Pere Henri in Chocolat (2000)
I finally screwed up the courage, turned and headed straight for her.
She turned, unsurprised it seemed to me, that I was suddenly standing there in front of her.
Witold, she smiled, receiving my kisses to each cheek gracefully. Whatever
are you doing here?
I felt slightly annoyed that my unannounced arrival didn’t cause more chaos,
didn’t send her reeling as much as suddenly seeing her there at this café
table had sent me reeling. What was going on?
I dunno exactly, I answered honestly. I mean, I knew that I was here, tracking
her down like she was a war criminal but for some reason I sensed she
hadn’t meant what was I doing in Bratislava, more like what were my
intentions now that I’d succeeded in tracking her down. I felt like my
presence required a more monumental confession that an admission of
simple stalking, simple obsession, couldn’t quite encompass.
I came here to see you, of course, I answered finally, taking a seat across
from her and trying to flag the waiter down for a glass of wine.
You’re not an easy woman to find sometimes, I started to explain, half- remembering a line I’d rehearsed in the hotel room several times imagining this very moment. But I figured you’d surprised me enough times, appearing unannounced and it was finally mine turn to turn the tables.
She laughed non-commitally, at what? At how pathetic I seemed as I sat
there trying to feign a nonchalance which must have been embarrassingly transparent as the waiter materialised and took my order. my hands trembling as I quickly pulled out my packet of Drum and rolled a cigarette.
I’ll be honest with you Witold, she said finally, leaning forward and putting
her hand on mine. Your timing is rather odd. These papers here in front of
me are a contract which I’ve been sitting here trying to decide whether or not
to sign for the last hour or so.
Well hell, if it’s a bad time I can just carry on, I said, feigning a motion to
stand, I’m sure I’ll be making my way to Bratislava again in the near future…
She laughed, despite herself, motioning me to stay in place.
You know what? It’s early but what the hell, I’ve had a long day already,
why don’t we just order a bottle of wine?
Of course. You know you won’t have to twist my arm but look, really, if
this is a bad time, I’ll understand…
Witold, she said, exhaling, there will never be a good time for what I have
to tell you so this is as good a time as any.
Naturally, my heart dropped at hearing this. I’d read about these types of
speeches, the I like you as a friend sort of speeches that have a way of ingraining a certain indelible finality to hope.
The waiter arrived with the wine and immediately I drained it while
Anastasia employed a rudimentary Slovakian I never realised she was
capable of to order us a bottle of Moravian wine.
So, I asked as casually as possible, trying to enjoy my final cigarette before
the execution, is this one of those good news/bad news sort of things or is
it just bad news?
She laughed again. I was batting a thousand when it came to entertaining her at least, squirming with dread.
Oh come on, Witold, I didn’t say anything about bad news. I just think
that since you’re here it’s time we had a proper conversation about
everything, about us, for example.
I didn’t say anything but exhaled a long stream of smoke, distracting myself by thinking, as I did on occasion, about what ever happened to all the cigarettes famous people had smoked in their lifetimes. I mean, I knew that
they were smoked and eventually extinguished but for some reason the idea
of Jim Morrison or Frank Sinatra or Miles Davis, for example, smoking a cigarette, fascinated me. Can you try and imagine how many fag ends old
Blue Eyes tossed away or ground into an ashtray in his lifetime?
Well, to be honest, I’m never quite sure whether there is such a thing as us, for starters. I mean yes, there’s us in Paris, there’s us in Utrecht, there’s even us at the blues festival. A nice, brief history of us in fact. I’m just never sure if us means two people, two people on their own paths with occasionally intersecting points or if us means you and I, together.
The bottle of wine arrived and we utilised the time the waiter took in presenting the bottle to us, opening the bottle and then pouring a small sample into my glass, to contemplate us. Or at least I did. After an embarrassingly
quick taste of the wine, an affirmative nod, both our glasses were filled and
more cigarettes were rolled and lit, the two of us smoking quietly while I tried
to wait patiently for her to elaborate just a little.
You see Witold, this is why you’re timing is rather funny. That is to say
I’ve been here with this contract for some time now wondering what to do
and I’ll admit, I can’t really say honestly that while I was contemplating my
future you were exactly in the forefront of those contemplations yet here you
are, like a sign of some sort.
