Buying Love? — Better buy a beer!
I was pedalling hard down the empty streets. The gelid night air, gushing past my ear, tearing up my eyes and nostrils, and riveting my arms on the handle of the bike. An imperturbable silence was befalling the city like a heavy mist. A distant church bell broke the tranquillity like a strident uproar inside my head. The scotch and the headache were creating a dichotomy inside me, like two savage warriors, and I realised the anxiousness to reach home was gestating.
The evening had been quite an eventful one. As usual, I was supporting Real Madrid and my friends Barcelona. El Classico is like a devious mistress, can cause friends to become enemies. By this time, we all were inured to this perennial fight on “who is better” or “who won most matches” and had learned to enjoy matches with gossips and pizza. Lots of munching and grumbling over “That was a clear offside!! Why can’t you see ref?”
The streetlights kept jumping from one alleyway to another; each one looked like an empty dark grotto, giving a desolate feeling. The sky was blank, with stars embedded into it, shinning meekly in amongst the dark clouds mustering slowly. I revved up the 3rd gear of my bike, and past the Kleber Square, turning left, egressing into a narrow dodgy alley, I knew, will lead me straight to The Cathedral.
The Alsace house in these areas looks beautiful, with half-timbered walls and monobloc construction. The Renaissance-style facades with wooden window frame look like coming out of a fairy tale, with different architectural symbols engraved on them. You cannot speed through those cobbled uphill streets, as it causes your lungs to inflate, gasping desperately for air, eventually slowing down the pace.
Round the corner, there was a woman in tawdry clothes, gamine, and petite stature, in her late twenties. I have made enough night trips to know by now that she was waiting there for her first client of the night. Usually, I would have zoomed past her, but I was treading from the uphill drive and wanted a hiatus before I resume. I was standing abreast the shadow of the alley, staring at her, and she met my gaze, with an askance look, as if I was a predator. It took me seconds to elude from the awkwardness. But an exigent feeling was replacing inside me, to let her know, I was sorry for my actions. My experiences of getting into a muddled situation taught my instincts never to let down my guards easily. While I was dithering between the options, she walked up to me. Her flamboyant dress was now glittering in the shadow; she had heavy red eyeliners applied, her skin was pallid in the cold, and her skirt barely covered till her knees. The air-filled gradually with a strange sweet fragrance, as she clomped towards me. I was all agog to break the suspense, but she spoke first.
“Why are you standing in the shadow?”
Before my mind could master any reply, the apology came sputtering out from inside.
“I am sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you or something. I was taking a break before leaving for my place.”
“I am not afraid. Do you mind?” and she pulled out two cigarettes her purse.
Smoke can bring some aplomb to my situation, and I desperately wanted one. The cold was getting acute.
“Why are you out in such a cold night?”, that was stupid to ask as I already did my guesswork.
“You have got a strange sense of humour boy, why do you think?”, She riposted.
“I think you were waiting for a stranger to share a bud with.”
She gave a hysterical laugh that echoed through the empty streets and vanished into the abyss.
“Unless you are taking me somewhere, we can say goodbye now.”
The arcane truth was, I wanted to converse more, given her beauty was really captivating, but coaxing my way in was not an option.
“Two blocks away is my place. We have a coffee vending machine outside the building if you want to tag along.”
She took a long, searching hard look at me; her misty blue eyes were flickering in the darkness, a penetrating gaze, you usually cannot parry.
“You treating me, boy? I have been here for an hour, and maybe I can do this for a change now.”
Quixotic actions can sometimes lead to trouble, but I was searching for trouble all the way long; otherwise, we were two distant worlds, never supposed to meet.
The world seems to behave like there is the law that entitles few men to “buy” women, and this very idea is deterrent to the fight for equality of sexes in society. This illness is not new, as the myth of the oldest profession often meets the “oppression” and entitlement of being unscrupulous, alienates the woman from society and makes them vulnerable. Major societies and cultures vacillate on labelling prostitution being a criminal act to foulest of work, yet to savour the carnal desires, people have secretly pulled themselves to the places they consider to be the nadir of morality. That is a blight in humanity, practised and passed on for generations, like a cancerous maxim.
For rest of the walk, she gave me her capsule bio of being from Marseille and how she needs to cover up the expenses for her sister’s tuition back home and pay for her two month’s rent.
Soon, we entered the foyer in front of The Cathedral, and the arid air smelled of cooking broth from a nearby home. The Notre Dame’s colossal structure never failed to impress me, and I always find it fascinating to imagine, what it must have taken to construct the 142 metres façade, described by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe as the “sublimely towering, wide-spreading tree of God”. Every inch of the cathedral has sculptures embedded onto it, and the cupola at the top can be seen from any part of the city.
