AFTER ALL(Francys Wagner) Saturday dawned rainy, but it no longer made any difference to Douglas. Water, hail, ice, pocketknives could fall...
It started overnight, stormy. He was awoken by insomnia, again. Now it fell continuously, sometimes softly, sometimes noisily, on the roof, or from the broken gutter, pouring with relief onto the pavement like someone emptying their bladder.
He didn’t have to open the curtain to see it. He didn’t care about the world outside. Even the sun wouldn't make him get out of bed this morning if it hadn’t been for an appointment in a few hours...
Age had brought insomnia, perhaps a result of too many sleepless nights and poor past habits, or a burden on his conscience. He had resorted to sleeping pills, which sometimes made him sleep more than his own bed, competing with Valfrido, his cat, with whom he shared it. At least the cat went out every night and came back before sunrise.
Weekends have long since lost their distinction as just another day of the week.
The sun was desired in youth. Springtime and summer, especially. On Saturdays, he would be off from his father's dull law practice, and in the morning, would rush to his usual place—Dolphins Beach. The name was curious, as you'd think you'd find a bunch of dolphins sunbathing on the sands there.
At least, Douglas never saw them, but certainly she would be there, the blonde goddess fought over by the college boys—Camila. She was surrounded by her girlfriends, and, of course, some drooling blokes who would approach them all.
Douglas would stand a certain distance away with his friends Hugo and Bruce—the inseparable trio—not going any closer, hoping that she would notice him.
What kind of lawyer would he be if he didn't have a good rapport with women? The most daring thing he could do would be to parade around—encouraged by his friends—in his underwear, showing off his endowment, which, by the way, nature had been quite generous with…
He’d hear them whispering, giggling and even though he wanted to appear at ease, he'd be trembling at the core, his face turning red, but if anyone noticed, he could always blame the sun…
He didn't have charm, but a rustic beauty, typical of a manly man, with hair all over his body, defined thanks to the gym, which he started at the end of his teenage years in order to stop being slender.
For almost two years, Douglas crushed on Camila, ever since he saw her on the university campus—she, a journalism student. He dreamed of those plump lips being kissed by him, his hands on her curvaceous body. The box-spring mattress would make noises that he feared would wake his parents...
Who in their right mind would still have a bed like that? He did... He didn't know why. His father was a lawyer, he wasn't a miser, but he was stingy... The box-spring bed possibly had served a purpose. His parents installed it in his bedroom when he was a teenager, and he used it for a long time…
His baths were long, usually with one of the parents knocking on the door to see if he was still alive...
Times when the mind let itself be controlled by the calls of the body…
Douglas let out a sad laugh… They said that time would bring experience. Who cared if it came with muscle weakness, and lack of libido—? A pain here, another there. He couldn't eat everything like he used to. What fun was getting older? To hell with experience, what he wanted was his vigour back.
Why was he thinking about her? Anyway, lately, memories have been popping up frequently, without asking any permission, like guests who suddenly appear uninvited and catch you at the most inconvenient moments. Like ghosts haunting him—she and the other ones…
Recalling regrets for the things he didn't do, for what he did…
Was it the wet weather outside that brought her and that rainy night into his mind?
She was having problems with her car—a flashy one. By coincidence—was it really?—Douglas’s was parked nearby, in fact, his father’s.
Douglas offered help, of course. Nonetheless, in the downpour, not much could be done. He even had a look, but there was nothing to identify why it had broken down. He wasn’t a mechanic. So, the alternative was to give her a lift.
It was the first time she had really seen him. Those violet eyes looked into his swart ones…
At university, they sometimes crossed paths in the cafeteria, but she seemed to ignore him just as she had on the beach.
It was the first time they had talked. He, stumbling over his words and sounding pathetic and repetitive. ‘What a deluge! It didn't look like it was going to rain today. It looks like it's going to all night.’
Then, trivial questions for an avid curiosity, at least on his part, to know more about each other.
The car had been a gift from her father for passing the college exams. She was the only child, which explained her spoilt-girl voice, that could have irritated anyone else, but Douglas, in the nearly naïve way of a passionate virgin, was feeling on cloud nine with her next to him, driving with trembling hands...
He was an only child as well, yet he wasn't spoilt, somewhat a nerd, as some would call him.
She sounded perplexed to hear that he was studying law.
He wanted to tell her that she had all the attributes to be a model or an actress. That face, with its perfect features, would be a hit on screen… However, he swallowed the words, embarrassed to express his thoughts...
During the journey to her house, she asked him to stop at a park.
It was then that he discovered that she had noticed him on the beach and later he would find out she wouldn’t never admit it to her friends. It hurt him, but he could understand that, after all, he was ‘weird’, hanging out with weird friends.
