He raised his wrist to his line of sight more times than I could count only to drop it again. They’d taken his watch, of course they had, and up to now it hadn’t mattered, time hadn’t mattered.
So we went downtown and found him a watch more or less like his other and I said I wanted to pay for it. He laughed.
“No! Why would I do that?”
I looked at my shoes, at the other shoppers. “I don’t know. Call it a souvenir.”
He stopped laughing then and I could feel him looking at me while the guy behind the counter drummed his fingers, waiting for the annoying couple to make up their minds.
“Okay”. And he reached out and laid his hand on my arm for a moment. I found a bright smile from somewhere and covered his hand with my own for a second, just a second. Time mattered now.
I didn’t know what to do. Think of it, me not knowing what to do. More than once since Kisangani the words had filled my mouth and I’d swallowed them.
Even though I knew they couldn’t be true, even though I knew them to be a logical impossibility there they were in my head every morning that I woke up and looked at him, every time we sat down to eat or watch a movie or walk by the lake, there they were.
I love you.
I don’t know you.
I love you.
How do I love a man I don’t know? Except I did know him, knew him in every way that mattered. I knew more than he could guess; I knew from what he didn’t say what lay behind the omissions; I knew that there was a family shaped space – maybe even a love shaped space - in the very centre of him; I knew from the way he handled Kisangani that he had seen and done things I couldn’t imagine and that they had nothing to do with NGOs; I knew from the paintings on his walls that he loved his father and I knew that none of what I saw around me – the cool apartment, the plasma screen, the state of the art hi-fi – meant anything to him at all.
I love you.
It was like the things your mother told you not to say in polite company and because she’d told you not to say them you could feel them burning a hole in your tongue, could feel them clamouring to get out of your mouth until you tried to find some relief by whispering them to yourself. Once, when I was 10, I sat at my grandmother’s dinner table and said “fuck” as I wiped my mouth with my napkin and waited for the blow to fall. It didn’t fall, no-one heard me. I felt relieved and disappointed all at the same time.
So I did what I’d done as he slept in Kisangani, said it aloud when I knew he couldn’t hear me, when he was in the shower or grinding coffee, whispered it as quietly as I could as he sat across the table reading the newspaper, sometimes making no sound at all, just my mouth forming the words. It offered no relief.
I can deal with being in love. It pays to not know a man when you fall in love, it depends on it. It’s been a long time since I came out the other side of in love to find that what I knew added up to loving.
When we made love for the first time after we got back to his place I knew just how much trouble I was in. It had been brief, both of us half asleep, but it was intense and sweet and I nearly said it in the rush of tenderness and relief and heat that shot through me when I came. It was like an undercover agent had come horrifyingly close to letting their true identity slip through a careless mistake, a hiccup of continuity; I knew I was a breath away from going up like straw.
That wasn’t the deal, that wasn’t our bargain. We were supposed to keep each other warm, we were supposed to get between one another and the misery and the hopelessness, that’s all, and, you know, it’s not nothing, that. But now, knowing what I knew – and I did know, I did – I saw that there was more to shield him from here than there; and I knew that he wasn’t looking for that from me, probably never even stopped to think I’d want to do it. I felt pain at that that I hadn’t felt in more years than I could count. That’s what love does – it wakes up the dead parts of you. If you want the joy you take the fear and the pain too and I had both now. And, like the undercover agent I had to make sure I would never slip up again.
A couple of nights later when Jean called I told him I was coming home.
oOo
The last day.
The last night I hardly slept. I didn’t want to miss one second of being here even if he was sound asleep at my side. It had been a weird day. He’d had an appointment at the hospital and I’d ambled down to the ER to say hi from him. He didn’t need me to say hi, he just didn’t want me there when they told him that he was still anaemic, still not back to normal, still not well, still maybe needing someone to look after him.
Down by the desk I saw Abby who looked surprised to see me.
“Hey, still here?”
“Still here.”
“How’s Luka doing?” Before I could answer she ploughed on, “I’ve been meaning to stop by but you know how it is . . . “. She drummed her fingers on the chart she was holding, looked a little uncomfortable and I realised I hadn’t offered her the usual smile and reassurances, told her not to worry about it. Instead I did something I didn’t understand.
“Why don’t you come over tonight?”
”Oh, I – “
”No, come and have dinner, it would do us good to have company,”
“I’d like that . . . if I can get away on time I’ll be over.”
“Is Thai OK?”
“Thai is good.”
“Great. See you later.” I felt as though my smile was nailed to my face.
oOo
I didn’t tell him I’d invited her. He held my hand in the cab on the way home and when we got in he did something he hadn’t done since we got to Chicago, he made the first move. Shutting the door behind me he turned me toward the stairs, hands on my hips, propelled me toward them, up them, into the bedroom where he lay me down and made love to me as only a man who knows it will be the last time can. I’d told myself I wouldn’t cry, but I did and tried to hide my tears but he saw them and turned my face back to him and kissed them away. I wanted to kill him for that. Oh, Jesus, it was Matenda all over again. We talked about going back in the new year, January, maybe February, settled on a date for me to visit before then to make arrangements and for a few moments I was able to think outside the minutes I could hear ticking away , able to think about us in the future.
We showered, ordered dinner, ate as best we could while holding hands and Abby didn’t show. I started to panic. The cab was ordered, my bags standing ready. Still she didn’t come.
And then she did. He was surprised of course. She’d brushed out her hair, put on some make up and looked prettier than before. “Gillian said I should stop by for dinner”. She was smiling, almost drinking him in. Well of course, he was her friend and she’d thought he’d died. Of course.
“At ten o’clock at night?” I could hear the laugh in his voice.
Still, she came in, looked in surprise and confusion at my bags, and I knew right there why I’d invited her. Another person in the room meant it wasn’t just me and him, meant I’d have to keep it together, not vomit up the pathetic rationalisations for staying, not see the unease and maybe even disgust on his face, that look men get when they’re snagged on a needy female.
I expected him to be awkward but he wasn’t. He kissed me like he meant it and there’s a little added bonus right there. She didn’t want him and now she gets to see how it is with someone who does. And maybe she doesn’t care.
I’d argued earlier with him about seeing me off and made it plain that when I walked out the door it would be on my own and carrying my own bags. At the very end it’s as simple as a smile and a shrug and a “See you later”. I tried to contain my low level panic as I waited for the elevator and every minute in the cab, as I checked in, as I sat in departures, and even as I boarded the plane I was thinking that I could still do it, I could still go back, or call and tell him, I could do that, couldn’t I, it’s wasn’t too late, this wasn’t the end all my options were still open. I could still say it.
