By Janet M. Aldrich
The evening had lasted longer than he had expected; for her, he knew, it wasn’t nearly long enough. It ended just as the clock in the corner of the ballroom struck one. Finally, they were free to leave and she took the arm he offered her.
They stopped in front of the largest copy of the poster created by his publisher: ‘Tonight -- Paul Lebarre, on the 50th anniversary of the publication of his landmark novel, The Tarnished Apple.’
“Would you like to take it with us? To decorate your apartment?” She grinned wickedly.
“Hardly.” I would like you to decorate my apartment, chère. But I cannot.
“It’s not a bad night for October. Let us walk by the Seine.” For the past few years, he had avoided the river, not least because watching it flow by was a too-obvious metaphor for the passage of what time he had left. His mind echoed with the sound of closing doors. So few remained, and tonight he would close another one himself.
They sat on a bench that faced away from the water, talking quietly of inconsequentials as Orion cartwheeled over their heads and the hours passed.
“Chère, I am so tired.” He put his arm around her and pulled her to him. He allowed himself to enjoy her warmth and closeness. For a moment, he pressed his face against her silky hair.
“Well, we have been up almost all night,” she noted practically, leaning her head on his shoulder.
He shook his head.
“Don’t look so sad, mon coeur. What’s wrong?”
“It’s not that I’m physically tired, so much. Just – perhaps of life? It takes so much effort to get through the day any more. Look at this evening, wasted on a book I wrote to get tenure and was tired of before it was published. There is little about this world to make me wish to continue in it.” He inhaled her perfume, warm with florals, and tried to memorize her scent. Ah, bien-aimée … He wavered, his lips hovering over her throat to kiss her, and then hardened his heart. Oh, no. No.
She caught her breath, shocked. “I’ve never heard you say anything like that before. I’ve always felt you celebrated life.” She brushed her hand down his face, then placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Paul, if you can’t rejoice in your world, be part of mine. It would be a great deal emptier if you weren’t in it. I love you so.” She sat up abruptly and clapped her hand over her mouth.
He took her hand and kissed it softly. “Ma chère, that was no surprise. It is in your correspondence – you say much more than I think you mean to say. And your face is an open book – a pleasant read – but quite transparent as to emotion.” Unlike mine. You mustn’t see the love in my eyes. What if you realized that I was too old for you? If we were together and you left me, I couldn’t bear it.
“Did it ever occur to you why our correspondence has meant so much to me? Or why I invited you to be here tonight?” He pulled away from her carefully, held himself aloof from her.
“No. I suppose I tried not to. I was just so glad to have a chance to meet you in person. To spend time with you.”
“It was because you were you. Someone unlike nearly all the people who hovered around me at the reception tonight. Someone who knew I was interested in English history, liked Matisse and Rodin and had read Ray Bradbury. Someone who could talk about something besides my book and the mountains I had climbed.” He gently brushed her cheek. “Do you have any idea how tired I am of people who want to tell me what I meant by the last scene between André and Martine? Or who ask about the symbolism of the knife stabbed into the apple? You would think that all my life consisted of one thing – writing that damned book – and the other years meant nothing. Five years out of all of my life. No one seems to care about the rest of it, except you.”
“I don’t understand why I came to love you, but I did. I turned over the book and there you were -- thick black hair brushed back from your handsome face, and those lovely clear hazel eyes like sunlight through brook water or autumn leaves.”
“Such poetry,” he teased. “As I was then, yes.”
“Yes, but – God bless the Internet – I found out so much more. And the more I learned …” She stopped trying to control her tears.
“And then you found this old wreck, non?” His eyes twinkled.
“No! No … to me you are still handsome.” She turned to him, her voice strong with passion. His heart clenched for a moment. “All the men you ever were are still there, inside you. I found a film they made of you demonstrating how to climb. They called you maître-alpinist Paul Lebarre. He’s there, and the writer and all you have been. None of it is gone away. You may not be ‘that force which in old days moved earth and heaven’, but …”
“’... that which I am, I am’”, he paraphrased. Oh, chère. You mustn’t say these things. I don’t have time to heal my heart, should it break.
He closed his eyes. “Tonight I feel every one of my eighty-four years. I certainly must look each one.”
“Not to me you don’t. Some people are timeless, and you’re one of them.”
His eyes widened and he smiled broadly. “I’m not sure ‘timeless’ is le mot juste in this case, but I thank you. You, on the other hand, are still young enough not to be touched by time. Except, perhaps, your vision --”
“Monsieur, my eyes work just fine! I see you as you are – and you are beautiful. You always will be.
“Oh, my dear …” The love and humor in her voice brought him near tears. “I wish that were so.” I don’t want … oh, after Marisa died … and what if you went first? I would die, too.
“Oh, don’t. Ne pleure pas – oh, please don’t cry, Paul.”
“I am fine.” He gathered himself and withdrew from her again. “We should go back and rest. You have so little time, and there is much I would like you to see here.”
“Paul? Is that all there is? Is that all we have? Tourist attractions? Le Tour Eiffel? The Bastille arrondissement? I think I need a Michelin Green Guide, all right – to our relationship!”
He gave her his best quizzical look. “As I said, our correspondence has meant a great deal to me. And I’ve enjoyed having you here these past few days. I’m not sure that’s enough to base a relationship on, not in the sense I’m sure you mean it.”
“My dear, remember, I’m an old man. Age attenuates emotions. I do not feel things as I once would have.” If I believed in God, I would be very afraid. Lie upon lie upon lie. If you are there, God, please forgive me for breaking her heart. He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face gently. Their eyes met. “Chère, out there somewhere, there is someone who needs you very much.”
“Pardon me if I don’t find that very consoling at the moment,” she retorted.
“Probably not. But it doesn’t make it any less true. The worst thing you could do is to let all the love you are capable of die inside you. It would be a terrible waste.” There. The first true thing I have said to you all night, ma amour.
She said something he didn’t catch. “Pardon?”
“I said it’s too bad you can’t take your own advice, Paul.”
“But it’s not me who loves, is it?” She had no answer, and the silence stretched between them uncomfortably. “Perhaps if we could have met sooner.” He sighed. “Ah, well. Missed connections are the human condition.”
He reached out and turned her to face him. “I think we should stop our correspondence. When you leave Paris, we’ll never meet again. You need to find that other man and be to him what you cannot be to me, have with him what time will not allow us to have.” That I will not allow us to have. I should at least be honest with myself.
For a moment, she was silent. “If that’s what you want,” she whispered. For a moment, she looked far older than her fifty years. “Do you want me to leave now?”
“Of course not. This is Paris and I want you to see it.” No. Oh, no. I don’t want you to leave at all. It took all the self-control he had to keep his resolve. I must be strong. Of course, now I am not certain how much I have left to be strong for… I believe I have just heard the sound of a door closing. Maybe it was the last one – before the very last one -- and I didn’t realize it.
He linked his arm in hers, and they walked away together, just as the October sun rose and painted them with its gold.
- - -
I am a relatively new writer, and I began by writing fanfiction which I post on another site I have (tec4.co.cc). I am very interested in the Cajun culture and have a novel planned that I would like to write in that area.
