Andreea’s Passion .
Not too sure about Andreea and the meeting … what would happen after time had elapsed, letters unanswered, hardly expected her, had believed she was in Greece with her parents. Waited.. as instructed by her on the phone.. to meet outside the Pizza Hut, waited opposite, almost obscured by the distraught traffic. Few minutes before one p.m. started to shake, wondering what had been her reaction to my perhaps scathing letters, why after those missiles, she had decided to meet me.
She came, strolling along finally, a slight arrogance, white high heeled shoes I had bought her in England, long skirt to her ankles, sleeveless blouse, dark glasses, hair to her waist.
Never directly approached, walked parallel, waiting for her to look other than directly in front.. all this oblivious to the traffic which, by now, seriously attempting to run me over.
No animosity on her face when our eyes finally met, more a question mark, more of “why had I not written?… why had I ignored her?”
We sat, the waitress, rather too friendly for the occasion, for the problems I believed I was about to be confronted with, unable to quite understand why Andreea was so calm so affable, so Andreea.
Hardly knew how to start the conversation… the conversation two people have … the conversation only for two people, the conversation, meaningless to any other person on the Planet.
“Why haven’t you written to me” She started, … half indignant.
The waitress interrupted precisely at this point, giving time to consider her remark.. what had happened to the letters she had not received, totally relieved at this twist of fate.
Suggested, as had done previously, that her mother was the recipient of my mail … then the idea had been blown away indignantly, “Our family is not like that” .. evidently it was.. I am hardly ever wrong. How her private case had been broken into, how all the perhaps erotic photographs of her had been torn, how she had found, pieces of my distinctive envelopes.
The last two days the mother had revealed everything to the father, how the father had howled at her, both parents jointly demanding she gave up the “old man’ immediately, to destroy everything he had given her. How she would no longer be allowed out of the house other than to go to the university. How, if she did not submit to their demands she would be sent to a nunnery.
Drank my coke, at this final remark, amazed, a sense of unreality .. was this really 1997 ? or perhaps a time warp .. really back in the Middle Ages.. she, nevertheless eating her pizza with delicacy, not having lost her appetite, disregarding the total chaos of her now existence.
Cautiously, again asked “so you did not receive my letter and the page from my diary .. plus the very large photograph with slightly uncompromising captions.
“No” no, she had not received anything .. had received only the photos from my June trip.. she and Cynthia bathing in the lake,..wife and mistress drifting off across the wide water in the evening sunlight… knew they would make for the distant opposite shore, both so relaxed, voices concise, clear.. knew they would take the opportunity to weigh their respective positions.
Watched, as they sat languidly on the far shore in the soft light, nothing across there to disturb them, their words.. their gently confrontation.
Wished I could have heard one syllable .. could only watch.
Waited for what seemed an interminable time .. darkness starting to creep across the clear water, waited for them to start the long swim back .. they arrived quite calm, not at all breathless, still talking quietly to each other.. had hardly expected any different.. they, rather much in common.. the fact, one could have been the other’s mother……..
Pleased at this turn up.. that Andreea had been spared all my confusion.. my disbelief at all of her, what I considered, small stories, as to why she had to rush home in the early evening.. to the extent of actually following her in another taxi, feeling on that occasion she was off on an assignation… subdued when she went straight into her flat and never came out ..not for the two hours I stood there anyway!
Tried not to think of Andreea’s mothers reaction to my so personal pages to her daughter.. without doubt, even cooled through a translator, the pages would have burnt into her brain once / if realising the depths Andreea and I reached.
Stood up, looked for the waitress, paid her, paid her over the top, grateful for the interruptions..
AndreeA cautious about where to go next, did not want to go to the flat, wanted to go to the lake she decided.
Getting into the taxi there were three young, thick, Romanian hooligans glaring and gloating, looking at her. Not quite able to understand what she was doing with me… the question mark poised in their stupidity.
Went down the familiar park, to the lake, Deliberately, she walked on the edge, away from the long grass where I might put her to the ground, my body over hers, this quite obviously she did not want, quite obviously she preferred to keep me at distance for her own reasons.
Waited, waited all my life, so I could wait a little longer, waited to see what she would do, what she would say, what would happen next. We sat, looked about waiting for people to congregate about me, as people always do. She, long skirt pulled down, knees up, arms around.
Became impatient, time passed, she had to rush home, half past four in a Friday afternoon she “had to go home”, so she said, so I was supposed to believe, a prisoner in her own home.
Looked for a taxi, no taxi appeared… walked almost to Dorobanti Market before we found one. Gave her the money, door banged, she driven away. Would ring, she would ring at two o’clock. on Saturday. Taking into account that she never left the bed until midday at the least…
Just a slight sense of emptiness when she was gone, then there always is, Used to my own company, used to my own isolation,… nothing, just the usual hole, had tried to explain to her about the hole, the really big hole I have to negotiate my life about, careful not to fall in.. first discovered this with Susan.
Went for a manicure and a pedicure. Having a manicure interested Andreea, a man caring about his nails!…
Said to the woman, she, massaging my foot - ‘better than sex” She laughed.
From there, drifted down to the factory, Cynthia doesn’t finish work until eight o’clock at night. As always, as ever, energetic, smiling, knew where I had been, disregarding it completely. She rushed about. Decided to go back to my bed, the bed I had in London, which I had to store for a year because it wouldn’t fit in my new flat, the bed, the green bed without the twirling tentacles of my plan…
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