Alexandra was one of those friends of mine whom I felt connected with despite the fact that our communication was often interrupted for months and occasionally for years. We never felt the need to let each other into our daily little worries or joys, which we both truly appreciated because there was always so much to tell that if we yielded to the temptation to do so, we would barely have time for other people. But when we did choose to dedicate a moment to each other, that moment could last all day, or a week, turning into a rain of news and a celebration of souls’ secrets pouring from the cloud of stored thoughts and emotions.
One Saturday morning, I woke up thinking of a dream I had. I saw Alexandra and her three children: a twenty year-old son Anthony and the twelve year-old twins, Ian and Annie. I saw them all inside a church, at Anthony’s wedding, which did take place in reality, a few months ago. In my dream though, he and Natalie, the bride, were dressed in black, and the priest was not wedding the pair but reading a burial service. Alexandra suddenly threw herself upon the priest and yelled, “Stop it! Stop it, for Christ’s sake! It’s a wedding!” But the priest emotionlessly pushed her aside and went on with the service. Alexandra looked around, perplexed and hoping to find an explanation in the eyes of her children or Natalie’s. But their eyes were fixed upon a tiny hole in the ceiling, through which trickled a thin thread of purplish light, right above Alexandra. She looked up and, as if burnt by that light, screamed…
I was still lying in bed, thinking of my dream, when the telephone rang. I did not find it surprising that none other than Alexandra sought me. She sounded casual, with no apparent anxiety or pain caused by some dreadful event that might have occurred, as I presumed following my dream’s clue. “I hope you’re not busy this afternoon,” she said. “Because I’m having shrimps for lunch. Are you joining me?” A huge fan of shrimps as I have always been, I needed no second asking. “I am!” I replied at once, relieved that my dream was about nothing but a burial service over shrimps! “Good,” she said. “Come around midday. I need to tell you something rather important too.”
Shortly after midday I rang the bell. “Come on in, and ignore the mess,” said Alexandra whom I suddenly found looking a decade older than the last time we saw each other, at her son’s wedding. Her beautiful blue eyes seemed to have lost their sparkles and had become grey, as had her hair. “Are you well, Alexandra?” I asked cautiously, for I knew that questions of that sort she found highly irritating. Although she did have some problems with her heart, her health had never been important to her and she did everything possible to stop it being an issue. So she gave me a stern look and said, “I know I don’t look well. I am just tired. The kids are staying with my ex until Monday, so don’t you worry, lady, I’ll get back on track.”
As we entered Alexandra’s backyard, I saw a bottle of wine and two large bowls of shrimps waiting for us on the table and producing such a wonderfully appetising smell that I instantly forgot about whatever concerns I had and began to demolish the pile of my favourite food of all times. “I knew you won’t decline my invitation,” she said with an obscure grin, and her eyes suddenly flashed the very sparkling blue light I was accustomed to, which, by the way, was a never failing bait when she fished for lovers. “I’ve got to tell you something,” she continued casually as we drank and ate. “You are the only one who won’t judge me. I am sure of it.”
For some time our lunching together continued in silence, and I began to feel awkward, for it never happened before that Alexandra would hesitate to tell me whatever story she had in store, whether it was about her new lover or another violent argument with her former husband, which occurred often with her asking for more financial help for the children. Whatever it was, I began to sense that the essence of it was troublesome and decided to encourage her to get over with it.
“What is it, Alexandra? You’ve met somebody?” I asked only to let her begin her story that I was sure was about something bigger and more important than another fish fooled by her irresistible bait. “Yes,” she replied readily, to my surprise. “Alas, she is in love,” I thought to myself, “that’s what all this seriousness about.” I gave her a smile and an understanding look but in return received such a gloomy gaze that my shrimps suddenly tasted bitter and had to be put aside, for the time being. I sat back looking at her with both curiosity and anxiety until she was ready to free me from them and herself from an apparently heavy load on her shoulders. “Now then,” she said at last, “promise you will not interrupt until I’ve told you the whole story. And most importantly, you will not stare at me like you do now! I can’t stand it! Just listen.” I always knew that my eyes can be uncomfortably penetrating, so I found her objection to my staring quite reasonable and forced my eyes to fall upon anything but Alexandra’s, lending her my ears only. Satisfied, she took a deep breath and began her story.
