An encounter

“Don’t go.” She said.

He had started to roll away from her.

“Don’t go” She said again.

Her voice was as warm as this bed they were sharing and, as he stood up and noticed how cold dawn was out of this refuge of love, her appeal was strong.

Facing the bed, his body and sould still pulsating with the excitement of physical and spiritual love-making, he contemplated her reclining figure. Softly ensconced below the edredon, her long dark curls spread across the pillow, she had half turned her body to speak; his eyes took in the delicate wrist, the determined and gracile hand laid upon the cover, slowly moved up along the tanned and shapely arm, to the shoulder, round as a bun, and the right breast delicately exposed, sweet and lovely, a few freckles just above it… His gaze finally rested on her beautiful face, a gorgeousness of velvety cheeks, adorned here and there by a few more freckles, slightly red from love heat; a nose with personality, thinnish but sensual lips, which would sometimes open on a dazzling smile, a smile then reflected in these dark, bewitching eyes.

He smiled, passed a hand in his light-brown hair, almost fair with the sun. He felt content and contented but a tiny hesitation was holding him, a small doubt was creeping into his mood.

“You know I have to go.”

His rich deep voice, slightly guttural, brought her the attractive sound of these northern lands he had come from.

“Why don’t you stay?”

“I am only passing. You know I am travelling.”

“We are all travellers.”

“In a way… In practice though, I am expected and I do have arrangements made to continue my journey.”

“Is that really the point? We all have plans. They never come out the way they were intended. Let’s improvise a variation on your plans.”

“Sweetest Dolores, you have only known me for two days. Let me leave before you start noticing my inherent tediousness. I’d rather be a glorious memory than a cumbersome reality. It is our fate to disappear after a while, through displacement or death. Let me do it while the going is good, rather than forced by bitterness.”

“Why anticipating bitterness that may not occur?? Have you no faith in life and love? Can’t you trust your own heart? Can’t you trust me?”

The sincere passion in her voice arrested him. He stood thoughtful for a moment. Then he seemed to come to a decision. He sat on the bed next to her and took her hands.

“Darling Dolores, I will do something that I never do: I will come back. I think we may feel different in a couple of days, or weeks, who knows. However there is something about you, about us… I don’t know. I will come back and we’ll see how we feel.”

“When will you be back?”

“I can’t give you a date. I will go as far as I had originally planned, continuing west all the way to the coast. Then instead of going north, I’ll come back here.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

“I will wait for you.”

With a new emotion thickening his feelings, he tenderly caressed her face and kissed her goodbye. Then he quickly dressed and ran off: he had a train to catch.

Did she believe he would come back? How did she feel as days, weeks, months passed away with no sign or sound of her brief lover? The rain season had come; the town was now a damp darkness full of beckoning interiors: cafes, houses, libraries… She had always liked autumn and there was further enjoyment that year to let the weather numb her sensations and wrap her in a patient wistfulness. Time went on like a softly played symphony and there was a strange glow about her that made her friends ask her whether she was expecting. She did not confess to anyone, it was too unreal a hope. She just hummed away her daily routine, her secret happiness a mystery to all.

And one day, he was there. It was still raining. She opened the door and there he stood, grinning, shameless, happy and drenched. She took him in, undressed him, put his clothes to dry and gave him her warmth…

“I will be the devil’s advocate. He proudly said.

“Because you share his views?”

“Because we can’t take such decisions without seeing the pros and cons.”

“This is not a business meeting.”

“It is the business of life.”

“Maybe we are incompatible…”

She turned away, sadly.

He came near her and put his hands on her shoulders:

“Come on, don’t be angry with me.”

He hugged her until eventually she responded. He went on:

“I am sorry if I expressed myself crudely, but it is true that it is better, I think, to understand what you’re doing, what you’re committing to, before taking that step.”

She acquiesced but added:

“But it cannot be entirely planned or entirely sure. We have to take risks, or nothing beautiful will ever happen. It’s like a painter who would only represent shapes he has already seen. Or rather, it is the difference between the artist painter and painting your house.”

“But not everyone is an artist.”

“I believe everyone is. But it can be hard to discover one’s own art, especially if it is an art not identified as such.”

“Like committing to a relationship?”

He smiled through the question, without mockery however. She only smiled back.

“Would you like a coffee or tea?”

“Do you have whisky?” He asked, grinning.

She poured him a scotch, no ice and made herself a tea. They sat at the opposite ends of the sofa.

“Ok.” He started. “Why should we get married?”

“Did I say we should get married?”

“Why should I stay here, if not to get married? It’s all or nothing!”

“You’re crazy! Are you a gambler perhaps?”

“I don’t mind a game… But this is a game I cannot lose: it works out and I’m the happiest of all men, it does not and I am the wisest!”

“I dare say you’ll never be the wisest!”

They laughed.

“Ok.” She said. “Let’s talk about getting married. But this is a serious conversation, right?”

“Right.”

A pause.

“So why should we get married? He repeated.”

