Memory of Love (9781101603024) Read Online Free Page B

happy as anything can ever get.’
    â€˜It had to be happy first,’ he said, and it sounded like a private reflection, not a piece of conversation.
    I looked at him, but again could not catch his eyes.
    â€˜You’re probably right. Perhaps nothing can be sad in itself.’
    â€˜So you left,’ he said. It was a statement, not a question, but I nodded regardless. ‘And then you came back.’
    â€˜I did. First, I came here for a holiday. Then I went back to my home far away. But I couldn’t stop thinking about this place. I thought about it during the day, and I dreamt about it at night. Sad dreams. But also very beautiful. And this place became more and more important to me. One day I felt I had to come back here to live.’
    â€˜Are you always going to be here now?’ He was fingering the edge of the table, running his hands over the wood. His nails were dirty and the skin across the knuckles bruised. He held the fingers closely together. The impression was of someone trying to smooth the surface. I knew by then that crumbs made him uneasy, so I made it a habit to keep the table spotless.
    I stood and collected our plates and walked over to the kitchen counter. I looked out the window. It was a sunny day with a light wind and the sea sparkled with blinding intensity.
    â€˜I think so,’ I said with my back to him, ‘but you can never be certain. Things change. You change, and everything around you changes. Things happen.’ I returned to the table and sat down. ‘But yes, I really do think I will stay here.’
    He said nothing.
    â€˜How about you?’ I asked. ‘Will you always stay here?’
    â€˜No,’ he said quickly, shaking his head with force. ‘No way. I’m going away. Far away.’
    â€˜Aha,’ I said. ‘Why?’
    He shrugged his shoulders, as if he thought it a stupid question, not worthy of an answer.
    â€˜Are you not happy here?’ I asked.
    He stood and walked over to the open door where he placed himself on the threshold with one hand on either side of the doorframe. It looked as if he was pushing hard. He had his back towards me and he said nothing. I waited.
    â€˜Are you sad now?’ he said finally without turning around, ignoring my question. ‘Are you sad when you are here?’
    I considered the question for a moment before I answered.
    â€˜No, I’m not sad. I’m a kind of happy. A little happy in a sad way.’
    He remained where he was and I could see the muscles on his back playing. For some reason he was still pushing hard against the doorframe.
    â€˜Come and sit here at the table,’ I said, ‘and I’ll tell you about other places where I have lived.’
    He took his time but eventually he returned and sat down across from me.
    And so we talked about other places.
    I think we were both relieved to change the subject.

4.
    Someone once shrugged off something I had told him, saying that such things didn’t happen in real life. That it was too far-fetched to be believable. But far-fetched things do happen. In fact, many people’s entire lives are completely far-fetched. I think we are constantly surrounded by extraordinary possibilities. Whether we are aware of them or not, whether we choose to act on them or not, they are there. What is offered to us that we choose not to act upon falls by the wayside, and the road that is our life is littered with rejected, ignored and unnoticed opportunities, good and bad. Chance meetings and coincidences become extraordinary only when acted upon. Those that we allow to pass us by are gone forever. We never know where they might have taken us. I think they were never meant to happen. The potential was there, but only for the briefest moment, before we consciously or unconsciously chose to ignore it.
    As I was slowly becoming aware of my growing sense of restlessness I had also come to think that human bodies are brought