“After Anthony and Natalie got married I offered them to stay here, with me. You know how much I love Anthony. I couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing him every day… I like Natalie too; she is a good girl, studying psychology. She and I talked a good deal, and maybe it was her studying that helped her see things about me that other people couldn’t. She saw my longing for life on stage that I gave up for the sake of my children. Although still very young, she somehow knew how painful it feels when you suddenly realize that life has gone by, or almost has, and you achieved nothing but an approval of your neighbours for doing a good job raising your children! She knew that with all my love for them, deep inside I wished I could break out of the cage of responsibilities I voluntarily built for myself, maybe just for a little while… So she told me about one of her distant relatives, her mother’s sister-in-law’s cousin, or something like that, who cares? Gregory. He is of my age, an actor and a playwright. She said that perhaps if I invited him, we could become friends and do something together, something like a play for two, which she was positive he had in his collection. The only thing about him, she said, that he is a homosexual. To that, I said that looking for love wasn’t my intention at all and that if we were to do some work together it could even be to our advantage. So the next day Gregory appeared on my doorstep, handsome, smart and extremely charming. If Natalie said nothing I would never guess…
“And yes, he did have a few plays for two, as Natalie thought. We looked through some and chose a comedy about a homosexual man who fell in love with a woman. It seemed to be really funny and there was much to do for me as an actress too, which I was truly excited about. So, Gregory and I began our daily rehearsals. We would spend four or five hours on the play and after that, we would dine together, talking about other things. Sometimes he would stay overnight; luckily we always had plenty a room in here. I was happy that Gregory came into my life; I began to feel alive again!
“But then something unexpected happened. One night, unable to fall asleep, I caught myself thinking of the things we did in our play. Three quarters of it Gregory was touching me… It felt so good, and apparently he enjoyed it too! I went even further: I began to imagine myself having sex with him, and I knew right away that my imagination was fuelled not only by the play but Gregory himself. I could feel that despite the fact that he was not supposed to like me in a particular way, he did nonetheless! I saw it in his eyes when he fixed them upon mine. So night after night, I couldn’t stop thinking of having sex with him, and I was positive that the same was happening to him… One night, when Gregory stayed over, I couldn’t resist anymore and entered his room. He was awake, as I hoped. I sat on his bed beside him and… And I began to talk and talk and talk! I could hear myself speak, and it all sounded so stupid and so immature that I felt like I was a silly schoolgirl again! It happened to me only once before, when I met Robert, my ex. So I understood then that it wasn’t about sex at all, I fell in love! In the semi-dark room, I could see his eyes twinkle and his lips slightly parted, smiling. I couldn’t tell then whether he was laughing at me or just teasing me. He didn’t touch me, in fact his body language showed nothing but his disapproval of my being there. But I didn’t leave, I couldn’t make myself stand up and go. Instead, I burst into tears and told him the truth, how I felt and what I thought about, night after night. I don’t know what exactly I was hoping for, perhaps that Gregory will transform into a straight man in a matter of seconds, declare his love for me and we will live happily ever after! What a fool I was… He said, ‘Alexandra, I have to be honest with you. You are making it very hard for me. Either you leave and we’ll never mention what’s just happened now, or we’ll never see each other again. Which is not what we want, we’ve become very good friends haven’t we.’ I left. Next morning we tried to behave as if nothing happened. It was obvious that the kids were totally ignorant of the situation. Only Natalie knew. Although not a word slipped her tongue, I could read in her eyes that she was very concerned about the latest development. Perhaps she overheard something…
“Our rehearsals continued, as well as our dining together and Gregory’s staying overnight. I never entered his room again and there were no more misunderstandings or embarrassments. And yet, I swear, when I looked into his eyes, I could see love, not the passionate, earthly feeling we know all about but love that was beyond words, beyond stars, love that could be levelled only with the longing for God…
