Semmant (13 page)

All of March passed in that fashion. Time flew, but nothing changed. We tried to be even happier, even crazier – and succeeded in our attempt. I took this for granted as the only right way for things to develop.

When the mechanism broke down, I didn’t notice at all. And Lidia – I believe she was just the first one to tire of trying so hard. I understand it now: she decided too much was being demanded of her. The required effort was excessive, something beyond her strength. I, however, recklessly suspected nothing.

Once, during a three-day
fiesta
, Madrid was nearly desolate. A strong wind blew in from the mountains, and we walked against it down San Jerónimo Street and onward, following the ancient path of the royal cavalcades.

“All my girlfriends are looser than me,” said Lidia, gripping me tightly.

These were not idle words – the day before, I had had a fit of jealousy. I had thrashed about in nervous convulsions, yelled at her on the phone, accused her of who-knows-what, and driven her to tears. And in the morning when we met for a late breakfast, I still felt she was to blame.

“All of them are more promiscuous than me,” said Lidia with a sullen look. “Every new man for them is just a pleasure, not a conquest. When lust is what moves you, you’re not capable of controlling things!”

I thought I understood her well. I looked for proof, and an example came to me of its own accord. It was obvious, lying right on the surface. Simply put, we were walking along his avenue.

I told her about the most promiscuous of the Hapsburgs, under whom the empire began to weaken. The most hesitant of the Hapsburgs, the most irresolute and weak-willed. Lidia listened with great interest: he,
Felipe IV
, was somehow kindred to her. She and I imagined the cavalry retinue and his carriage bouncing over the potholes all the way down Alcalá – from Saint Jerónimo to Retiro Park. “Here it is,” I gestured with my arm, “the arena for feeble-minded royal games. Here they are: hectares of amusement, acres of idiotic buffoonery. Here is the pond where entire sailboat races were held for his pleasure!”

“When I grow old, I’d like to nurse such a prince,” Lidia said with a very sincere sigh. “Indecisive, miserable, doubting all.”

I tried to turn everything back to jesting, but she continued, growing sad, “Yes, and I want little soldier boys right here by the water, in a mock military parade. And magicians, and jugglers, and a whole bunch of tomfoolery! Let him play with real toys – that’s more interesting than real life.”

Then I understood: she could not get enough of me. Enough of me, or her power over me. For some reason, this caused a stinging in my eyes.

I also felt that the kinship of our souls had reached an inconceivable level. I felt it, and I was wrong. Then I thought: openness for openness – and here I was wrong even more.

The air was transparent, dry; all seemed simple and clear. Clarity conceals no tricks – so assume those who are in love. And so I assumed – there were no tricks, no hints of fault. I relaxed and softened, and started to make mistakes, beginning with just one. Just one, but it was serious, nearly fatal.

Chapter 15

The following day she arrived in a white dress, running almost an hour late. Observing closely, I might have noticed: something had happened to her. Something had shifted ever so slightly, breaking the delicate balance. But to look closer seemed unnecessary, and I merely paid her a compliment. I expressed admiration for her dress, then her hair, her eyes, her figure.

“Oh, cut it out,” Lidia laughed, but I knew she enjoyed it.

“I lost track of time. Sorry,” she added with a sigh, and embraced me. “That prince you were talking about yesterday… Remind me, what’s his name?”

It was with this worthless
Felipe
that our problems began. We had ceased to understand each other – as we had before, in everything, always. Encrypted inner hostility arose within our intimacy.

We were not the ones with enmity toward each other; it was the forces of nature that were at war. Our vital elements, pulled out of context. Lidia began to get irritated over trifles; she became capricious, which had previously not been typical of her. We now got into spats – almost every day. I tried to be patient, but at times I couldn’t hide my bewilderment. And she derived pleasure from arguing with me.

“What would you do if I got pregnant?” she once asked me. I laughed it off, not taking the question seriously. Of course, I should have considered its gravity – at least for the sake of fairness. After all, passion for fulfillment may express itself in different forms. But I turned out to be deaf – deaf and unreceptive, almost tactless.

Our shared essence had been challenged, and I cannot say who was to blame. Where was the origin? In the former emptiness? Or in thoughts of the precipice that is always there? What bothered Lidia – in a major way! – to me seemed insignificant, trivial. My jokes and my Semmant were becoming odd for her, unnaturally alien. We were drawn to each other, I believed that, but we had already begun to hurt one another. The conflict grew, building up to a big argument. As always, it happened all of a sudden.

It was Saturday, a beautiful, sunny day. The barrio of Salamanca was preparing for lunch. My robot had made money the day before; we were spending it all evening and all morning. Then we went for a walk, strolling in the sun. From open windows wafted the smell of food, the sounds of music, children’s laughter. Taxi drivers sat at their stops, bored, picking their teeth, looking at us with utter disinterest.

Without a word, we turned toward the food market to buy some dried apricots and fruit; then, simply exchanging glances, we headed for the seafood restaurant across the street. This was a tradition: oysters on Saturdays. We had traditions, and we were proud of it.