(Of course, the revelation that I wasn’t at the forefront of her thoughts as she contemplated her future was a bit disconcerting but I satisfied myself that
at least my timing, as far as I was concerned, couldn’t have been better.)
And what does the sign mean, I asked as though I was asking her if she thought the greyish clouds floating overhead were an indication of rain.
I don’t know. This contract means for me, liberation. For months I have
been playing in these nightclubs, running from city to city with no idea where I’m heading. And worse still, I’ve been tied to the whim of my manager all this time with little or no say in the places where we went. This contract takes me from the hands of the manager to that of a record company. I would be able to record and album and then tour properly, to promote the album. It is a future of sorts.
Well that’s great, I enthused, seeing perhaps why thoughts of me would not have entered into the decision-making process. What’s to decide? It seems
that you’ll have exactly what you want.
Her face contorted with anxiety and soured as though the wine had gone bad in
one swallow.
You see, there’s a strange little caveat my manager has inserted into this contract opportunity which is in part, the part is the difficulty.
I waited patiently, sipping the wine while she struggled internally with her words.
There’s no easy way to say this, Witold, so I’ll just come right out with it I guess…She shook her head, shrugged her shoulders, tapping her cigarette into the ashtray. It means I have to tell you something, or perhaps that I should tell you something that I’m not too eager to reveal to you…
She took another deep breath. You see, I’ve been sleeping with my manager. Or perhaps more precisely, I’ve been my manger’s mistress. For months. Since before I even met you.
Well. That was a bit of a shovel to the head, as you can imagine. Sure, we
weren’t exclusive. We weren’t even a couple. We hadn’t even slept together once. And surely the thought of this possibility, maybe not with her manager, but with others, had crossed my mind oh, maybe a million times at least.
But to have her sitting before me, admitting it to me, to have to visualise the idea of her sleeping with her manager, even in the abstract, even without having any idea who this manager was or even what he looked like, it twisted my guts like they hadn’t been twisted since my parents disappeared.
I didn’t say anything. I just smoked, staring off at a fixed point in the distance.
I felt her hand on my wrist. I’m sorry, Witold. I mean, I’m not sure I have to be sorry considering us, whatever we have been, friends or something more, I still have no real idea, but even I knew it was something I probably should have at least mentioned from the beginning.
I shrugged. I haven’t had any claim to you. Yeah, I may have professed feelings for you in all those letters, I may have let myself hope there was something between us but the reality is, you’ve never told me there was. You’ve never really led me on. In fact, you’ve been quite cagey all along, maybe to your credit. Hell, I even remember when you showed up at that blues festival you didn’t say anything even then, didn’t commit to any feelings, just asked for my patience. To allow the relationship to find its appropriate path, I think you said. I should have known then maybe.
Witold, I know this confession of mine sounds terrible but it isn’t quite what you might imagine it to be. I’m not in love with him. I don’t even know how I even became his mistress to be honest with you. I think I didn’t believe I could do this, all the touring and trying to get this contract without him. Because that’s what he told me and I believed him. And before I knew it there it was, this sordid little of affair that I entered into because I thought that was the only way I could get what I wanted. I know that sounds terrible, that it makes me sound cheap or maybe even like a whore, I can’t imagine what you think of me, but I don’t love him and I certainly don’t want to marry him.
Marry him? (the confessions dropped were successfully more astounding and suddenly not only was I unsure of my ground I wasn’t even sure I wanted to be in the same city…) How do you go from a sordid little affair to a marriage proposal? My god. Ok, I didn’t appreciate the knowledge of this affair but if this guy wants to marry you for crissakes, I don’t know what to say. I’m completely out of my element.
Witold, we’re moving too fast. She took hold of my head and tried staring into my eyes but I couldn’t look at her. I looked again at a fixed point just above the waiter’s head.
Can we both just take a deep breath for a few minutes? I hadn’t planned on all this coming out like this. We’re moving too fast, please, can we just talk about something else for a few minutes, please?
My eyes widened at the farce. Talk about something else? Like what for example? The weather?
Well, what you are doing here, for example. I know you joked about coming here to see me but did you know really somehow know I was here or is this all just some big coincidence?
I stared at her for a moment in disbelief. Then I rolled another cigarette and lit it quickly, hands still shaking. I took a big swallow of wine.
