Flesh and Other Fragments of Love (3 page)

4. THE BELLY

MARY

At first, I was devastated: what a disgrace, what a burden, nature played a trick on me. That wasn't supposed to happen, that couldn't happen, that shouldn't have happened, and yet, it did.

That's the fate of silly women desperately in love.

But I was never in love, and never silly.

At one time

I used to read Yeats's poems.

I didn't understand them.

I guessed that they were about love, and the suffering related to love, and I thought that the poor man simply should have loved more moderately. Along with Joyce, Beckett, Wilde and many others, that writer was the pride of Ireland and the nationalists.

Yeats was born in our county, in Sligo, so he had a privileged status.

That was the only reason my parents, who were fervent Catholics, tolerated him.

I remember one poem about white birds.

Would that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea
.

And the image of Dana, the Goddess–Mother of Ireland who inspired me much more than the austere Christ they preached to me at home and at the convent school.

I am haunted by numberless islands, and many a Danaan shore,

Where Time would surely forget us, and Sorrow come near us no more.

Soon far from the rose and the lily, and fret of the flames would we be,

Were we only white birds, my beloved, buoyed out on the foam of the sea!

Why want to be a white bird?

Why want to suffer from love?

*

SIMONE

Strange, isn't it?

PIERRE

What?

SIMONE

Do you think that she loved him?

PIERRE

That who loved whom?

SIMONE

That Mary loved Billy?

PIERRE

So his name was Billy?

SIMONE

That's what people say.

PIERRE

Do we care?

SIMONE

I do. What do you think? Did Mary tell him she was expecting a baby?

PIERRE

I don't think so.

SIMONE

I think she did.

*

MARY

I have to tell Billy. Announce it like wonderful, positive news. I don't love Billy but I like him, and that's enough. I'll be as wise and as lucid as Molly Bloom when she thinks,
well, as well him as another
, not sad or prideful, but just aware of everything, a precious knowledge, yes, I'll join Molly and all those women who know that love is secondary in the business of love. I've seen enough bodies to realize that all bodies come down to the same thing
(now she is speaking to Billy)
, yes, I'm a medical student and all bodies come down to the same thing, you know, that's why there's no love in medicine, I can tell you that, there is no love, because sooner or later it all comes down to the same thing, we can't go on rediscovering America. Don't you agree, Mr.…, Mr.… Mr.…

SIMONE wants PIERRE to participate.

PIERRE

(playing Billy)
My name is Billy. And you?

MARY

Mary.

PIERRE

(playing Billy)
You're an odd bird, Mary.

MARY

I'd rather be a bird than a fish.

PIERRE

(playing Billy)
Well, I don't agree, Mary. I think that everything can be constantly rediscovered and that America offers infinite possibilities. They even say there are still places unknown to cartographers.

MARY

Even in New York?

PIERRE

(playing Billy)
Especially in New York. Alleyways, mazes, store windows, gardens, parks, benches, perfumes. Virgins.

MARY

I like to think that every big city is still a virgin in places.

PIERRE

(playing Billy)
What about you?

MARY

What about me?

PIERRE

(playing Billy)
Are you still a virgin, in places?

MARY

Completely.

Unexplored.

Absolutely.

And then I gave him a knowing look, coy, almost sassy, like this.

(I never would have thought I could do it.)

I flashed an ambiguous smile,

like this.

(Where does this knowledge, this instinct, come from?)

What a look he gave me.

Like a dog who'd been promised a bone.

At first, he didn't believe me, but it's true,

but it's true
,
I told him,

I'm a virgin, as unspoiled as America
.

He preferred to go to my place.

Let me handle this
.

When he said,
let me handle this
,

so breathless and earnest,

I felt like laughing, but I held back.

I didn't want him to lose the urge.

Then I got scared.

Would his rough red hands tear open my belly the way

I'd seen them handle the slippery fish?

I felt vulnerable in the hands of the fisherman,

and distant, no matter how hard I tried.

Let me handle this
,
he whispered again,

maybe at a loss for words?

Let me handle this
,

of course, what else could I do?

His tongue was stupid and hot.

It kept wriggling around my mouth.

But his hands were like mad magicians,

delicious and perverse, and I encouraged them with my little sighs.

Then Billy guided my hand until it found something hard and warm, and incredibly vibrant.

I had never touched anything like it.

Of course, in my work as a nurse, I had already seen dozens of them,

but nothing like that.

I had the feeling I was holding a life that had nothing to do with the rest of Billy.

An animal that seemed to be hurting him, since Billy let out a kind of whine and sucked the air in through his teeth, as if he was trying to soothe a pain.

I held it the way I would have held a pigeon prisoner by the throat.

I kept thinking, I mustn't let it escape.

I wondered what was next.

*

PIERRE

Why are you doing this?

SIMONE

Doing what?

PIERRE

You're bringing her back to life.

SIMONE

I'm inventing her with you.

PIERRE

I don't think we can do this together.

SIMONE

Why not?

PIERRE

Because we'll always come up with competing interpretations.

SIMONE

Why?

PIERRE

We just do.

SIMONE

It doesn't matter, Pierre. It's only a game.

They stare at each other, in cahoots, in love, erotically.

PIERRE

You play strange games.

SIMONE

Do I?

PIERRE

And I always lose.

SIMONE

Why do you always lose?

PIERRE

Because you're so… eloquent, so persuasive…

SIMONE

I'm eloquent?

PIERRE

Yes.

SIMONE

And persuasive?

PIERRE

Yes.

SIMONE

And touching?

