Carousel

As we were saying goodbye in the safe haven of the narrow hallway flanked by cream-coloured walls, you embraced me for so long and so tightly it was as if you felt that this was going to be our last time. You shoved your forehead into my shoulder, and for a moment I thought you wouldn’t let me go, just like a child clinging to his favourite teddy before placing it at the back of the wardrobe, knowing full well that it wouldn’t be possible to retrieve it for a long time.

You visited me on Saturday afternoon after your usual tennis game to announce that you had married and in two weeks’ time your daughter would be born. I informed you that I had plans to move abroad. It was about a year and a half ago when we had last seen each other.

You had barely got through the door before we were lost in conversation. There were fully laden cardboard boxes scattered about the house, making it a challenge to navigate from one room to another. It was already Saturday – Monday’s house move was getting dangerously close –, and there was still a pile of dirty laundry in the white plastic basket in the bathroom.

– I don’t want to get married – I announced with proud conceit, expecting a stunned reaction from you. Meanwhile, with one hand I kept cramming dirty laundry into the hungry drum of the twenty-year-old washing machine. Arms open wide, you leaned against the bathroom door, laughing awkwardly.

– Well, I wonder what you’ll say when you find out what’s happened!

– I’ll be done with this in a minute, but please carry on – I put some Bonux washing powder into the compartments.

It was at this point that you told me. I was standing with my back to you, and those three seconds of silence it took me to grasp the meaning of your words felt like hours. I couldn’t decide what expression would be most appropriate to let you see: happiness, shock or disappointment.

Some washing powder landed on the floor, as I turned towards you with a fake smile. My eyes instinctively targeted your hands, searching for proof. It was strange to be confronted with a ring on your finger.

– Congratulations! – I cried with a wide grin, quickly planting two smackers on your cheeks, as they do in films where your grown-up child tells you they’ve got married behind your back, and in case this wasn’t enough, informing you that you are now also a grandparent, and therefore, as a parent, it is your duty to be pleased. I was confident that I could appear credible enough. I felt tense, though couldn’t explain why, and was ashamed because my joy wasn’t entirely honest.

I turned towards the washing machine again, as if nothing had happened, on the pretext that I had to finish the procedure in progress and thus gain a few seconds’ respite from your gaze. I concluded that you would have got frightened if I betrayed too much shock, so I decided to stick with my original plan. This was a typical case of self-affirmation, according to general psychology as taught at first year level at university.

– You didn’t even invite me to your wedding – I attempted a humorous tone, feigning offence in order to ease this strange tension that had by now also overwhelmed you too.

– It was a very private ceremony, with only two witnesses. The wedding proper will be next spring. I’ll invite you to that.

I always feel awkward when I find myself speechless in unexpected situations, so I carried on fumbling with the washing machine for a little longer. I recalled my own self from fifteen minutes earlier, as in my laughable confusion I was running up and down the flat laden with boxes, wrestling with the absurd goal of tidying up before your arrival.

To be honest, not being invited to your wedding didn’t matter in the least.

I had once heard a metaphor about life in a film, which more or less said the following: Life is a carousel from which there is no getting off. The only thing you can do is hold on tight.

– What’s your hunch, will I have a son or a daughter?

– A son, of course. But please don’t tell me that you’ve done the double and you’ll have twins.

– No. A little girl.

– Never mind, next time.

On my suggestion that I make a nice cup of tea, we trudged along to the kitchen. This part of the flat was in the same chaotic upheaval as the other two rooms.

The sink was piled high with unwashed dishes, mottled with yesterday’s dried-up leftover pottage. I’d never normally receive visitors in the midst of such a colossal mess – although you were already my second visitor of the day – but I had got into the habit of doing spontaneous things, something that wasn’t typical of me in the past.

There was an open and half-eaten bar of cream-filled chocolate on the table. You took a seat on a chair by the wall. I pushed a few plates out of the way to reach the tap, and filled the kettle with water and switched it on.

– What will be the name of the child?

– Molly Margaret. Like it?

– Don’t know. I don’t really like this fashion of giving middle names.

I put two white china mugs decorated with amorphous patterns on the table. I took two sachets of fruit tea out of the box and placed them next to the mugs, together with two teaspoons. Then I sat down while the kettle was boiling on the worktop.

– Was this what you wanted to tell me … when you called a few months ago suggesting that we meet up?

– Yes. But your illness got in the way.

I remembered everything clearly: I had indeed been ill, though not to the extent that I would be unable to cope with a meeting with you. I thought it was better to avoid it, being concerned that I wouldn’t know what to say. For the second time, I was overwhelmed with remorse.

– Why didn’t you say that it was an important matter?

– It would have scared you.

