The Pleasure of M (28 page)

 
 
His
 end
 

The
  first
  emotion
  after
  making
  the
  decision
  was
  a
  great
  sense
  of
  relief
  and
  this
 
surprised
 Michel
 quite
 a
 bit.
 Then
 he
 became
 very
 uncomfortable
 at
 the
 prospect
 of
 
writing
 the
 final
 email.
 But
 he
 knew
 that
 she
 would
 understand.
 He’d
 told
 her
 early
 
on
 that
 things
 might
 end
 this
 way
 and
 wondered
 if
 she
 would
 remember
 that.
 He’d
 
told
 her
 so
 many
 things
 over
 time.
 It
 was
 hard
 to
 believe
 that
 this
 had
 gone
 on
 for
 
nearly
 four
 years
 now.
 “Four
 years
 without
 a
 major
 fight,”
 he
 thought,
 “that’s
 better
 
than
 a
 lot
 of
 marriages
 I
 know.”
 But
 the
 irony
 only
 brought
 him
 back
 to
 wondering
 
why
  he
  felt
  relieved.
  What
  Catherine
  had
  given
  him
  over
  this
  time
  was
  fantastic,
 
irreplaceable
 and
 unalienable.
 He
 would
 always
 cherish
 his
 relationship
 with
 her.
 It
 
was,
 however,
 time
 to
 put
 an
 end
 to
 their
 affair.
 

Already
  he
  had
  not
  been
  in
  touch
  with
  her
  for
  three
  days,
  going
  as
  far
  as
  not
 
answering
 her
 phone
 call.
 These
 three
 days
 were
 a
 blur,
 and
 only
 now
 did
 he
 have
 
some
 time
 by
 himself
 to
 craft
 a
 message
 to
 her.
 
The
 message.
 Every
 line
 took
 forever
 
to
  write
  as
  his
  mind
  wandered
  off
  in
  a
  million
  directions
  between
  each
  word
  he
 
typed,
 or
 so
 it
 seemed.
 
 

I
  know
  you
  are
  wondering
  what
  is
  going
  on,
  so
  let
  me
  tell
  you
  straight
  out:
  three
 
days
  ago
  I
  learned
  that
  my
  father
  has
  passed
  away.
  This
  is
  rather
  sudden
  and
 
changes
 my
 life
 in
 many
 ways,
 as
 you
 can
 imagine.
 For
 one
 thing,
 it
 is
 only
 now
 that
 I
 
have
 a
 few
 minutes
 to
 myself
 in
 order
 to
 write
 these
 words.”
 

He
  had
  never
  written
  such
  a
  letter
  before,
  nor
  ever
  ended
  a
  relationship
  for
  that
 
matter,
  and
  wondered
  if
  there
  was
  a
  basic
  approach
  that
  should
  be
  followed,
  a
 
ridiculous
 idea
 that
 nearly
 made
 him
 laugh.
 

“This
 is
 my
 last
 message
 to
 you,
 dearest,
 mistress
 mine.
 This
 life,
 these
 many
 years
 I
 
have
 lived
 in
 this
 foreign
 land,
 and
 of
 these
 the
 last
 four
 with
 our
 beautiful
 fantasy,
 
are
 coming
 to
 an
 abrupt
 close
 and
 being
 put
 away,
 not
 so
 neatly,
 in
 great
 haste,
 into
 
boxes
 that
 will
 be
 shipped
 to
 my
 far
 away
 home.
 Tomorrow
 I
 will
 leave
 for
 France.”
 

She’d
 never
 been
 to
 France
 though
 he’d
 taken
 here
 there
 often,
 and
 he
 wondered
 if
 
she
 would
 ever
 dare
 go.
 He
 knew
 he’d
 made
 her
 hungry
 for
 the
 sounds,
 the
 smells,
 
the
  food
  of
  the
  hedonist’s
  heaven
  that
  was
  his
  childhood
  playground.
  Suddenly
  he
 
imagined
  himself
  in
  Paris
  waiting
  in
  line,
  perhaps
  in
  one
  of
  those
  wonderful
  food
 
shops
 where
 one
 can
 hardly
 move
 in
 the
 dimly
 lit
 exiguity,
 jolted
 out
 of
 his
 reverie
 
by
  his
  name
  called
  out
  in
  this
  voice
  of
  hers
  he
  so
  loved
  and
  would
  never
  forget:
 
“Michel?”
  He
  could
  hear
  the
  tone
  of
  disbelief
  and
  wonder
  in
  her
  voice
  and
  quickly
 
squashed
 the
 thought
 not
 wanting
 to
 begin
 imagining
 what
 his
 response
 would
 be.
 