But that night, in the car, under cover of copious rain and the darkness of night, there were no witnesses. So, she touched him... She wanted to see if all that bulge in his swimming trunks was real, or just a filler...
She gave him sensations far beyond what he had imagined in his lonely moments, and he became even more enamoured of her...
She was his first great passion, and also his great disappointment.
She had slept with half the college, and even Bruce, his friend. It took Douglas some time to forgive him, but in the end, friendship was worth more than resentment over a woman who would never be his, but anyone’s...
Where would she have gone? So many years have passed. Did she get married, have children? Graduate as a journalist? If she were alive, she would be in her sixties? Would she still be beautiful?
Camila had been a slut, and it took him a long time to realise it. Nonetheless, his body surprisingly showed signs of life at the mere thought of her, what she was, and it was precisely this that filled him with a sense of revulsion. Alive or not, non-present, but past, she would no longer disturb his hard-won peace of mind after years of missteps in life...
His father had been a good lawyer—honest, precise, and always demanding that Douglas follow suit. Yet, in a way, this stringent upbringing fuelled Douglas’s resentment. He never had the freedom to make his own choice; his entire future was meticulously mapped out for him. No one ever asked him what he liked, or what he felt. It was a cold, authoritarian paternal treatment, with his mum just obeying his father’s will.
Perhaps that's why Douglas became a corruptible lawyer, defending crooks—a rebellious attitude that reflected his desire to have everything that had been denied to him, everything he had been forced to accept without question. The allure of money offered, and prestige, was strong, even if it merely masked a corrupt core beneath a polished exterior.
For Douglas, it was a way of proving to others that he wasn't the fool they always took him for, that he was clever and capable, like anyone else, of reaching great heights.
His father, disgusted by his choices, broke off relations with him. He passed away without ever forgiving him.
At Douglas’s wedding, only his mum and a few family members were present. The ceremony was nothing special, held in a notary’s office with no elaborate preparations. His mum wore a sad expression, either due to his father’s absence or because she sensed that he wasn’t marrying for love, however, she never spoke about that...
Even in his slightly intoxicated state, Douglas was aware of his mum’s feelings, but he chose to ignore them...
When he established his own business, he needed a secretary. Lisbeth, who had worked with his father, was persuaded to join him. He chose her not for her beauty—beautiful women intimidated him, a trauma stemming from his experience with Camila—but for Lisbeth's efficiency.
She was privy to his entire agenda; lucrative contracts defending illicit acts, all his sins and misdemeanours...
His marriage to her was just an extension of his professional life. She knew too much, and he knew that she was smitten and would do anything for him. The step to marriage was a leap of convenience.
Lisbeth had an unremarkable face—a thin mouth that smiled slightly askew. Sad green eyes that seemed to carry the pain of the world. Her hair, a nondescript shade, couldn't decide if it was straight or curly. A slim body devoid of seductive curves... But presentable at a social event and faithful in every aspect...
He found in her a servile woman, the kind who would take off her husband's shoes and socks, massaging his feet despite any unpleasant odours, even though he never asked for it...
From the beginning of their marriage, there was no intention on his part to consummate it. If that occurred a few times, it was because he was drunk. Later, he realised had been a scoundrel, once she became pregnant, but he wouldn’t ask her to get rid of the child.
After that, he never sought her out in her bedroom again. She resigned from her position at the office and embraced maternity full-time. Her life took on a new purpose, a new direction. She was entirely devoted to her son, living for him. That’s how it lasted for many years.
Douglas delved into a more intense nightlife, readily accepting invitations to private parties where everything was on offer, including the presence of women available to the guests...
He could have been a better father, a realisation that struck him only after his eighteen-year-old son was killed in a motorbike accident.
By then, it was too late...
Their relationship had never been healthy. His son was just someone who shared the same living space. Douglas showed little interest in his daily life.
Somehow, it replicated the experience with his own father, but in a more distant way, without any attachment.
Deep down, he believed that providing a house, food, education, and gifts would compensate for the lack of emotional connection...
Lisbeth left the house soon after their son's death—her son... She could no longer live with his indifference, as if she were an object placed in a corner and barely looked at.
She had reached the limit of the degradation of her self-love...
Poor Lisbeth. She deserved to have been happy...
The last time he heard from her was a few years ago, when he learnt of her passing.
Douglas sighed loudly, making Valfrido open his eyes.
‘Oh my, all of them decided to haunt me this morning...’
Feeling his restlessness, the cat let out a soft mew. The bed, once a haven, now felt confining. He stood up, drawn to the window, and pulled back the curtain. Outside now, the rain had stopped, and a fine drizzle mingled with the dawn, erasing the surrounding houses into a blanket of fog...
He trudged to the bathroom. As you get older, you don't feel rushed, as a counterpoint to the life that passes by in a flash.
