The Choice by Albert Russo (the best novels to read TXT) 📕

THE CHOICE

a story by Albert Russo

excerpted from his award-winning book
THE CROWDED WORLD OF SOLITUDE, volume 1,
the Collected Stories (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, etc)


Spring, in a small town of the Auvergne region in Central France


MOIRA: At first I took him for a gigolo and gave him the cold shoulder. It was his bohemian elegance and his striking good looks. I am wary of boys who are so handsome. But then I watched him throughout the dance last Saturday evening. At one moment girls were fluttering around him like a swarm or dazzled night butterflies, he declined their invitations with a wan smile. Some of the girls, out of spite, sniggered at him. Then I detected panic in his eyes, or so I thought, and I began to wonder what he could be searching for in a place like this. I'd seen him twice before. He would sit alone at the far end of the dance floor and would glance at the door every so often as if expecting someone. I assumed he was about to leave when he crossed the floor over in my direction and asked me to dance with him. I refused curtly. Five minutes later he was back and reiterated the invitation.
He held me by the waist as if it were the stem of a glass flower and I perceived a tremor in his fingers. Slender and a good head taller than me, he told me he was new in town, that he'd come here because he had landed an interesting job as a designer at the toy factory. “Turning a new page,” he said as we whirled to a slow waltz. He acted very gentlemanly and craned his pallid neck lest I should think wrongly about his intentions. His chin now and then brushed my temple. I assumed he had had a strict Catholic upbringing and was proven not to be mistaken.
“I spent twelve years with the Jesuits,” he said. Behind the Polish and the discipline,behind the Cartesian reasoning, I sensed the seething of a volcano.

DOMINIQUE: I waited three weeks before I dared approach her. I must be cautious and not appear too eager. My cheeks are on fire. She won't notice, it's too dim. ‘Ne me quitte pas': ‘Jacques Brel, spare us your sentimentality!'
“Call me next week,” she said, “I'll be away for a few days.” She gave me her office number at the hospital. The minute she pronounced her name I felt appeased. How strange! Moira ... moiré ... mystery. Somehow she's reconciled me with this unfriendly town.
We drove to the Mont Dore in her 2CV Citroën. It was a pleasant enough drive until it started to drizzle. Watching her profile sketched against the window's haze, I was struck by her resemblance to a Fernand Knopf portrait. She has that same androgynous quality, that same resolve underlined by the protuberant jaws.
The resort looked haunted and forbidding against the backdrop of the Massif Central. We went inside a patisserie . Moira ordered an Irish coffee and I had hot chocolate. She was still testing me. By now, or course, I had divulged the story of my life whist I knew very little about her except that she was born down in the valley and practiced as a child psychologist.

MOIRA: He's still quite naïve, though he did have the courage to break away from his family. I like his wit; if only he could be less stiff. I wish he'd stop tapping his foot against the table. “I need a friend,” he said. We'll see how things work out. He is three years younger than I.
He was disappointed he hadn't brought his camera along, he would have liked to take a few shots of me in the desolated thermal establishment. “The spooky atmostphere lends itself to surrealistic compositions,” he said and asked if we could return to the Mont Dore once again before the season opens. Time flew. I hadn't realized it was already past eight o'clock. He insisted that I drop in at his apartment for an apéritif. There's something quite touching about the ambiance he's created, but my God, is he incensed with himself! The walls are plastered with his toy designs and photo-montages. Those little girls trapped in futuristic contraptions could be an obsession: Alice strayed into outer space. Looking at them closely, it isn't so much the innocence as mischief which transpires from their doe-eyed expressions, as if they had been responsible, in a way, for the plight they suddenly find themselves in.
Besides his drawing board and the floor-level bed, the living room contains no furniture. Scattered over the parquet are cushions of odd sizes and shapes, all in pastel hues with a predominance of mauves and pinks. The stereo and television sets are enclosed in their appropriate cabinets. He also keeps his books and records out of sight. “Friends should never impose themselves upon you,” he explained.
As I bade him good evening, I noticed the watercolor hanging above the door. Another naked little girl, but this one had a purple cross for a vagina.

