Her reasoning wore thin and she grew exhausted trying to justify to Robert and to herself Marco's indifference. She grew exhausted of tending hopes. Exhausted of fighting the senseless impulse to seek Robert's mouth and seal the pact for the new life he offered her.
She had already lost Marco, it was futile to deny it. The yen to throw away everything—her vain hopes, her vain suffering—was powerful, it was within the reach of her hand, grazing against her fingers, urging her to grab it. A new beginning. The unknown bore two faces: one terrifying, the other beautiful. And at each second the beautiful face exhorted her with increasing force. That she shouldn't fear. That she should trust.
It was easier to suffer in a known terrain than to be happy in the unknown. But living was venturing into the unknown. It was also venturing into the familiar to rummage the landscapes hidden there. Mystery existed everywhere. The question was deciding if she wished to venture into the unknown she in fact didn't know or into that one already familiar to her.
Anxiety burned within her and Marisa attempted to braid her hair. The newly trimmed strands eluded her fingers. Robert retained her hand.
"I'm getting a divorce. I want you, Marisa. Your relationship with Marco doesn't make you happy. I see you both disinterested. I see your frustration. You deserve more than that and I want to give you everything you deserve."
The repressed emotions broke the barrage, moved from the solar plexus to the chest and lodged in her throat like a concrete block. A teardrop rolled down the corner of her left eye, a prism holding all colors in the spectrum of pain to joy. From it stemmed an emotion that one day could become love.
Robert wiped off the tear with a kiss on her cheek. Marisa shrank away, still uncertain.
"I'd better be careful. You're a vampire, remember?" And the beginning of a smile blossomed.
"That's right. I promise you eternal life."
She laughed.
"Robert, the eternal life doesn't exist."
"But happiness does, Marisa. If you want it."
He turned serious.
"And what is happiness?" she questioned.
"You and I. Let's get to know each other better. Let's live, because what we call life today is just a shadow. Life can and should be light."
"It won't work. You live in the United States and I'm going back to Brazil. My roots are there. It's where I want to be."
Yet Marisa's voice mellowed without her awareness, it dropped one tone and sounded more intimate. Her body was already deciding for her, and what Robert said next astonished Marisa.
He wanted her to go with him to San Diego and postpone the return to Brazil for one year. He would rent an apartment for the two of them while he sorted out his divorce. If she didn't adapt, he would move to Brazil with her and establish his business there. Robert had made contacts during his trips to the country. After the divorce and asset distribution, he'd still have real estate properties and a reserve. He could invest part of it in a luxury clinic in São Paulo. With his prestige and proper promotion, forming a clientele wouldn't be a problem. And the best of all: he wouldn't work on Fridays during summer and they could spend the weekends on the beach.
More than surprised, Marisa was moved.
"You planned everything down to the last detail."
"I said I wanted to change. I want to change with you, Marisa. Do you think I won't fight for the woman of my life now that I finally found her?" Each sentence pulsed with life as he spoke: "I like your sweetness, your purity, your insights. When I'm with you, I feel I can be myself and you understand me. I've never met anyone who completed me this way. And I know you feel the same for me."
She didn't really know what she felt. Lacking the clarity of the heart, she tried to be pragmatic.
"How could you manage to live in Brazil? You don't even speak Portuguese."
"I can speak a little. I've learned it with Eliana. Wanna see?"
And Robert sang a handful of verses from O Cavaleiro by Milton Nascimento. The Rider. He didn't sing but rather declaimed them like someone making a confession.
From this mysterious story will start
All or nothing
It whispers to my heart
A calling
Disconcerts reason
"My pronunciation isn't very good," he apologized timidly.
"No, it's fine. You just need to work on the t and the d."
"Correct my pronunciation, then." He looked deep into her eyes and reiterated: "A calling disconcerts reason."
A pause ensued.