Yeah, I said finally. I came here to see you. I didn‘t know for sure that you‘d be here but I happened to come across a couple of buskers on the Charles Bridge where apparently you‘d stopped off and sang for them a little while you were in Prague. So yes, I knew you were in Prague and that you didn’t bother to try and contact me while you were there but I came anyway maybe to find out why, maybe just because I wanted to see you. I’m not sure. But I guess I know why now at least.
She appeared to wince just slightly, another secret out of the bag.
Listen Witold, I’ve never lied to you, have I?
I thought about it for a minute or two, thinking about how close she’d danced near lying without having really done so. Finally I shrugged, tapping my cigarette against the side of the ashtray just for something to do. No, you haven’t ever lied to me that I’m aware of Anastasia. I suppose I could split hairs and say that while you haven’t lied to me on the one hand, you haven’t exactly been very forthcoming with the truth either. But I guess technically, no, you haven’t lied to me.
She leaned in closer, touching me on the arm. I don’t love him.
Well that’s great, I shrugged, moving from her touch. So you don’t love the guy you’re sleeping with. That’s a great comfort.
I don’t know how to explain it to you Witold. I didn’t even imagine you’d be here when I was making this decision. I didn’t even know there would be a decision to make and I certainly didn’t plan on just blurting all this out but since you are here, I didn’t see there was any other choice. I’m stuck. I’ve been demanding this contract for months, trying to get out from under him, from his control over my career and then all of the sudden he finally presents me with this contract and proposes marriage to me at the same time. It just doesn’t make any sense to me. He’s already married. All I wanted was the contract and to get away from him….it’s all so fucked up.
Predictably perhaps, I think to myself, I notice tears formulating in her eyes but I’m unmoved. I’m too aware of my own pain to be moved.
Look, I said finally, clearly this is something between you and him. It’s got nothing to do with me. Yeah, I happened to show up here but you said so yourself, you weren’t considering me in the equation anyway. So maybe it’s best if I just go on my way, as I’d planned this morning before I ran into you. Let you figure out what’s best for you.
Please, Witold, she murmured before unexpectedly moving forward and sinking into my arms, sobbing against my shoulder. I need you right now, Witold. Please, just stay here for awhile, talk to me….I’ve been trying so hard to be strong but now that you’re here I realise I can’t be any more, I need your help.
It’s true, I’m not comfortable holding a sobbing woman, no matter who she is and I’ve got zero experience doing it. But for whatever weird wrenching of my own heart I’d just experienced, I couldn’t simply walk away after all these months and forget about her. I could have done that a few months ago maybe. I’d done it all my life, but just then I realised I couldn’t any longer. It was too late.
I looked up over Anastasia and tried to catch the waiter’s eye for some assistance. What the fuck am I supposed to do, I wanted to shout to him. But his back was turned as he busied himself with polishing glasses.
Then, just as suddenly as she’d lost it, she regained her strength, momentarily anyway, and sat back down in her chair, pulling a tissue from her purse and fighting to compose herself.
I’m no expert on these matters, I began slowly, but why do you think you even need this guy to begin with? You’ve got an unbelievable voice. You should have your pick of contracts, not just one and certainly not one with strings attached.
To me, this seemed the obvious answer. Coming from a person with no talent it’s almost unfathomable that a person with talent would need any help moving their career forward. If that’s what the person wanted anyway. If there wasn’t some deeper, unspoken motivation clouding the issue from the beginning.
You’d have to know where I was before I met him, Witold. I mean yes, I complain about these gigs, these nightclubs where I perform, none of which are really top class places, but compared to what I was before I met him, before he started promising me the moon, even this is a much better place.
She lit another cigarette off of the one still burning and signalled drained the remaining wine into her glass. She looked up at me, her eyes glistening.
You don’t know me, Witold. You don’t know who I was, what kind of things
I’ve done in my life, what kind of things have happened to me, what kind of terrible, wretched things I‘m capable of. All you see is this end product which you’ve romanticised without having the facts. I could tell you things that would probably completely change what you think about me. Sleeping with a guy who wanted to be my manager, who promised me a way out of the miserable hole I was in is nothing compared to some of the other things I’ve
done with my life.
Naturally, the caused a spark in my imagination. What kind of things, I wanted to ask. Details. We’ve come this far, let’s hear the worst you have to say about yourself, I wanted to say. But instead I didn’t say anything. I didn’t even know what kind of expression I should be wearing. Interest? Disdain? Disbelief?