“As you’re the one unsure, you should give the reasons, if they occur to you…”

“Ok – he smiled mischieviously. The first reason is that you’re the most attractive creature on Earth…”

“Are you comparing me to goats?”

“And the most beautiful…”

“How do you know?”

“I love this place – he kissed her cheek, close to the mouth.”

“And this place – he lifted her shirt to take his loving lips to her side and her breast…”

Her eyes closed and his heads in her hands, she was breathing deeply; she asked:

“How long will it last?”

“Forever, he murmured, raising his face to hers for a langorous kiss…”

When she could breathe once more she questioned again:

“How long will it last Thomas?!? Two weeks? Six months? Seven years? You didn’t want to get married in the first place and now you say forever! You fool…”

She smiled sadly, but with much tenderness. She insisted:

“So you want to marry me now and perhaps discover you don’t fancy me any more in a couple of years?”

“This is not just about physical attraction.”

“But it’s pretty important, right? We are good friends, or we are a couple, right?”

He looked at her doubtful, as if gauging her future attractiveness. Some sort of strange feeling of sorrow and repulsion was taking hold of him; she seemed to notice.

“Please don’t look at me like that, she begged in a low voice.”

He saw the hurt and fear in her eyes and his nausea went away.

“Come here, he said softly, as he got closer and hugged her in silence…”

“I think our conversation is pretty good.”

“Oh you do, don’t you? You mean you’re witty and I’m a good sparring partner?”

“You are a good sparring partner, although way wittier than I will ever be… I find our conversation very… stimulating. I don’t know if it is the same for you…”

“It is.”

“…but this is a very rare thing. With most people I’d be bored after a couple of hours, or I’d have to analyse for myself their psychological and intellectual defficiencies. With you, I don’t even have to drink!”

“Says he, a glass of whisky in the hand…”

“I haven’t had a sip of it!”

The smiled, both now relaxed. Thomas held his scotch in one hand and Dolores’ hand in the other.

“I see you’ve already given me your hand.” He teased.

She took it away, mockingly.

“Don’t get overconfident my boy, all is still in the balance!”

“Which way will it tip? Which way do you want it to tip?”

“I just want to be with you, she replied with sudden fervour. I love you! I just want to share my present with you, and God knows how far this present stretches into the future!”

“It’s the best present I was ever made…”

“If it means getting married, because it is indispensable for you, then so be it, though I cannot see the point of it.”

“The point is, you may like eating but if you’re unable to procure a meal, what good it is to you? You have to hunt or buy the food, or get it given, then you have to cook it, meaning having the cooking facility, then, although now we are talking refinement perhaps, you need plate and cutlery! Well love is the same. You may like consuming it, but it requires preparation if you want to keep it appearing on your plate!”

“I guess you could buy it…”

“You know this is not true.”

“I know it is not entirely false.”

“Ok, not entirely…”

They fell silent.

“Right, so why should we not get married, she demanded, apart from the obvious reasons?”

“What are the obvisous reasons?”

“We hardly know each other, never shared a home, we come from different lands, speak different native tongues, your family is half the Earth away… We may not share the same values, I don’t know anything about your religious or political views… I don’t know your economical situation, you don’t know mine… Perhaps we can’t afford a married life with children… I don’t know if you even want children! Also your life is not here, will you be able to belong? Will you find a job and make friends? Will you miss your country, or travelling? So many questions my dear…”

They were quiet again. As she had enumerated the issues they may face, his countenance had grown gloomier and gloomier, his stare was now lost in space, his shoulders hunched up and his hands nervously crossed… Then slowly, as if waking up, he spoke:

“So… You think it’s best if we don’t get married for now…”

The sound of defeat tainted his words.

“I guess you’re right.” He went on. “We should know better…”

“My darling, please don’t be bitter.” She entreated. “We can take our time to work it out! We don’t need to decide right now!”

“Oh but we do. We do, we do, we do.”

His head was down, his gaze on the floor, so that he did not notice her tragic glance and the tears forming in her beautiful eyes.

“Thomas, please, give us a chance!”

At the sound of her broken voice, he looked up and finally faced the tragedy unfolding:

“My love...” He whispered.

They held each other in a tight embrace for a long time, trying to console their disoriented souls. In the end they fell asleep like that on the sofa, in each other’s arms, his face hidden in her hair, her face lost in his neck…

When they came out of their dreams, they suddenly felt the chill of dusk in this lonely world. Love was still there, stuck in the distance between them. They were like Lovers in a museum, an exhibit showing the illusionment of falling for someone else… And like any exhibit, they were now devoid of life and capacity for action. In his last hours in her house, they touched one another gingerly with words or body, with melancholy abandon, feeling simultaneously privileged and doomed.

After he had finally departed, she would often wonder why she had been so confident when he had been away; he would sometimes wonder what he had done wrong. Perhaps one day they would come to the conclusion that their mistake was to assume that it was possible to introduce reason and orden in the chaos of transient worlds…