Sequel

Obliquely filling the gaps of my life by recall of years.

 1971 did not bring forth any memory as it should only by

reference of 1972 it fell into place as year my last son was born.

 But by 1976 my life had unraveled on various levels and divorce.

 The Summer was fraught with conflicts, as well as waves of joy,.

as visiting children his and mine, came and went like flocks of birds.

 At end of season in lieu of thanks for my travails he disappeared.

 The Winter that followed was quiet and she who had been his wife

Clambered up to top of my stairs and with tremulous hands held

 mine in gratitude and with this gesture did much to mitigate..

 In Spring in those carefree Berkeley days when locking

 doors was still a choice, he came in through back door

to lay on my blue chaise longue in wait. As I entered saw first

his pharaonic profile outlined on opposite wall.

His presence by then was as unexpected as undesired.

He launched into explanations that were no longer of interest.

In those days in my circle it was not uncommon to ‘drop

acid’ despite its distortions before embarking on a life decision.

I offered him to join but he declined. I assumed it was due

to a generational divide, though he was still under forty…

It was a Spring ritual, not lightly taken as Eucharist previously.

In the moonlight as he fll asleep I scrutinised him intently.

 And said in ’sotto voce,’ “Does he intend to avoid me again?”

What followed was a silent battle that lasted hours,

time was at a standstill. No worse, it seeped backward into

 the hourglass. I sat crouched like a cat on edge of chaise,

and finally close to dawn he began to speak, so cogently,

 as if he had been listening to my thoughts…

The argument internally went: can this relationship based

on false premises and little else be recovered? And why?

Can I credit myself with compassion? Or that I had met my

match in perversity and curious how it would play out?

 Other more convoluted reasons occurred to me...

 A visiting friend from Paris, Dorian commented on my

reluctance to leave him, said, “ Even Christ paid his karmic debt

 with only three days of agony! ” A statement so absurd in its

grandiosity it lingered and would produce peals of laughter!

 This went on for days, nay, years until we grew weary…

As way of a parting gift I pulled all the pages of my journal

 and slid them into his. To make certain nothing was lost

 nothing was left unsaid? I did learn from him among

other things that even suffering was an act of volition...

There were no winners here, nor assigned guilt.

We separated in Autumn and limped away from each.                                                           

                                                                 

                                                                            Antonia Baranov