DOMINIQUE: It's been almost four months since we met. We were carrying on beautifully, until it happened last night. I'm sure it was the champagne. Berore I could protest, Moira had stripped me. And as her fingers searched my body I felt as if each one of my pores opened up like a field of budding poppies. That I lay in a near catatonic state didn't seem to bother her. She went on fondling me. “You knew I wasn't ready.” I heard myself mutter. But she ignored my plea and made love to me well into the night. At each implosion, I fired my load of poison into her womb, picturing the deluge of blood. “What have you done, Moira?”

MOIRA: The softness of his down. He's built like an overgrown boy. Not an ounce of fat. At fifty his body will still be that of an adolescent. He’s so bland, so disarmingly passive. Not a smile, not even a sound escaping his lip to mark the orgasmic event. He comes copiously and when it happens, I want to shred his skin with my nails. Instead, I smother him with kisses. After all, maybe he does enjoy acting the sexual robot.
Just returned from my weekend seminar and found this note under the doormat. “I'm leaving for an indefinite period. Don't wait for me.” It isn't possible, the other night couldn't have triggered such an extreme reaction. Why didn't he open his mouth if it was that disturbing? To think that he looked so peaceful in his sleep! I don't even know the address of his people. What a dirty trick! Calm down, calm down ... How can I calm down?! I must find him.
Scant news; simply confirming the contents of his note. His landlord wouldn't tell me anything at first. He took a lot of coaxing before he finally revealed that Domi anticipated half-a-year's rent, leaving no address, of course. As for the personnel manager at the toy factory, he was even more cut and dry, and said that Domi had been granted a leave of absence and he refused to elaborate. They must value Domi a great deal.

DOMINIQUE: She kissed me, slapped me, then kissed me again and with veiled eyes called me a son of a whore. She wasn't interested in why I'd left so unexpectedly, where I'd stayed all that time, or who I'd seen. Knowing me, she surmised that eventually, sooner than later, I'd come out with it.
We had a late Christmas Eve supper and ate by candlelights. There was pâté de foie , salade niçoise , salmon trout and asparagus, and bananes flambées au cognac and we drank champagne rosé . God, was it good to savor a real French meal after so long. I insisted that we attend midnight Mass. “The mystical itch, or is it repentance?” she grinned. In church, singing with the choir I had tears and thanked Him for giving me the courage to pull through. More than ever I need Him.

MOIRA: Only now do I realize how much he means to me. And how I crave his beautiful lean body! But I shan't repeat the mistake and provoke another disaster. Let him, in his own good time, come to me. There's a feverish look about him. Whenever his eyes meet mine, he lowers his glance and sketches a smile as if he is about to disclose something, then at the last moment he retracts.

DOMINIQUE: She invited me to the Auberge to celebrate my return. She pretended not to be surprised when I told her I'd spent all those months in England, but that I'd hardly seen anything of London or the countryside. “It was a trip I'd been planning for a long time.” I said, “and it was essential that I sequester myself from the world. It's been very difficult, excruciating at times, but here I am.”

MOIRA: What did he mean yesterday when he exclaimed, “Down with the twenty-five year long tyranny, long live the true Dominique....”? He must be suffering a bout of anglomania. That sense of humor totally escapes me. Should I take it lightly or must I expect some sort of backlash? He is still avoiding physical contact. Blowing me goodnight kisses from the hollow of his hand! Does he believe I shall contaminate him?
He's gone back to work. I don't recall he's ever looked so radiant. He's so full of energy. He's already talking of a promotion. After all, the English air seems to have benefitted him. I just hope it isn't a passing euphoria.

DOMINIQUE: They're giving me a hard time at the registration office. It was very humiliating, though I had to comply. But the physical proof does not appear to be enough. The news will spread like wildfire and it is now a matter of days. That may be the best way for Moira to learn about it. I can already hear the slurs and the jeering remarks. The breadmaker's wife can be trusted: she won't wait a second to make the announcement. As for the cute, dimpled pharmacist, he'll want to take his revenge. I wonder how the librarian will react ... I quite like him. How does one prepare oneself for the massive onslaught? Rough times ahead, but thank goodness I don't have to worry professionally. My boss, who's the only person I warned, is first and foremost a busi-
nessman. “What you do outside of the plant is none of my concern. It is the result that counts, and in your field you're our best element,” he said after recovering from the initial shock.

MOIRA: We drove back to the Mont Dore, “so that only the forest can hear us,” he said earnestly. We