuartlookingelegantinasuitandbowtie,theywalkedintothelegendaryMoulinRouge toenjoyashowcalled Féerie, whichtheythoroughlyenjoyed.
When they left at dawn, they visited the emblematic Eiffel Tower, embraced like two lovers.
“It’s beautiful.” Bonnie said, snuggling into Stuart’s shoulder. He stroked her hair and turnedherfaceupwardtokissher.
“It’s been a long time since I have felt this good.” Stuart admitted, staring into Bonnie’s largeeyesthatkepthimunderherspell.
“Icansaythesame,Stuart...exactlythesame.”
Inundersecond,Stuartpulledoutalittle,darkblueboxoutofhispocketandshoweditto Bonnie,who,withglassyeyeslitupbytheEiffelTower,lookedatitwiththehappinessofa womanwhosedreamshadcometrueinjustamatterofdays.
PARISISONLYADREAM
WhenIwokeupinmyoldbed,IrememberedParis.IhaddreamtabouttheEiffelTowerand thefirsttimethatIhadbeentherewithStuart,twoyearsbeforeMatthadbeenborn.Theyhad beenthebestdaysofthatlife...thebesttimes,alongsidethemanIhaddreamtaboutbeingwith myentirelife.Itwastruethatourrelationshipwassuffering...butIstilllovedhim.Itwasasif, inmydreams,IcontinuedtolivethelifethatImissedan,strangely,atthesametime,didnot mindhavinglostatthatmomentintime.Beingabletobewithmymomwasthemainreason and the second both terrified and excited me. The second reason only had a name, Mark. I couldn’tstopthinkingabouthim,inthelifewehadlivedtogethertwelveyearsbeforeandthat Icouldn’tremember,becauseitdidn’tfeellikemine.Butatthesametime,Iwishedwithall myheartthatIhadlivedit.IwishedIcouldrememberthatradiantsmilethatseemedtoemerge onitsowninthephotoswhereIappearedwithhim.IhadneversmiledlikethatwithStuart, ever.Ihadneverseenmyselflooksohappybefore.
Mom was in the kitchen preparing coffee. Her face still had traces of the pain from the nightbefore,herpaleskinscreamingoutthatshewasnotokay.
“Goodmorning,mom.Didyousleepwell?”
“Yes,darling...rememberthatIhavechemotherapytomorrow.”
“I’llbetherewithyou.”
“Thankyou.Bytheway,IheardthatMarkhascomebacktotown.”Shesaid,handingmea cupofcoffee.
“Yeah...”
“Haveyouspoken?”Sheasked,Inodded.“Sweetheart,youhavenotbeenhappysincehe left. I’m worried that you haven’t been with any other men... just admit it, you have never gottenoverhim.”
“ButitwasyouwhosaidthatIhadsomethingwithFrank...”
“Iwasjoking...Mark,Markistheloveofyourlife.Don’tlethimgetaway,trustme...Life isveryshort,Nora.Youmuststarttoenjoylikeyouusedto...whenyouwerewithhim.”
“Mom,youknowthatawomancanliveperfectlyhappywithoutaman,right?”
“OfcourseIdo.”Shereplied,angrily.“Butthatisnotyourcase.Here,havesomethingto eat.”Sheordered,servingmesometoastandthedeliciousraspberrymarmaladeshehadbeen makingherselfeversinceIwasagirl.Iwaslookingforwardtotryingitagain...ofreturningto mychildhoodforaninstantthroughthetasteofsomethingfrommypast...andtoforgetabout therealworldandallofmyproblemsforamoment.
“Thisisdelicious...”
“You’re acting like you haven’t eaten it for years. You have cupboards full of the stuff...
but, you hardly eat, of course. Do me a favor and, instead of locking yourself up in your workshoponaSunday,orstayingherewithme,goandspeaktoMark.Getbacktogetherwith him.”
“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
“Youheardme.That’sanorderandthewishofadyingwoman.”
“Mom,don’tsaythingslikethat...”
Butshewasbeingserious.Anhourlater,shethrewmeoutofthehoursandforcedmetogo andseeMark.MaybesleepinginmyoldroomhadmademerebelagainstherlikewhenIwas ateenagerand,giventhatIdidn’twanttolockmyselfupinmyhousetowaitfortheghostof theoldwomantoshowup
whileIwaswatchingtelevision,Iheadedtowardthefarmwhere Frankwascollectingtheeggsofthecountlesschickenshehadinthepen.
“Youhaveavisitor!”Heshoutedfromthedistance.
Throughthesmallwindowofmyworkshop,IsawMark’swidebackcoveredinablack
coat.Iimaginehecouldfeelmyeyesonhisneckasheturnedaroundtolookatme.Westared ateachotherforafewsecondsandIwasIwhodecidedtowalkoutoftheworkshopandover to where he was standing, in front of the perfect row of trees with views to the dark and mysteriousforestpath.
“Ho.”Isaidwithasmallandshysmile.Iwantedtolooklikehispresencebotheredme...
but,inallhonesty,Ilikehavinghimthere.
“I’m sorry if my visit bothers you...” He said, lowering his eyes. “I know I’m being too insistentbut...”
“Always so polite.” I smiled. “Do you remember when you threw that basketball at my face.Ihadablackeyeandaswollennosefordays.”ItwaspracticallytheonlymemoryIhad ofhim.
“Areyounevergoingtoforgetthat?”Marklaughed.
“Whatdoyouwant?”
“Tostartover.That’swhyI’mhere,Nora.Ishouldneverhaveleft...oryoushouldhave neverletmeleave.”
Helookedupatmewiththesamesweetnessandintensitythathehadthedaybefore,when I had turned my head when he had tried to kiss me. With his trademark assurance of his, knowingthat,somewheredeepdowninsideofme,Ifeltthesamething.Soterriblyirresistible, hestrokedmyfaceand,atthatmoment,notthinkingofanythingelsethatwasn’thimandme,I leanedupandkissedhim.Kissinghislipswaslikereturninghome,asifnootherworldhad everexistedinwhichheandIdidnotexist...together.ThatwasthethirdtimethatIfeltthatI was being unfaithful to Stuart... but I understood that the man who had been my husband in anotherlifehaddisappearedwiththecurseofthatstrangewoman.Rightthen,therewasonly Mark...thatwriterwhoIhadhatednotlongagoandwhoInowenviedforhavingmemories withmethatIhadnotexperiencedand,therefore,couldnotenjoythemformyself.