While he’s upstairs, I light the fireplace for the first time this year. Watching the fire soothes me, and although I’m revealing something I expect he already knows, I need all the help I can get. I open a bottle of wine and prepare a plate of assorted cheeses. I take my first sip and stare at the flames. I don’t feel anxious or afraid. Enough with this double life. Whatever happens today will be better for me. If our marriage has to end, so be it; it will end on a late autumn day before Christmas, while watching the fireplace and talking like civilized people.
He comes downstairs, sees the scene I’ve prepared, and asks nothing. He just settles in next to me on the sofa and also watches the fire. He drinks his wine. I get ready to refill his glass, but he waves his hand, indicating it was enough.
I make a stupid comment: the temperature today fell below zero. He nods.
Apparently, I’ll have to take the initiative.
I really regret what happened at dinner last night …
“It wasn’t your fault. That woman is really weird. Please don’t invite me to any more things like that.”
His voice seems calm. But everyone learns as a child that before the worst storms, there’s always a moment when the wind stops and everything seems absolutely normal.
I push the matter. Marianne exhibited the jealousy hiding behind her modern, liberal mask.
“It’s true. Jealousy tells us: ‘You could lose everything you worked so hard to achieve.’ It blinds us to everything else, to the moments we’ve joyfully experienced, to happy times and the bonds created during those occasions. How is it that hatred can wipe out a couple’s entire history?”
He’s laying the groundwork for me to say everything I need to say. He continues:
“Everyone has days when they say: ‘Well, my life isn’t exactly lining up with my expectations.’ But if life asked you what you had done for it, what would you say?”
Is that a question for me?
“No. I’m questioning myself. Nothing happens without effort. You have to have faith. And for that, you have to break down the barriers of prejudice, which requires courage. To have courage, you must conquer your fears. And so on and so forth. Let’s make peace with our days. We can’t forget that life is on our side. It also wants to get better. Let’s help it out!”
I pour myself another glass of wine. He puts more wood on the fire. When will I have the courage to confess?
But he doesn’t seem to want to let me talk.
“Dreaming isn’t as simple as it seems. On the contrary, it can be quite dangerous. When we dream, we put powerful engines in motion and can no longer hide the true meaning of our life from ourselves. When we dream, we also make a choice of what price to pay.”
Now. The longer I take, the more suffering I’ll cause us both.
I raise my glass, make a toast, and say there is something troubling my soul. He replies that we already talked about this over dinner that night when I opened my heart and told him about my fear of being depressed. I explain that that’s not what I’m referring to. He interrupts me and continues his line of thought.
“Going after a dream has a price. It may mean abandoning our habits, it may make us go through hardships, or it may lead us to disappointment, et cetera. But however costly it may be, it is never as high as the price paid by people who didn’t live. Because one day they will look back and hear their own heart say: ‘I wasted my life.’ ”
He is not making things any easier. Let’s suppose what I have to say isn’t nonsense, that it is something tangible, genuine, threatening?
He laughs.
“I controlled the jealousy I feel because of you, and I’m happy with that. You know why? Because I always have to show I’m worthy of your love. I have to fight for our marriage, for our union, in ways that have nothing to do with our children. I love you. I would endure anything, absolutely anything, to always have you by my side. But I can’t stop you from leaving one day. So if that day comes, you are free to leave and seek your happiness. My love for you is stronger than anything, and I would never stop you from being happy.”
My eyes well up with tears. So far I’m not sure what he’s really saying. If this is just a conversation about jealousy or if he’s giving me a message.
“I’m not afraid of loneliness,” he continues. “I’m afraid of deluding myself, of looking at reality the way I would like it to be and not how it really is.”
He takes my hand.
“You are a blessing in my life. I may not be the best husband in the world, because I hardly ever show my feelings. And I know you need that. I also know that because of this, you might not think you’re important to me, you might feel insecure, or things like that. But it’s not like that. We should sit in front of the fire and talk about everything except for jealousy. Because I’m not interested in that. Perhaps it would be good to take a trip together, just the two of us? Spend New Year’s Eve in a different city or even a place we’ve already been?”
“But what about the children?”
“I’m sure their grandparents would be delighted to take care of them.”
And he concludes:
“When you love each other, you have to be ready for anything. Because love is like a kaleidoscope, the kind we used to play with when we were kids. It’s in constant movement and never repeats itself. If you don’t understand this, you are condemned to suffer for something that really only exists to make us happy. And you know the worst thing? People like that woman, always worried about what others think of their marriage. That doesn’t matter to me. The only thing that counts is what you think.”
I rest my head on his shoulder. Everything I had to say has lost its importance. He knows what is going on and is able to deal with the situation in a way I never could.
IT’S SIMPLE; as long doing anything illegal, making and losing money on the financial market is allowed.”
The former tycoon is trying to maintain his pose as one of the richest men in the world. But his fortune evaporated in less than a year after the big financiers discovered he was selling dreams. I try to show interest in what he’s saying. After all, I was the one who asked my boss to drop the series of articles about searching for solutions to stress for good.
It’s been one week since I received Jacob’s message saying I’d ruined everything. One week since I roamed the streets aimlessly, a moment I would soon be reminded of by the traffic ticket. One week since that conversation with my husband.
“We always have to know how to sell an idea. That is what constitutes success for any individual,” continues the former tycoon. “Knowing how to sell what they want.”
My dear fellow, despite all your pageantry, your aura of seriousness, and your suite in this luxury hotel; despite this magnificent view, your impeccably tailored suit from London, your smile, and your hair, dyed with utmost care so as to leave just a few white hairs to give the impression of “naturalness”; despite the confidence with which you speak, there is something I understand better than you: going around selling an idea isn’t everything. You have to find someone to buy. That goes for business, politics, and love.
I imagine, my dear former millionaire, that you understand what I’m talking about: you have charts, assistants, presentations … but what people want are results.
Love also wants results, although everyone insists, no, that the act of loving justifies itself. Is that how it is? I should be walking through the Jardin Anglais, in my fur coat my husband bought when he went to Russia, looking around at the autumn, smiling up at the sky and saying: “I love you, and that’s enough.” Could that be true?
Of course not. I love, but in return I want something concrete—holding hands, kisses, hot sex, a dream to share, the chance to create a new family and raise my children, the opportunity to grow old alongside the person I love.
“We need a very clear goal for any given step,” explains the pathetic figure in front of me with a seemingly confident smile.