We reached our place and bought a cup of cappuccino for her and a hot chocolate for me. The student buildings are so designed, that to enter the building foyer even you need a key, and if you are unfortunate to lose it, you will have to wait for someone to open it from inside. The inside was warm from the 24X7 running heater. Two lonely chairs were kept right beside the vending machine, but no one ever sat on them. People preferred to sit juxtaposing at the stairway, leaning on each other sometimes to keep themselves warm. She looked at the poster of University upcoming festivals and made a mental note of the date.
The slurping and burping ended shortly, and she asked, “Are you going to ask me to come inside or not?”. Years of rehearsed instinct and parental teachings told me it would be a mistake, but remember I was searching for trouble!
My room is on the 7th floor of the building. It is a small room, with minimalist furniture to adorn it, and a giant blackboard to keep me updated of my upcoming schedules and work. But what I pride in is the view from my room. The wall-to-wall windows were portioned into three segments, and the view of the cityscape is surreal at nights. My favourite pass-time is to sit there with a beer, and smoke with my legs crossed resting on the sill and watch the cityscape, the refulgent dome of The Notre Dame.
She skidded inside the room like she owns the place and dropped dead on my bed. I locked the door silently, as we are not allowed to have visitors after 11, and she was no known visitor! At least not until now. I quickly turned on the shimmering bulb, just enough to see her structure as my eyes started getting adjusted to the darkness.
“Please be quiet”, I said with a tremulous voice, “Else we will both get into serious trouble.”
“See, I appreciate your amiable personality, but I cannot pay you.” As much as I wanted her to stay, the illness of dogmatic teachings came out with shame, guilt, and a moment of awkwardness.
“Did I ask for money from you, boy?”
“Raj.”
“Emily.”
“So, Raj did I ask for money?”. Her voice spoke of sovereignty and pride.
“No. You can crash here till the morning. It’s frigid outside.”
“Are you sure?” She took a brief glance at the room, which was enough for a single person just to fit in.
“I am positive Emily.”
The second most important thing, why my nest is a beehive for many of my friends, is my fridge. Yes! There is always food and drink enough for three people at least, as my mom fear of me going to bed malnourished and always nag me to keep stock of food, as if winter is coming and the world needs to go into hibernation!
I took two blue bottles of Skoll and turned on the music. The night calls for some adagio, and Ludovico Einaudi’s famous composition Divenire was just the idyllic choice for the moment. I pulled open the curtains, and by this time, I am used to the excitement of my visitors, from the view.
She dragged the chair close to the window, put up her legs crossed over the sill and sat there, sinking deep into the alluring night. I made myself some space on the top of the table and joined her in admiring the beauty of the city.
“What if you could turn back time and go back?” she asked.
“You mean like time traveller?” I asked. “Yes.”
“I don’t believe that’s even possible. Although there are theories of John Titor, travelling back from 2036, but I believe all of them are a hoax. None of his calamitous predictions ever came true, and the concept of the time traveller is fancied only in comics.”
“What if you could?” she asked again.
“I don’t think I can.” Rationality is that part of our brain, which delimits our thoughts to practicality, alienating the imagination. We are taught to judge in numbers, steer clear our minds from clouds of indecisiveness, and measure life in coffee spoons.
She got up, startling me. She edged near me and put her supple hands behind my neck and dragged me closer to her face. She smelled of strong perfume, beer, burnt smoke and desire.
And said, “I will always come back to this night if I can turn back time.”
Our lips met into a lust-crazed kiss. I could not help pulling her closer to me, and her arms wrapped around me like a vine. I inhaled her sweet scent, and as she leaned closer to kiss my neck. We clung onto each other like rabid animals as we took the bed. She was soft and half my height in repose. But, quite supple and lissom in motion. Every touch, every caress and every glance in between the switchovers were like fireworks. Trembling, sweating, glowing in the flickering light, stunned at the outcome we never anticipated before.
As she rolled off me, splaying out over the crumpled bedsheet, I could see the sky was turning dusky.
She popped two beer cans, and we sat by the window again. This time, she sat on my lap, flesh-to-flesh. Warm and gentle. We snuggled, her lips softly pressing mine and gazing into each other’s eyes.
We stayed awake, mostly staring outside, and keeping the silence fill in the vacuum. As the light kicked in, faint sounds of early goers floated into my room. I got dressed and went out to buy some breakfast for us. But when I came back, I found my room empty. Emily left. Just, the number was painted on the glass with red lipstick shades. A small note was pasted along side it. It wrote-
“You are just a picture in my wallet I can’t tear up, Take me with you when you go”
Money cannot buy you, love. But it can surely help you buy a beer for the lady at the bar.