This was madness, thought Marisa. She got attached to Robert because she couldn't bear to end alone with her broken heart. Marco, however, had already broken her heart and their relationship brought her pain. She used Robert as a safe-conduct out of that situation. That wasn't fair to him or to herself. What chances could such a bond stand? Robert himself acted irrationally. Probably, he was as lost and hungry for affection as she was. His proposition for them to live together, his tropical utopia and Fridays on the beach were nothing but a delirium.
This was madness, Marisa repeated silently. But she smiled, and her smile broadened.
Robert's hand traced hers, trailing the fingers one by one, exploring the lines on the palm and the soft back in the spontaneous magic of that first encounter between their bodies. Marisa reciprocated, it was easy and natural, her skin drifting on his skin. Robert's hand rose to circle her face. The blue eyes captured hers. Then they closed.
Marco scanned each corner of the Opal Lounge. The back room had converted into a party as Zoe, Eliana and the musicians improvised during the guitar solo of My Sharona. Around the tables, at the bar, on the dance floor, onstage, everybody sang and swayed, and those who didn't sing nor sway tagged along with their heads and tapping feet. Except for Marco. Marco marched to the stage and inquired about Marisa to Zoe.
She didn't know where Marisa was, so Marco knocked at the door of the ladies' room, cracked it open and called. No response. Disoriented, he took off to the external deck assuming Marisa was there. He followed the stern bend and advanced along the starboard side. Passengers ambling indolently or bouncing to the next bar crossed his path, and at each woman walking by, Marco grew disappointed. He covered the infinite distance to the edge of the bow and climbed the steps to the heliport. It was deserted. Leaning over the guardrail, Marco scoured the dark tapestry of waters with floating stars.
An irrational anguish seized his body, leaving the chest exposed, gelid, brittle. Now he raced on the portside promenade of Deck 6. Nothing. He revisited the Opal Lounge and the cabin and Deck 11 and the Moon Rock Club. There the DJ lulled the couples on the dance floor with Out of Tune by Hooverphonic—a faraway chant interlaced in ethereal chords that now and again stalled:
Overwhelmed by their splendor we stand
Our eyes filled with seamless blue land
Their silver glints igniting our dreams
Up in the skies weaving glistening streams
Wherever he went, Marco was faced with Marisa's strident absence. He left the club and wandered on Deck 13 while his mind cataloged all the places where she could have gone. His eyes avoided the sea.
He sighted her in the distance, a sleeping princess whose eyelids at rest veiled the eyes Marco longed to see. In that liquid dream the light of the lamppost bathed her costume, the skirt a cascade of gold poured onto the green, the corset a snip of sea, the red ribbon bleeding from her hair. Marco wanted to reach her, but she dripped through his fingers. Dripped and dripped...
The air petrified, the breathing in suspension and the sounds—all sounds muted. He didn't hear his heart aching in his temples nor his footsteps wounding the silence. Suddenly he was by the side of sleeping Marisa. She only needed a prince to make her happy. Amid the kiss, she awoke from her sleep, opened her eyes wide in slow motion, the red mouth distilling words Marco couldn't hear in that liquid world, the same way he didn't hear his own voice. He vociferated.
The vampire wrapped his arms around Marisa to protect her, a black stain in counterlight defiling the corset blue, one dark hand—paw, claw, obscene caress—on her neck whitened by a jet of light creeping underneath her jaw. Belatedly, Marco became aware of his absence at the bar. Marco raised one arm as if to grasp the stars. He brought his fist down to punish him. Less than an inch from the target, he averted the blow with a fit of frustration.
Marco hurled at her feet the crumpled letter and the bunch of flowers. Yellow petals splattered on the lawn as he walked away. Four drunk passengers out of the Moon Rock Club passed by singing.
Overwhelmed by their splendor we stand
Our eyes filled with seamless blue land
Here we are, gaze traveling afar
Counting hopes in shooting stars
______________________________________
Yeah... A handkerchief and a dose of Prozac seem to be in order now...