He felt older than his sixty-six...
They often said six was the number of imperfection, so he was doubly flawed... Sixty-six times flawed, for all the mistakes he'd accumulated over the years...
The soul, deeply stained by bad things that could be forgiven but never forgotten, like a tattoo that couldn't be erased...
Just like the body, collecting the marks of time.
Imperfection was also becoming his face. No longer did he express surprise at discovering a new wrinkle, fold, or crease. Sun-bleached brown hair giving way to grey. He had never been vain, but the burden of ageing weighed on him.
Elderly, as they would say. A word that sounded like a death sentence...
Anyway, the boy he once was, disappearing before his eyes... Worst of all, the others were going along too...
His father, his mum, his son, Lisbeth—all gone.
Of the inseparable trio of yesteryear, Bruce had succumbed to pulmonary emphysema five years prior, a victim of his heavy smoking habit.
Hugo, the healthiest of the three, had surprisingly battled cancer and survived. However, the ordeal had taken its toll, leaving him less active than before. He became apathetic and withdrawn, appearing sporadically. When they did meet, they would chat, play cards, and reminisce about the past. Their adventures and mischievous exploits, their aspirations, their triumphs. The moments they shared, some etched with unforgettable experiences, were always worth cherishing.
How he became someone so different from what he was in his youth? As a weirdo, from someone he once thought would be a scientist, perhaps an astronaut, he followed in his father's footsteps, albeit in tortuous ways.
Who was to blame, his father for the many restrictions or Camila for instilling a sense of deception, dirt, and sexualisation in him?
Or was he to blame himself, for his inability to make the right choices, for allowing himself to be swayed by impulses, for seeking to vent his inner rebellions onto the world around him? Without considering the consequences, without concern for the pain he caused, without regard for the hearts he let down?
Three years ago, he sold his house in the upscale neighbourhood, one with a sweeping sea view.
The spacious home, once a symbol of success, only accentuated the emptiness within and became a burden of unnecessary expenses amid health concerns...
Nights of orgy and drunkenness had taken their toll...
He decided to move to the retirement village—a gated community featuring private roads bordered by trees, houses on either side, small lawns adorned with plants, with no walls, and also a park for walking and outdoor exercise.
Douglas splashed water on his face, banishing the intrusive thoughts and rousing himself for the day ahead. He was going to see his doctor in the late morning to review his test results, after a two-week antibiotic course to treat diverticulitis—a funny name for unpleasant symptoms. He was lucky not to need surgery...
He was finishing his breakfast when the doorbell echoed unexpectedly. It was early for a visit on a wet day...
As he moved through the corridor to the front door, the cat materialised at the bedroom threshold, trailing him with curious eyes...
Opening the door revealed the childless military widow, who had taken up residence three months ago at the house across the road—Flora...
She came to inquire about his well-being, wearing a cape to stay dry.
There was an exaggerated concern in her approach, prompting Douglas to regret mentioning his health issues. The ones that had led to his recent absence from their occasional park encounters.
Her small dog came in uninvited, as he always did, growling as if he were at home. Valfrido disappeared in search of a hiding place because he didn't trust the dog, and Douglas didn't trust her when she assured him the dog wouldn’t hurt his cat and just wanted to play...
Flora, an outgoing person, had made an impression from the moment they met, by comparing Douglas to a ‘handsome’ veteran film actor, albeit one whose name she couldn't recall. While it seemed like a flimsy compliment, given her claim to be a fan, Douglas couldn't deny that it flattered his ego...
Her charming appearance was matched by her mature beauty with her well-groomed skin and dark hair, that complimented her green gaze. It was easy to imagine her as a young girl, even more beautiful than Camila...
Flora exuded a sweet fragrance—an exotic, luxurious scent that was sensual and intoxicating. It was reminiscent of a tropical paradise, evoking warm and vibrant images. Making his head spin pleasantly, recalling good moments from old times...
Sun...
Beach...
Youth...
Suddenly, he realised that he had nothing left to lose in life.
Despite all his errors and slips, he was still alive, and his heart, still beating. Perhaps it was high time to make peace with himself, to give his heart a chance, and to give himself a chance at redemption...
Time was ticking away, and how much of it remained for him? Why waste any when it could be spent wisely?
Time was invincible and unrestrained. It never aged, while everything around it succumbed to its relentless flow.
Its reality was tangible in the pulsating hours of the clock, in the numbered days of the calendar. Yet, in the grand scheme of things, most everyone would ultimately return to ashes, unaware that time itself was just an illusion...
A spark of passion stirred within him, a flicker that the blue diamonds could easily fan into a sturdy flame...
‘How about dinner with me tonight?’
‘Where?’
‘At the place of your choice.’
Flora acquiesced with a smile...

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