Look, I said finally, you’re right. I don’t know you. I don’t know these things about you, whatever they are, the things you’ve done, the lows you’ve visited.
But even I try to think, for example, that you could tell me you used to be a crack whore or what, I dunno, you killed your own child, I just can’t see how any of that information would change what I feel, what I think about you. I’m
hardly in a position to be a judge of morality. And you’re right, maybe I don’t understand why you didn’t simply just do it on your own instead of sleeping with this guy so he would do it for you, maybe you have very good reasons. I mean they must be very good reasons, I’m willing to believe that. Isn’t that enough? I don’t need to know the details. For whatever reason, I believe you when you say you thought it was the best way to go. What’s important to me is right now. You say you haven’t decided what to do, which tells me something already. As well as the fact that had I not come strolling along here and run into you, you’d be making that decision without even considering me. So it seems to me you should just carry on with figuring out which direction to take. I’m just in the way, confusing things more.
No, no, she sort of squawked, reaching out with the tissue still in her hand to keep me sitting there. That’s just the point, Witold. You ARE here. It’s not a coincidence, it’s a sign, just as I was saying. I’ve been turning everything over in my head and all the while, if I’d just thought of you, I’d have known all along what the right answer was.
The right answer? There’s no right answer. You make choices. I’m not a Ouija board. You make choices and you live with them. And if they’re not the right choices, you change them. If you don’t think you can make it without this guy then you have to decide how important it is to you that you do make it. I don’t have anything to do with that. I haven’t had anything to do with it all along. I’m just hanging on out there somewhere in the periphery. The real choices are with you. I’m only a distraction from those choices.
I considered then what the effect of another bottle of wine would be. On the one hand, I desperately wanted to hold on, to stay right there and have a say, despite what I was telling her. On the other hand, I knew I didn’t want the weight of the responsibility of my presence effecting her decision. It’s easy to hang on and maybe just as easy to let go. What’s hard is finally making the choice once and for all.
I stood up finally. You know where I‘ll be, Anastasia. Prague. All I ask is that when you decide, you at least let me know. I mean I’ll be in Prague anyway but really, after all this, I’d hate to think I’d be in Prague sitting there wasting my time thinking about something that simply isn’t going to happen.
She had composed herself by then.
She nodded silently to herself. You’re leaving Bratislava now then? I’ll understand if you are of course but you should know at least that I have to decide one way or the other today.
Again, the thought crossed my mind that if I just sat back down again, ordered another bottle of wine, if we spent the entire afternoon together talking, I could convince her that taking the contract was a bad idea. I mean she must have already considered it could be a bad idea and if I was there, if I didn’t leave her, I could almost guarantee the decision, couldn’t I?
The thing is, and believe me, I’ve thought about this millions and millions of times since, if I stayed there and tried to make certain she decided in favour of not taking the contract, maybe even in favour of being with me instead of whatever else she might chose to do as an alternative, I’d always know in the back of my mind that it was only because I’d stayed that she’d decided that way.
Have you ever overheard couples talking about chance meetings, about how if such and such hadn’t happened at just the right time, if the stars hadn’t been perfectly aligned or whatever such nonsense it is they use to convince themselves that fate played a role in the matter, that they might never have been together in the first place? I have. Many times. And I’ll be honest and tell you I think it’s all a bunch of bullshit. I mean, when I think back to when my father disappeared I could allow myself to wonder what I might have done to try and change that fact before it happened. Or if I had been a little stronger or a little more supportive for my mother when my father disappeared maybe she’d have stuck around, maybe she wouldn’t have decided to take off on her own and leave me there to figure it all out on my own. But where would that have gotten me? Stuck in the past, that’s where.
The thing is, they made their decisions, enormous decisions, one to take his life, the other to leave her son behind, completely on their own. I had no say in it.
So believe me, I thought to myself at that moment, standing there in front of Anastasia, here is your chance, finally, to have a say in it. Finally to try and stop someone from leaving your life. But it didn’t feel right anymore than it would have felt right to force either my mother or my father to stick around a few years more just because they had some responsibility to me or felt guilty. My mere existence had already altered their lives, had already taken from them a freedom, a youth they could never regain and there wasn’t a day that went by when they were around that I didn’t know that, didn’t feel that. I didn’t need that kind of guilt again.
Well maybe you can buy some more time, I said finally. It’s not a decision you want to rush into.
I kissed her gently on the cheek and headed for the train station.
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