Soon they brought the oysters – along with a sweet Catalonian wine. The shells sparkled with mother of pearl, producing a sheen that could not be counterfeited. The mollusks from Arcadia gave off the freshest of smells. For no reason, I got excited; I wanted an aspiration – toward something with depth. Toward something even more real than it actually was. In general, this is quite a dangerous habit.

Lidia was somewhat reserved, but I became loquacious to no end. I deliberated upon different subjects, not even doubting someone would want to listen. This was naïve – naïve and foolish – and the things that came to my mind were not that innocent. I talked about Brighton and the leaden waves; about how small and insignificant the surrounding world was. About hypocrisy and indifference, envy and the lethargy of souls, about stereotypes and their crooked underside.

Lidia suddenly lifted her head: “‘Mediocre’ – you use that word so often. What do you mean by ‘mediocre’? Maybe I’m one of them? Well, I’m sorry if my aura isn’t the right color!”

I understood it wasn’t herself she was defending. I understood – and regretted I had mentioned Indigo. “Oh, come on…” I started, in a conciliatory tone, but she was already wound up. Her nostrils flared, her eyes lit up. She wanted to feel offended – and this was no simple squabble.

“What, in your opinion, is wrong with stereotypes?” she asked angrily. “Why are you so averse to them? Are you afraid of them?”

Something big was behind her back, and she shielded it with herself. She was protecting her territory – from me, and from the others like me. Maybe there was that future prince of hers for whom the entire world works, tirelessly producing toy soldiers?

I wanted to argue; I figured I could illuminate her mind. She simply needed to have her eyes opened, I thought, rubbing my temples – and I spoke about everything at once, mixing it into a heap.

“Religion?” I nodded, and pontificated about the useless nature of religions. About the ridiculousness of church dogmas – all of which were targeted at the weak.

“How about your precious democracy?” I sneered. “The power of the majority – when every effort is only for pleasing the majority’s petty taste? They say individuals are unseen, swallowed by the masses? That’s bullshit, a minus times a minus without giving a plus!”

“Solitude,” I said to her. “Coldness and blindness – even in those who are closest. No one cares; no one at all. It’s clear as soon as you look just a bit more assiduously…”

“How attractive she is!” I thought to myself.

“How duplicitous the world is!” I exclaimed out loud, believing I could share everything without holding back. I really believed that, even knowing how women can be. Prolonged euphoria had dulled my senses.

“Only the ancient idols were invented for good cause!” I fervently affirmed. Lidia listened, staring at the table. Janus, the patron of all beginnings, winked an eye at me. An iridescent serpent on a piece of bark, the fertility symbol of the Australian aborigines, squinted from the wall, sticking out its tongue. But their powers were not enough; that was evident. The real gods turned away in contempt; I was uninteresting to them, boring. They were looking for beautiful, air-headed women to enjoy their earthly bodies. To impregnate them and sire heroes – warriors with an installed program of actions. Frankly, with the most primitive of programs…

“I don’t want oysters,” Lidia said suddenly. “Eat them yourself, and shut up at last. I’ll have the shrimp from Denia,
gambas rojas
, if they haven’t run out of them in this dump!”

The place where we were sitting was anything but a dump. This was a nice restaurant, one of the best in Madrid. It was obvious Lidia had become gravely upset.

“What are you talking about?” I asked jokingly. “This isn’t like you. We might even find a pearl in one of the shells. Or are you still finding them at home? Remember? The ones from the necklace you broke against the wall?”

“Have you lost your mind?” Lidia shrugged. “Don’t tell me you believed me back then. I’m not stupid enough to ruin my stuff over a man. Those were just balls of powder – pearl-colored powder. Even then, I scattered them nearly by accident.”

Something pierced me like a needle. Really, this illusion had been dear to me.

“Well, if they’re fake, then so be it!” I said with exaggerated cheerfulness. “Shrimp, mollusks, witless plankton… By the way, do you know that
gambas rojas
certainly need to be eaten half-raw? And you have to suck all the juice out of the head. That’s actually the best part, not the tail. It smells like the soul of the sea and the breath of the ocean – of eternity. All right, maybe just a hint of eternity – and then, what’s left over is just a chitinous husk. It’s a whole philosophy, if you think about it!”

“Yeah,” Lidia yawned deliberately. “If you think about it – except that I’m tired of thinking.”

“Eight red shrimp,” she said to the waiter who had just approached. “And please, make sure that they’re cooked through, and not raw!”

We sat in silence without looking at each other. Soon they brought the shrimp, which had clearly been overdone. There they lay, like helpless victims. In them was left neither juice smelling of the sea, nor any hint of life or eternal meaning. It occurred to me that
Felipe
would have had a tough time if she had been his nursemaid.

“Your gods,” I said to her then, “are incapable of telling what comes
afterward
. They are incapable, or they don’t want to – and everyone figures things out himself.”

Lidia did not raise her head to me. She operated with her knife and fork – intently and scrupulously. The task was not easy: the edible flesh and rigid chitin had fused together firmly, forever.

“Your gods,” I repeated, “are totally unfeeling and powerless.”

I was offended and wanted to retaliate. I wanted to wound her in return. She felt this and looked at me gloweringly. She looked, said nothing, and turned away.

