Leaving Madeleine - Part 5
Madeleine and I walked home that night without saying much. Something I said at dinner upset her, but I thought it might pass. She held it until we arrived at her flat. Once the door was shut, her jacket and boots off, she started.
"I don't like when you say those things," she said in french.
"What things?" I tried to indicate in my tone that I was not interested in the conversation.
"Sleep with a Jew," she persisted.
"That was a joke, obviously."
"Yes. Yes, I know it was a joke. But how do you think it makes me feel, saying those things? How do you think it makes me look?"
"I didn't want to express my opinion, that's all it was."
"Since when do you not want to express your opinion?"
"I don't know. Since this time."
The answer did not satisfy her. She went into the bathroom and shut the door. I stripped down to my underwear and climbed into bed. I stared at the bathroom door. Something was bothering me. Something deep inside me that I had discovered before but was unable to work out what it was. Thinking for awhile, I figured it out. There was no love inside me. Not just for Madeleine, but for anyone. Not for my mother, my father, or my friend who is like my brother, or his family who is like my family. I loved them because I knew that I loved them, but I felt no love for them. I tried hard to love them and I knew this lack of love would not last. It could not. It is not possible. But at that moment I had none. I searched through everyone to find it. Aunts, uncles, sisters, brothers, dead dogs. And that did it. My dog. A shih tzu that died at mother's house a few years ago. But this is untrue. Before the dog there was my sister. I thought of my sister, my full-blood sister and I loved her. I loved her and I loved my dog and then I loved my parents and my friend and my family and his family. And I loved Madeleine. She came out of the bathroom while I wrote this and I loved her.
But I knew.
She lay down beside me. I closed my notebook and looked at her.
"I'm sorry if what I said upset you," I said.
"I'm sorry too," she said in English.
She was much calmer. We tried to complete our reconciliation with a goodnight kiss but were unsuccessful.
She turned out the light.
Hours passed and neither of us could sleep. Madeleine was on her side with her back to me. I slipped my hand underneath the t-shirt she was wearing and caressed her back. She turned into me and we kissed. We made love or something close to it and she fell asleep shortly after. For me, it was never so simple. I stayed awake until the magic hour of morning. Madeleine's bare breasts condensed with perspiration, rose and fell with each breath.
I was once again alone.
"I don't like when you say those things," she said in french.
"What things?" I tried to indicate in my tone that I was not interested in the conversation.
"Sleep with a Jew," she persisted.
"That was a joke, obviously."
"Yes. Yes, I know it was a joke. But how do you think it makes me feel, saying those things? How do you think it makes me look?"
"I didn't want to express my opinion, that's all it was."
"Since when do you not want to express your opinion?"
"I don't know. Since this time."
The answer did not satisfy her. She went into the bathroom and shut the door. I stripped down to my underwear and climbed into bed. I stared at the bathroom door. Something was bothering me. Something deep inside me that I had discovered before but was unable to work out what it was. Thinking for awhile, I figured it out. There was no love inside me. Not just for Madeleine, but for anyone. Not for my mother, my father, or my friend who is like my brother, or his family who is like my family. I loved them because I knew that I loved them, but I felt no love for them. I tried hard to love them and I knew this lack of love would not last. It could not. It is not possible. But at that moment I had none. I searched through everyone to find it. Aunts, uncles, sisters, brothers, dead dogs. And that did it. My dog. A shih tzu that died at mother's house a few years ago. But this is untrue. Before the dog there was my sister. I thought of my sister, my full-blood sister and I loved her. I loved her and I loved my dog and then I loved my parents and my friend and my family and his family. And I loved Madeleine. She came out of the bathroom while I wrote this and I loved her.
But I knew.
She lay down beside me. I closed my notebook and looked at her.
"I'm sorry if what I said upset you," I said.
"I'm sorry too," she said in English.
She was much calmer. We tried to complete our reconciliation with a goodnight kiss but were unsuccessful.
She turned out the light.
Hours passed and neither of us could sleep. Madeleine was on her side with her back to me. I slipped my hand underneath the t-shirt she was wearing and caressed her back. She turned into me and we kissed. We made love or something close to it and she fell asleep shortly after. For me, it was never so simple. I stayed awake until the magic hour of morning. Madeleine's bare breasts condensed with perspiration, rose and fell with each breath.
I was once again alone.
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