“It was a Saturday afternoon. Gregory and I were rehearsing as usual. The twins were home too, doing their homework, or something. Natalie was preparing lunch in the kitchen. Only Anthony wasn’t home; he drove to the country to buy some good but cheap wine from a friend of his. It was a good deal and he did it fortnightly. After a while, Natalie called everyone for lunch. Guess what it was. Shrimps! So all of us, except Anthony, gathered at the table, right here…
“We talked and laughed, and argued about something, and then were interrupted by a phone call. A truck had hit Anthony’s car. He was in hospital, in a critical condition. We all left our shrimps and rushed to the hospital. Gregory came with us. He was by my side all the time, held my hand and didn’t let go for a second. When we arrived at the hospital, we weren’t allowed to see Anthony at all. We were only told that he was stabilizing but huge damage has been done: his one eye has gone, his neck was broken and no one could be sure whether he will ever regain consciousness. We stayed there until midnight. He was stable. Then it was suggested to us that we went home and came back next morning, for there was nothing we could do for him. I didn’t really want to leave but everyone else insisted. When we arrived home, Natalie cleared the table here, then started cleaning the kitchen, I guess to do something not to cry… And Gregory, Ian, Annie and myself were sitting right here, in stupor. Then the telephone rang. It rang and rang and rang. I shouted, ‘Natalie, answer the damn thing!’ But she answered neither me nor the phone. It rang again, and again. I ran inside the house and found Natalie craning over the persistent telephone and muttering to herself, as if attempting to perform magic and have it vanish right before her eyes only to escape hearing whatever news it was about to deliver. I pushed her aside and grabbed the receiver…
“Everyone stared at me in anticipation, barely breathing. ‘Well,’ I said somewhat apathetically, ‘we all will have to learn now how to live without Anthony.’
“Natalie screamed. So did the twins. Then they all went into their rooms and wept. And I… I just stood there numb and empty. I couldn’t cry, or talk, or think. I couldn’t believe that Anthony was gone. And yet, I was almost glad that he was. I didn’t want him to live a miserable life of a cripple. So I stood there and stood, motionless… Gregory was beside me all along. He took me in his arms and carried me to my bedroom. He undressed me and lay me on the bed. Then he undressed himself too and lay down beside me. He said nothing at all. He kissed me, gently, on my lips, and then all over. He kissed me more and more passionately. Anthony’s whole life was flashing before my eyes and, naturally, I couldn’t respond to Gregory’s kisses. But then, somehow, I scooped all those memories into an imaginary bag and threw that bag into an imaginary sea to be able to enjoy an unimaginable reality! We made love, all night through, and I enjoyed every second of it. I felt happy. I moaned, I screamed with pleasure…
“Natalie stood on the threshold of my bedroom and glared at us in disgust and total disbelief. I wouldn’t dream of blaming her. At her age, even with her good mind and the pain she felt, she was unlikely to comprehend why she saw what she saw. So she stood there wiping her tears and glared, glared. And I… I didn’t care, and continued enjoying the man I loved and wanted for so long…
“After Anthony’s funeral, Natalie went back to live with her parents. I haven’t seen her since. Robert decided that he should see his children more often and now takes them to his place every week. Gregory and I resumed our rehearsals and soon, perhaps in two weeks time, the play will be ready to be shown.
“Gregory behaves as if that night he wasn’t there at all. When I tried to talk to him about what had happened, he said, ‘You dreamed it, Alexandra. I couldn’t possibly do such a thing on the night of your son’s death! Not that I could do it anyway.’ I don’t quite know what to make out of it. That’s why I needed to tell you this story. Perhaps you will have a better idea how to explain his attitude and why his mouth says different from what his eyes do. That love… It’s still there.”
Alexandra waited until my eyes stopped examining the table’s scratches and marks and met with hers, and silently resumed her lunching. I pulled my bowl of shrimps back to myself to finish them off and noticed that my hands shook. “Does she expect me to discuss what I have just heard?” I thought to myself. “Does she honestly believe that I can be able to calmly and rationally analyse her relationship with someone I couldn’t care less about when I have just heard that her son whom I knew so well was dead? And she didn’t even bother to call me!”
