The Fifty-Ninth Night

 

You see, Nick and I used to meet on Saturday nights for three or four hours of pure contentment.

We would dine, talk, play games, and sometimes swim in the calm, warm waters of the sea that lapped against my garden.

But on that last Saturday, something had shifted in Nick.

As you know, last Saturday we had spoken of death and separation, and he—who had never before come to my house outside our Saturday evenings—began appearing in the afternoons as well.

Not to converse as we usually did, but simply to feel accompanied.

He explained himself: “Look, I know you cherish your solitude,” he said, his voice carrying that his easy warmth. “You don’t like people around distracting you from what truly feeds your soul. But with me it’s different. I need people around me. I want people around me… and there’s no one I want more than you. There, I said it. I’m not in love with you, and I’m not thinking about sex or anything like that. It’s just… your presence calms me down. Your words comfort me. I miss you like crazy when I’m away. I know it sounds dumb...”

“Would you like to move in here?”

“No,” he answered with a gentle smile, “but I’d like to be closer to you. A few afternoons a week, maybe?

“Just to sit quietly in some corner, drawing nearer each day… like the fox suggested to the Little Prince?”

He smiled and turned to me. “I hadn’t remembered that, but I do recall how deeply that scene touched me when I read it.”

He paused for a moment, then pointed a finger at me. “You’re the one who lent me the book!”

I returned his smile, opened my arms in a wide gesture, and replied, “Guilty as charged!”

“So… what do you say?”

I took a deep breath and spoke to him in the most honest, friendly tone I could muster:

“First of all, I want to make it clear that my feelings for you are reciprocal. I miss you terribly when we’re apart. Knowing we’re on the same island comforts me, but when you leave for America, the whole house feels sad. Even Georges misses you.”

“That ridiculous parrot?”

“The very one. Only… unlike you, I would never have asked you to come closer. You were the one who invited yourself here the first time, then the second, then the third…”

“I remember it well,” he said softly. “I kept telling myself: this guy is special. I want to know more about him.”

“I have a deep fear that if you draw too close to me, you’ll eventually discover that I’m terribly selfish and dangerously perverse—just as everyone who has ever approached me eventually did and disappeared from my life. Then we would be on the same island, yet unable to bear the sight of each other.”

“You’re none of those things!”

I rose, went to a drawer, and took out spare keys to the house, which I placed in Nick’s hand.

“You may come and go as you please.”

“I’ll be more discreet than the shadow of your own shadow,” he said—and indeed he was.

He would sit quietly in my studio, reading some volume from my library, and bring flowers on every visit.

My heart wavered between anxiety and delight.