“Bitch!” I thought, wanting her more than ever. “Beautiful, icy bitch!”

It was clear we were dangerously on the edge. Our mutual effort was coming to naught. I suddenly stopped wanting to try at all. Stopped wishing to be anyone – even the happiest among mere mortals.

“My friend really wanted to know what happens
afterward
,” I said coldly, gulping down my wine. “He wanted to so badly that he shot himself up with all kinds of junk. Now he knows, probably. His name was Anthony, and the point is not the junk. The point is that the point itself is hidden from us.”

“The transition to nonexistence is something I don’t quite understand,” I continued, looking her in the face. “Almost everyone has an ordinary end in store – what you would call physical death. Almost everyone, but not all. And us too – not all. And I think it’s not just us. Yet your gods are silent.”

The gods were silent, and so was Lidia. I was getting angrier and angrier.

“Among the chosen, my favorite is Leonardo,” I smiled, fixing my eyes upon her. “With him, I have a permanent astral link. ‘The greatest painting in the world feels pretty good,’ I always tell him after visiting the Louvre. And I ask him from time to time: ‘How are the rest of us doing there?’”

Lidia twisted a finger at her temple. I saw consternation in her face, as if something was slipping through her hands. It was slipping away and flying away into outer space.

“Aha!” I exclaimed accusatorily. “That’s exactly what I thought! Everybody is used to thinking the world is three-dimensional. That’s why the power of the majority is an illusion and a chimera. Yes, I know chimeras lurk in the corners. In the corners and behind the curtains – but it’s possible to hide from them: there, where few dare to look. They don’t dare, and they remain here – in this crowded swamp, in the shallowest of bogs… Ha ha ha! They don’t know the elements, the storms. They shut their eyes and plug their ears. You can’t even tell them about Semmant!”

The falseness of desires, their ridiculous scale. Balls of powder scattered on the floor. Smallness and weakness, inability to create anything – how ruthlessly I chastised everyone’s sins! Lidia looked quietly from side to side. Tobacco smoke glided beneath the ceiling like another iridescent serpent. Although there was no iridescence there – not one bit.

“Don’t look at them – they’re just eating, drinking, and only listening to themselves!” I wanted to yell at the top of my lungs, covered as I was in oyster juice. I ate greedily and drank wine and was listening only to myself. My words were useless – this was known by all who had spoken of the same things before me. I myself knew it well, as did Dee Wilhelmbaum and Little Sonya. This was known even by those who had never reflected on such matters. Lidia, for example – she was now eyeing me point blank, and I didn’t like her look. The couple at the next table was also staring at me – small little people whose lives meant nothing.

“Let’s even take love…” I began, but she interrupted me. And our neighbors pricked up their ears even more.

“Do you always have to destroy everything?” asked Lidia in a hoarse voice. “Does it make you miserable when everything is good?”

“Maybe you want to destroy the world?” she added. “I’m afraid you’re not strong enough.”

I started to deny it and swear, but I suddenly calmed down, shriveling beneath her gaze. A forgotten shadow flashed through the room from corner to corner. I knew she saw it too. The destructive impulse I had suffered in my youth rose to greet me out of the distant haze. I wanted to say that this was trickery, nothing more, but the words abruptly evaporated, and I simply shook my head. I drove away the delusion – from her, not myself – sensing confusedly that it could not be remedied.

Then we left; she was cold. Pensive, distant, quiet. There was still hope I wasn’t to blame. That she was thinking again of the weak-minded prince, of the dream that wasn’t meant to be.

We parted company at her front door – Lidia mentioned some errands. I wanted to console her, to tell her some funny story. For example, about Simon the magician – but no, she wanted to hear nothing.

I became alarmed for real the following morning. Lidia’s phone was switched off, and the electronic messenger showed no signs of life. I kept calling and calling, not wanting to give up. I wrote her several e-mails; the last had a puzzled, injured tone to it. And I already knew: things had gone badly.

A couple of days later my nerves finally gave out. I paced about restlessly, reproaching myself, cursing, despising. It was clear my ill-conceived speech on Saturday was the source of it all – but it shouldn’t, for God’s sake, be taken so seriously! Could we really be so thoughtless, I wondered, so rash and reckless?

The notion that all could be destroyed – foolishly, ignominiously, in one fell swoop – was unbearable. Was it really so easy to deny forgiveness – especially when the guilt was almost nothing? The city of February rain, filled with the March sun, grinned brutishly in my face. I didn’t go outside but wandered in my rooms, lost and pitiful. I looked for excuses – for myself and Lidia, her silence, and her severe stance. I didn’t know what to do, how to act – and then, not feeling shame anymore, I decided to wait for her outside her apartment building, in the decaying square by the entrance, in full sight of the concierge.

My head was spinning, and the asphalt slipped from under my feet. “It’s okay,” I said to myself, “it’s okay, hang on. Maybe something’s happened. Maybe she’s sick. Or what if there was an accident – and the hospital, and she’s unable to move? This is the right step – wait here first. Then ring the door, ask around with the neighbors, raise the alarm…”