“Don’t judge me,” she said, and for a moment I doubted that I was only thinking to myself. “Don’t judge me for anything. Not even for the fact that I still haven’t shed a tear over Anthony. I don’t know why. Maybe there wasn’t the right shoulder around to cry on.”
At instant, I felt ashamed for trying to judge Alexandra when she trusted I would not. I felt ashamed for resisting my initial, natural desire to be that right shoulder for her and get up to put my arms around her, letting her cry her pain out, pain that she seemed to have locked in her heart and lost the key. Perhaps her making love to Gregory that night was nothing but her very attempt to lose that key, and Gregory only helped her, knowingly. I felt ashamed for all the words of condolence that were swallowed with those shrimps that I was sure to Alexandra were the best and most horrible reminder of that night.
When our bowls were finally emptied, Alexandra saw me off to the front door. I knew that she didn’t mind me being silent, thoughtful. She knew me very well and always allowed me some time to think carefully before I could come to conclusions.
“Come over next Saturday,” she said, and once more, her eyes flashed that beautiful blue light everyone remembered her for. “Robert will take the kids and Gregory doesn’t come on Saturdays anymore, so we’ll be alone again. I really want to hear what you think it was all about.” She kissed me on the cheek and closed the door behind me.
I stood there, by the door, as if glued to the ground, shattered, crushed. My temples were throbbing violently; an invisible hand of despair that I could not dispose of on my will squeezed my throat. When my eyes finally surrendered to the pressure behind them caused by the comprehension of Alexandra’s sorrow and filled with tears, I found myself turning around and ringing the bell again. This time, I wanted to do it right, I wanted to be for her what I was supposed to be – a friend, a shoulder to cry on, to bleed on! She had to cry, she had to let that pain out… I rang the bell again and listened. There was silence behind the door. I rang again and again. But the door remained closed. I had no choice but to leave thinking, “Perhaps she doesn’t feel like talking anymore. She had said enough, for today.”
One week later, on a Saturday afternoon, I called Alexandra to check whether my visit was appropriate. Unexpectedly, her former husband Robert answered the phone. “Alexandra died,” he said, “last Saturday, or so they think. She had a massive heart attack, but there was no one here to call an ambulance. I brought the kids back here only on a Monday morning. We found her lying right by the front door.”
If there were anybody trying to call me, I believe they were trying in vain. The receiver of my telephone was dropped on the floor and abandoned, as useless as were my attempts to find the perpetrator of Alexandra’s death. “Who is there to blame?” thoughts raced through my angry mind. “Me, who wasn’t there for her when her son died, only through my unawareness? Or Gregory, for making love to her that damn night and oozing her pain instead of letting it out with her screams and tears? Who? Who? Or shrimps with their cholesterol that didn’t do any good to her ill heart?..”
Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted by a familiar smell that for a moment I thought I was dreaming about. I followed it to the dining room and there, I found my dear husband sitting at the table and waiting for me to join him for lunch. “Surprise! I thought we haven’t had shrimps for ages!” he said with a triumphant smile, as proud of his deed as he would be if his dream came true and he was acknowledged as the best detective in the world for solving the greatest criminal mystery of all times. I smiled back and landed on my chair, praying that his mind was preoccupied with his work as much as always, and that, therefore, I was not spoken to, at least for a while. My prayers were answered. Thoughtful and silent, he peeled the beasts in his bowl, and I stared into mine. But instead of shrimps, I saw images of Anthony kissing the bride, Anthony bleeding in his car, Anthony in his coffin, Alexandra making love to Gregory, Alexandra lying by the front door, lips turned purplish, the very colour of that thin thread of light trickling through the hole in the church ceiling I saw in my dream… I shook my head to return to reality and saw nothing but a pile of shrimps staring back at me with their knowing little eyes, penetrating my soul. I felt sick, and have never touched them since.