Belgium –
An (almost) perfect day – 4th April 2010
Max comes to wake us up quite early,
he’s there at the end of the bed, talking loudly
the Easter bells have rung
T stays in bed
he’s cold I take a blanket out of the wardrobe to warm him up,
it smells of dust
I don’t remember what colour the sky was
or the time, or what we had for breakfast
as usual, Max talks to me, he tends to ignore his father, who had joined us at the seaside the night before, while Max was asleep
Still up at ten-thirty, my face pressed to the window, I scan the seawall
Cold, wind – emptiness, the noise of waves breaking
I see him muffled up in his thick hooded coat
my heart lights up, he smiles,
I make childish little noise as I stand there
I’m in love
Max knows that T won’t leap out of bed like I do
we were cold last night, we slept entwined,
almost one on top of the other, in the join where the twin beds were pushed together
seeking each other’s warmth
when T gets up, Max and I put away the Lego, he has his breakfast…
he’s pulled the inside out of his roll
that soft bread that he calls “stodge” to make me laugh
I forgot to bring his little coffee machine… he doesn’t like coffee from the percolator
he drinks his coffee next to us
I say it’s a fine day, already calm, he looks at the sea
I don’t remember looking at the sea, I see him next to us
he doesn’t pay much attention to what we’re doing,
doesn’t take part in any way
“HE LOOKS AT US” he savours us
Max shows him his presents, the books too …
they don’t say much to each other, they have their own special way of communicating
in a private place where I have never been
their relationship is made up of silences too
they touch a lot
of course we then take time to get dressed
Max isn’t in a hurry to go out …
they read one of the new books “my invisible friend”, I think …
it’s cold, we walk on the beach … huddled together
T forgot his hat
the wind is freezing, they collect shells … the two of them
I watch them – Max runs on – we walk arm in arm
Max wants to stop by the breakwater and search the tide pools for angels’ wings … perhaps watch some crabs …
too bitterly cold, going back to the seawall
he wants to play on the climbing frame
T and I look for somewhere sheltered, but there’s nowhere
we sit on a bench, fully exposed to the cold wind
I’m sheltered by T’s body, protected from the wind
I remember the little kisses, birdlike pecks
we go into the shop selling children’s clothing
choose some sandals – Max doesn’t want to stay, he’s terrible … joyful
we stop to get something for lunch – something special
stop to show T a t-shirt I found for Max
he likes it, I’ll buy it … the shop’s shut … for lunch? Sunday?
I bought it
at Boon’s I’m undecided between two sorts of olive preserve
the Lucques, the gold medal ones or the little black ones from Provence!
green for Max, little black ones for T
I take both, I don’t want to disappoint him
aware that it matters to him what I choose, he tests me
‘me or our son’
he buys sea salt … some herbs, I think …
he’s going to make a salad for my mother, she loves his delicious salads
we go back holding hands all the way
an unhurried aperitif ? T cooks, I love … watching him so concentrated
completely taken up with giving us pleasure
has he used the new pepper mill I bought with him in mind ?
Mother says he did, he was pleased with it
did I hug him enough
at table he announces happily that he can stay till Thursday
he loves his new job, he’s full of ideas
he says that people come to the wine bar just for him
because they appreciate him, it’s important for him to be appreciated
people love him
if he stays it’s going to cost me more money, I’m a bit worried about that …
we’re broke
he loves spending, eating well, something special each day
I love to please him, can’t resist his enthusiasm
above all I think of the calm that will spread over his face
clouded with worry
the frown line will disappear
he always relaxes as soon as he gets to the seaside
and tans easily, Max has inherited his complexion … fine weather is forecast
T lies down to rest after lunch, as he always does by the sea,
he feels a bit cold – I cover him up
Max settles down beside him with his new toys
T loves listening to his son immersed in his imaginary world
right beside him
I leave them there
happy to think of them together in their own perfect bubble
Max will later say that his father didn’t feel well
that he meant to tell us
but that when he saw his toys in the living room
he was distracted
T often suffers from bouts of sickness
we walked down to the beach, leaving him to rest
did I kiss him before I went out
yes, of course, as always
on his eyelids
his fragile eyelids, tinged with mauve
I often said ‘the first thing I fell in love with was your eyelids’
I pulled up the blanket too, he was cold
I must have said too ‘I love you, my darling’
softly, deeply into the turmoil
always emotional
on the beach, Max chooses to build his castle
too far from the sea
it’s a long way down to the water
the tide comes in fast
I looked up between the spades
and saw you appear from between two beach huts
I see you still
in your thick black cardigan with the pointed hood
I love the way you look – more than I can say
you’re handsome, stylish, a man of integrity
the man I love
the man I’ve waited for all my life
you come nearer between the two images there is a whiteness
the whiteness of your walk
the white foam on the water that ripples over your path to the sandcastle
I take your face between my hands,
I still feel your lips on mine
That sweet, mutual movement of union
you say ‘I’m cold’
I answer ‘go straight home and get a coat’
I turn round to pick up my spade
out of the corner of my eye I see
your dark shape falling
I turn you over in the sand
your face buried in the soft sand
they said ‘diagnosis of the vital signs is very bad’
I spent the night telling you I loved you
kissing you
crying
looking at you and smiling
still happy to be at your side
impossible to comprehend death
ever.
“L’Amoureuse by Anne De Gelas and published by Le Caillou Bleu is a book about loss. It’s moving and heartfelt but also has a determination and hardness about it; the determination to confront unexpected and tragic loss, to be angry about it, to hate it, to accept it, to build it into one’s life story and be able to move on to a place where the pain and anger is tinged with affection and love.” – Colin Pantall
Written and Photography by: Anne De Gelas
Published by: Le Caillou Bleu