The kettle switch made a loud click when the water reached boiling point. We both looked in the direction of the noise, and I got up from the table to fetch the kettle.

– How did you ask for her hand? Tell me! – Slowly and carefully I poured the hot water into the mugs.

– I got her pregnant. When we found out, my dad’s first question was when would the wedding be?

– How old is she? – I asked, while dipping the teabag into the steaming water.

– Still young. But two years were sufficient for me to know that we belong together. The problem though is that she’s still mistrustful.

– Does that surprise you?

– Don’t lay into me. I’m ashamed enough as it is.

Your imploring gaze was infuriating, since I was familiar with your unique problem-solving strategy that had never actually led anywhere – at least not until now. But I had to acknowledge that I would punish you unjustly with my reproachful comments.

– I know I’m no angel.

– No one is. But since then she hasn’t tried to …?

– No, it isn’t that serious any longer. I’m not proud of that, but I had no choice back then.

– I take your word for it.

– Have some chocolate – I pushed the half-opened sweet delight towards you.

– What happened to the other one – Nora?

You broke off a square, popped it into your mouth and sucked the crumbs off your fingers.

– That was a mistake.

I took a sip of my tea and the warm orange scent filled my nostrils. This was the first time I felt awkward in your company. Everything that meant life to you was far removed from me. Despite the fact that my lifestyle at the time showed otherwise, I actually disliked any commitment and the acceptance of the responsibility of adult life, which leads God’s prodigal children along the path of a lifelong marriage and towards a happy death. I didn’t understand the joy you wanted to share with me, because I wasn’t capable of seeing the unexpected events of destiny through a lens other than my own. My anxiety was further heightened by the sensation that your marriage and the forthcoming birth of your first child constituted the only acceptable topic for conversation at present. All I wanted was a moment of peace and quiet, so I could hide myself behind the rain clouds born out of the weight of all I was made privy to, and having thought through the facts re-emerge as a bright and straight-rayed sun to provide adequately wise responses to your concerns.

– Aren’t you afraid?

– Everyone asks that.

– Will you be able to support them financially? – I seemed to appear like a perfectly mature grown-up. – Taking into account your wife’s impending motherhood, the chances are her graduation will be delayed by a few years.

– We need a larger home, a pay rise and a new washing machine. Urgently. But it looks as if all this won’t be happening just yet. There are problems at work. I have to come up with results by the end of the month, otherwise I’m fired. Everyone was told that my promotion was imminent; this is what I said to Mum, too. But I can’t lie to you.

I would have really liked to say to your face what I thought: that you were irresponsible and selfish. But I didn’t. I understood your point.

– She often complains that I’m too rigid and do not concern myself enough with her feelings.

– There is nothing wrong with you. You actually have plenty of feelings but don’t let them come to the fore. Perhaps the time has come to do just that.

– I had no doubt that you really knew me. One day you can write a book about me.

– If you promise you’ll also get back to writing poems.

It was now dark. Bright neon light from the building opposite shone through the large curtainless kitchen window. We both finished our drinks.

– See, you managed after all. You’ll be a young dad, as you’ve always wanted to be.

We laughed.

– Want another tea?

– No, thanks. But I’ll have some more chocolate. It’s delicious.

We chatted a bit longer. You asked this and that about me and the move. Although we were sitting at arm’s length, I don’t think you were aware of the awkwardness that had been keeping us apart. After a couple of hours you decided it was time to head home. Thinking of it, this was our shortest ‘date’ in the ten years since we’d known each other.

– I hate it that you are moving away. It will be strange not to be able to meet you whenever I want to.

– Don’t be silly. I can count on the fingers of one hand how many times we saw each other over the last seven years. It wasn’t my choice.

I turned the key in the lock, and you were struggling with the zip on your coat.

– I know, but still … I was reassured by the knowledge that you were here for me in case I needed you.

– You can call if you need me. Or email, and that’s that. I’m not going away to die.

– I’m not saying that it would happen too often.

– I guessed that much.

– You know me. But at least this way the surprise will be greater when I do contact you.

Everything went according to plan. Long farewell embrace, a few kind words, and a last kiss, on my forehead. In your eyes I’m still that teenage girl who had caressed your lips with loving adoration. As I followed your shrinking figure in the shadows of the stairway I kept thinking about how far all this had moved on from days gone by.

The carousel would not stop, yet I had fallen off it without even realizing I had done so.

As I stood on the outside corridor, a black cat appeared at my feet to the left of the doorway and started meowing, sheltered by the darkness of the rough wall. I knelt down, so he could nestle into my lap. I knew that this was what he wanted. As I tenderly stroked his soft fur, he rubbed himself against my chest, his ears sharpening to the noise you’d made by pressing the light switch on the corridor, so the feeble light could let us witness your one last friendly goodbye wave.