PIERRE

Yes.

SIMONE

And colourful?

PIERRE

Yes.

SIMONE

And undeniable?

PIERRE

You are undeniably undeniable.

SIMONE

I'm not making you say that?

PIERRE

Oh no, you're not making me say that. I'm saying it on my own.

*

PIERRE

Simone has always fascinated me.

Sometimes I secretly observe her.

When she's folding my shirts, for instance.

Or when we're entertaining our friends,

and she's enjoying them.

Simone is a fabulous hostess, and our evenings are often memorable.

We prepare the meal together.

Sometimes we make love just before the first guests arrive.

Our scent blends with the smell of the casserole in the oven.

Don't ask me why, but peeling potatoes, dicing vegetables, breaking an egg, beating the mayonnaise, basting the salmon, we find all of that terribly erotic.

The rest of the evening is just as exciting.

Simone dazzles me.

Her humour, her wit, her way of being tuned into everyone's slightest desire, of quickly responding to comments or gestures, making every guest feel like the most important person in her eyes, Simone exudes a sincere, equitable, precious affection.

She breathes, she undulates, she swallows: it's as if she were swimming, or dancing, which is the same thing in her case.

Once I watched her so intently that I forgot to swallow my saliva, and it dripped on my shirt.

Our friends laughed.

All evening Simone floats about without being superficial, she is intrigued without being indiscreet, jokes without ever being inappropriate.

She knows how to be quiet, too. She knows how to enjoy the meal, unlike hosts who consider it a point of honour not to enjoy anything.

Simone tastes. Simone talks. Simone is eloquent, persuasive, colourful, touching, undeniable.

Simone is happy.

She knows that when they leave,

we'll start over again.

*

SIMONE

Mary was happy. She would have a child, a husband, she'd become a doctor. Billy was coming Thursday, she would announce the news. He would be happy, too. When Billy arrived, she kissed him gently. She laughed, she was happy to see him, and he was happy and surprised to see her in such a good mood. She had him sit down, ceremoniously, making fun of the ceremony…

MARY

We're going to get married, Billy. I would like to be your wife. We're going to get married because I know that's what you wanted from the very beginning… and because I'm expecting a baby. No, I'm not joking, I'll play house with you, I'll be your wife and the mother of your son, I'm sure it's a boy, and soon you'll be able to say my wife, my son, my house, my car, my fish, isn't that amazing? Are you moved? You don't believe it? Well, it's true, of course, I owe you that, you taught me everything. You don't look happy. I thought you'd be happy. I agree, I never thought this would happen, but it did. Life is determined, isn't it? Sometimes it outsmarts the smartest. Look at the face you're making, c'mon, the three of us will be happy. Of course I didn't do it
on purpose
. What do you mean? Do you really think I wanted to be saddled with a husband and a baby? Who do you think you are? Do you think you're a dream come true for a woman like me? I'm a modern woman. I left my parents, their farm and their retarded neighbours, and I was about to leave Ireland, its bloody history and its dead language. Do you think I'm delighted to be stuck here with you, the wife of a fishmonger?

Don't forget, I'm a doctor. I know, not yet. But soon. Pardon me?

You're married?

What do you mean?

You already have a wife.

Yes, I understand.

Well, go home to her, the poor thing.

You thought I suspected it.

That you had a wife.

Well, no, I didn't suspect it.

I don't know how to recognize that kind of thing.

Those stories bore me to death.

I made a fool of myself, didn't I? How humiliating.

Yes, that's right, leave. Fast. Before it becomes unbearable.

Some women know how to faint in situations like this, but not me.

What am I going to do?

You're asking me what I'm going to do?

It's none of your business now.

*

SIMONE

Strange, isn't it?

PIERRE

What?

SIMONE

He's a coward, that Billy.

PIERRE

Here we go. He's a
coward
.

SIMONE

Sorry, but there's no other word.

PIERRE

There are lots of other words.

SIMONE

Oh, really? Like what?

PIERRE

If I were to say, for example, that he doesn't feel like recognizing that child, that he
doesn't want
to leave his wife for Mary? If I were to say that he made a mistake, that he was careless?

SIMONE

I'd say he's got no backbone, that he's only thinking about himself.

PIERRE

And who is she thinking about, when she asks him to marry her?

SIMONE

That's different.

PIERRE

Is it?

SIMONE

She's carrying their child and he refuses to commit himself.

PIERRE

So what? She wanted a no-commitment relationship herself.

SIMONE

Yes, but the situation changed.

PIERRE

Because she decides to have a baby.

SIMONE

She doesn't decide anything. It's their baby.

PIERRE

She decides to keep the baby. She decides that Billy should marry her. She decides that he'll be the breadwinner so she can finish her studies. She decides everything, and he's supposed to accept it all?

SIMONE

He has to take responsibility for his actions!

PIERRE

Take responsibility
. The age-old formula you've always saddled us with. You want to drag us into your useless sacrifice, your smug abnegation,

you want us to suffer with you,

you want us to become dull and ugly with you,

and most of all, you want us to pay with you.

Pay for the pleasure,

for having been carefree, casual and daring.

You want us to pay the price, every day,

for every time we felt free

without you.

SIMONE

Who are you talking about: “you” and “us”?

PIERRE

…You, Simone.

SIMONE

The problem is, your freedom is a ravenous monster! The more I feed the monster, the hungrier the bloodthirsty predator gets. I can't let your insatiable freedom devour me, Pierre! I'm not Mary!

PIERRE

And I'm not Billy!

SIMONE

You're two of a kind!

PIERRE