Saudade's stare

A Story by Nostalgia Tea

Halle, a man consumed by his work has an unexpected visit from his estranged wife and with it, a reflection upon how their happiness and love withered. This is the first chapter of an extended piece.

He opened his eyes to see the tails of moonlight that had slipped between the shutters, like a fan of silver traced across a black canvas. He looked at the clock on the wall, its face half in shadow and could make out the small hand pointing straight to the ceiling.

With a sigh he laid his head back on the pillow and gently shut his eyes again, the darkness folding around his weary senses. The room was silent, except for the light ticking of the clock and the slow deep breathing of the woman half under his covers.

Suddenly a light buzz rang out, shattering the tranquil of the darkness. It was Jane, the receptionist.
He answered.
"Hello?"

“Dr. Stellan, your wife is here to see you.”
He sat there is silence for a moment and glanced over the sleeping curves of his duvet. He cleared his throat.

“Thank you, Jane, but tell her I can’t, its midnight and I’m tired”

“ok”

He waited for a few moments and could just make out a muffled exchange over the phone. It was midnight for god’s sake and there was his beloved wife so thoughtfully trying to liven up his evening. He could already imagine her incessant yammering which annoyed him more than the 9 o’clock pneumatic drill outside. God and that demanding tone, as if the world and his wife owed her something. He hoped naively for a moment that she would get the hint and just leave.

“She says its very important and that she needs to see you, it can’t wait.”

He paused again, placed his face in his palm and massaged his eyeballs.

“Fine” he let out with a sigh, “as long as its quick, but tell her to wait 5 minutes”

“Of course, Dr. Stellan.”

He hung up the phone and dropped it on his pillow. If only he could get the hotel receptionist to lie on his behalf, just tell people that he’s busy, unavailable, ill or whatever just so that he could have his evening to himself.

He turned on his desk lamp and fumbled around the floor for his clothes. His shirt and trousers were slightly damp and saturated with the sweat of a working Friday, the collars creased and his cuff links, well he always had a habit of losing them anyway. He put on what he could find hastily and slid to the bathroom.
With a flick and a hum the mirror’s backlight stuttered to life. The shadows fell heavy on his tired face and his hair was oily and matted from exertion, he could make out red lipstick marks on the right corner of his mouth which smeared like a crusted scar across to his jaw. To put it kindly, he looked rough but he did his best to clean himself up into something more acceptable.

He closed the bedroom door gently and stepped into the kitchen studio and glanced down the short hallway to his front door. He expected at any moment a sharp knocking to begin the evening’s drama. He fixed himself some water from the kitchen tap and sipped it gently on the sofa, his heart beating faster in anticipation of the inevitable argument to resume and he found himself nervously rubbing his glass. God damn he had to fix this about himself, to not be so open for rational discussion because at this stage it was neither rational nor a discussion, just an emotional melee which drained him worse than his research deadlines. But she knew him too well, she must have driven over 2 hours down a lonely rain slick highway and still known that he would not turn her down.

“Knock knock”
He drained the last drop from his glass, girded himself and made his way to the front door.

He looked through the peep hole and could see a bulbous fishbowl of a head turned to the side, then look straight at him. He slid the hole shut and opened the door.
There she stood, those raven locks cascading as gracefully as ever over her slight shoulders, her petite navy blazer with a small flower pin above the breast pocket and underneath she wore a choice black dress which straddled the line between smart and suggestive with its closed neck and tight-fitting curves.
And of course, those most beautiful eyes of mahogany brown which he had grown to hate.

“Hello Halle.”
“Hello Eska."

There was a taught moment of silence where they seemed shyly averse of each other’s presence, the ghost of bitter quarrels past hanging in the air around them.

“Can I come in?” she asked, looking back into his eyes.
He stood there in silence and looked sternly up and down her and perhaps against his better judgement, he responded obligingly.

“Yes.”

She nodded slightly and stepped over the threshold, making sure not to step on his shoes. She took off her heels and placed them neatly beside the other pair of heels.
His heart seemed jump into his throat when he realised this, he should have met her in the lobby, but what the hell, he decided not to give a damn anymore, it was his business who chose to see.

“Do you have company?” she said with gentle curiosity.

This surprised him as it was quite unlike what he´d expected, there was no spite or anger to be found in her voice. It was actually quite unnerving, but nonetheless he replied in a cold manner.

“None of your business.”

She looked over at the closed bedroom door then proceeded without a word to fix herself a glass of water from the kitchen tap and then took a seat on his sofa sipping the water.
This incensed him slightly, the way she walked so calmly about as if it were her own home and the way she would sit on his sofa perched so neatly like a cat on a warm summer evening.
“What do you want?” he asked tersely.
She sat in silence, looking down at her glass between her hands.
This pissed him off even more.

“So you drove all the way to Marisburg just for a cup of water. Or have you come to just heckle me out of sheer boredom? I mean, what else do you want, the lawyers have already decided that you will take half of my stuff, even the god damned apartment which I paid for, somehow the law says its half yours too, isn’t that enough?”

She sat in silence.

He decided to press on, to provoke a response out of her.

“I mean what is it that you want? I already mailed those documents to you asked for, theyre probably in the post. You got it all already, there’s nothing I can do, just bloody take it and leave, why are you even here?!”
He didn’t mean to raise his voice but found it difficult to control himself at the time, as if a bull was thrashing around inside his mind which he could barely keep the reigns on.

“I’m sorry” She said, finally looking up from her glass. Her eyes were ever so slightly moist, and her lips trembled a little as she said it.

He was taken aback by this and turned away from her. He busied himself in the silence unbottling a half drunken bourbon from his cabinet and began pouring it into a low ball. There was something in her voice which was genuine and unguarded this time which made his anger seem to melt away as he stared into the dark amber of his glass.

“Well it’s a little too late for that” he sighed in resignation. “we’ve both fucked up much to fix anything.”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said a few weeks ago and only now I realise what you meant, you’re right Halle...”
She said tentatively.

He sipped his bourbon and turned around.
She had taken off her blazer and lay it across the sofa’s arm, her legs wrapped neatly in stockings hanging slightly to the side and her arms, like two supple beams of alabaster, were resting across her lap. He suddenly felt a little hot under his collar and a burning desire seemed to smoulder beneath his serious disposition. He still hated her for what she had done, what she was going to do, it was unforgivable, but he could begin to feel again that unmistakable hunger that can consume a man.
She seemed to read his mind.

“Shall we go get a drink?” she said, straightening up, her hands on her knees.
“We can go to your favourite place.”

He swirled his glass and gazed into the spiralling vortex. What on earth could she want? If he could pay a million pounds to understand how a woman thinks he’d have taken a loan for that when he first hit puberty. He was so utterly confused; the venomous mix of hatred and desire coursed through his veins and sent his mind in a roil, but his inner animal had set its ideas for him and spoke to him with certain intent. To hell with it, why not.

“Wait for me in the lobby” he said, finishing his whiskey.

“How long do you need?” She said, looking over at the bedroom door.

There were muffled noises coming from behind it, the twang of hosiery being pulled up and the rustling of sliding sheets.

“Give me fifteen.” he replied, setting down his glass on the counter top.

She nodded and folded her blazer under her arms and got up to leave. She put on her heels and looked back at him, a faint smile on her lips so subtle that he could not tell what kind it was. She closed the door respectfully behind her and left him to his confusion.