“I’ve
  always
  known
  that
  I
  would
  one
  day
  have
  to
  return
  to
  take
  my
  place
  in
  our
 
family’s
  affairs
  though
  I
  often
  wondered
  how
  this
  would
  come
  about
  without
 
considering
  the
  most
  obvious
  possibility
  which
  I
  now
  face.
  When
  I
  came
  to
  this
 
country
  it
  was
  of
  course
  to
  escape
  the
  accoutrements
  of
  an
  old
  family
  in
  an
  old
 
country
 and
 to
 have
 the
 freedom
 to
 be
 if
 for
 only
 a
 few
 years
 a
 person
 of
 my
 own
 
making.
  But
  this
  was
  not
  a
  rejection
  of
  whence
  I
  came
  nor
  of
  who
  I
  am,
  for
  I
  am
 
indeed
 the
 product
 of
 my
 upbringing.
 I
 was
 reminded
 of
 this
 by
 the
 grief
 of
 my
 son
 
at
 the
 loss
 of
 his
 grandfather
 whom
 he
 has
 known
 since
 he
 was
 born
 as
 the
 master
 
of
 the
 domain.
 My
 son
 has
 spent
 his
 summers
 there
 since
 he
 can
 remember,
 and
 just
 
as
 I
 have
 known
 that
 the
 domain
 would
 one
 day
 be
 mine
 as
 it
 has
 now
 become,
 so
 
now
 must
 my
 son
 know
 that
 it
 will
 one
 day
 be
 his.”
 

He
 wondered
 what
 he
 would
 feel
 if
 he
 were
 the
 one
 receiving
 this
 message
 and
 felt
 
all
 the
 more
 lousy
 for
 it.
 He
 wanted
 to
 explain,
 justify,
 convince
 but
 at
 the
 same
 time
 
wanted
 to
 just
 tell
 things
 as
 they
 were
 and
 not
 be
 perceived
 as
 deploying
 an
 arsenal
 
of
  rhetorical
  tricks
  to
  achieve
  his
  goals.
  If
  he
  were
  getting
  this
  message,
  he
  would
 
consider
  the
  previous
  paragraph
  as
  a
  paltry
  attempt
  at
  appealing
  to
  the
  deep
 
connection
 that
 she
 had
 felt
 in
 his
 description
 of
 the
 domain
 owing
 no
 doubt
 to
 her
 
own
 origins
 deeply
 rooted
 in
 land
 and
 farming.
 Was
 his
 son’s
 grief
 really
 relevant
 to
 
why
 he
 was
 dumping
 her?
 Was
 there
 any
 other
 word
 for
 it
 than
 ‘dumping’?
 

“You
  represent
  more
  to
  me
  than
  just
  a
  slice
  of
  this
  American
  life
  of
  mine,
  please
 
don’t
 misunderstand.
 My
 grief
 at
 the
 loss
 of
 my
 father
 is
 deep
 and
 makes
 it
 hard
 for
 
me
 to
 analyze
 emotions
 and
 describe
 my
 own
 thoughts
 with
 clarity,
 but
 believe
 me
 
when
 I
 say
 that
 writing
 these
 words
 feels
 like
 cutting
 out
 a
 part
 of
 myself.”
 

Songs
  were
  coming
  to
  mind,
  of
  course,
  though
  he
  would
  not
  include
  them
  in
  his
 
message
 for
 fear
 of
 getting
 muddied
 in
 clichés.
 ‘My
 heart
 is
 down
 my
 head
 is
 turning
 
around’
 from
 an
 old
 song
 was
 stuck
 in
 his
 ear,
 and
 he
 thought
 of
 that
 tropical
 beach
 
he
 took
 Catherine
 to
 so
 often.
 

“We
 went
 to
 places
 that
 I
 had
 only
 dreamed
 of,
 you
 and
 I,
 and
 this
 was
 magic.
 I
 have
 
not
 often
 enough
 tried
 to
 tell
 you
 what
 you
 have
 given
 me,
 but
 many
 of
 these
 gifts
 I
 
will
 keep
 with
 me
 preciously
 forever.
 What
 we
 had
 together
 was
 part
 of
 a
 life
 that
 
must
 now
 end,
 part
 of
 a
 freedom
 that
 I
 must
 now
 willingly
 surrender.
 I
 will
 not
 be
 
able
  to
  continue
  our
  affair.
  The
  distance
  alone
  would
  be
  an
  obstacle
  hardly
 
surmountable,
 as
 your
 work
 hours
 would
 be
 the
 time
 I
 spend
 with
 my
 family
 in
 the
 
evening.
 But
 more
 importantly
 my
 daily
 life
 will
 be
 nothing
 like
 it
 is
 now.
 I
 am
 also
 
giving
  up
  my
  musical
  career,
  though
  the
  word
  career
  is
  admittedly
  a
  grandiose
 
overstatement.
 I
 am
 now
 expected
 to
 become
 the
 head
 of
 a
 small
 industrial
 fiefdom
 
that
  my
  father
  has
  run
  with
  an
  iron
  hand
  for
  the
  last
  thirty
  years,
  and
  to
  bring
  to
 
bear
 the
 many
 years
 of
 grooming
 that
 my
 higher
 education
 represented.
 Music
 also
 
is
 a
 fantasy
 that
 I
 must
 abandon
 at
 the
 door
 of
 my
 new
 life.
 My
 affair
 with
 you
 and
 
my
  affair
  with
  music
  have
  come
  to
  define
  my
  life
  here
  almost
  entirely,
  and
  I
  must
 
forego
 both.”
 

He
 thought
 back
 to
 what
 his
 life
 had
 been
 the
 last
 four
 years
 and
 how
 much
 time
 he
 
had
  devoted
  to
  Catherine,
  the
  hours
  spent
  on
  the
  phone
  with
  her,
  the
  hours
  spent
 
writing
  to
  her…
  but
  most
  of
  all
  the
  many,
  many
  hours
  spent
  thinking
  about
  her,
 
about
 what
 he
 would
 next
 say
 to
 her,
 about
 how
 he
 would
 say
 it.
 It
 would
 sometimes
 
take
 him
 hours
 to
 write
 a
 ten
 line
 message,
 hours
 that
 he
 had,
 waiting
 around
 in
 the
 
studio
 for
 the
 next
 take,
 the
 next
 session,
 waiting
 for
 the
 star
 to
 arrive,
 waiting
 for
 
the
 techies
 to
 tweak
 the
 sound.
 She’d
 been
 his
 muse
 for
 all
 this
 time.
 He’d
 so
 often
 
played
 for
 her
 he
 couldn’t
 count
 the
 times,
 but
 had
 never
 told
 her
 for
 lack
 of
 a
 funny
 
way
  to
  explain
  that
  the
  piano
  line
  toward
  the
  end
  of
  the
  latest
  jingle
  for
  Joe’s
 
supermarket
 chain
 was
 ‘dedicated
 to
 you,
 my
 dear
 Catherine’.
 Perhaps
 now
 was
 the
 
time.
 He
 wanted
 her
 to
 know
 how
 tied
 in
 with
 his
 music
 she
 had
 become.
 

“Nearly
  everything
  I’ve
  played
  in
  the
  last
  four
  years
  I
  played
  for
  you.
  I
  say
  nearly
 
because
 there
 were
 a
 couple
 soundtracks
 to
 toy
 commercials
 that
 I
 kind
 of
 dedicated
 
to
  my
  son,
  I’m
  sure
  you’ll
  understand,
  but
  every
  infomercial
  and
  even
  the
  while-‐
you’re-‐on-‐hold
 Muzak
 pieces
 I
 did
 were
 for
 you.
 It
 might
 not
 sound
 like
 much,
 but
 it
 
was
 sincere.
 These
 are
 the
 tangible
 traces.
 Unrecorded
 were
 the
 many
 hours
 of
 jam
 
sessions
 where
 you
 were
 my
 muse,
 and
 there
 were,
 dare
 I
 say,
 a
 couple
 of
 amazing
 
solos
  that
  flowed
  from
  my
  passion
  for
  you,
  expressed
  as
  only
  notes
  can
  express.
 
How
 easy
 it
 was
 to
 express
 passion
 and
 desire
 when
 I
 thought
 of
 you!”