Short story

Eventual Forgiveness by Maxi

It was so still in my room that the clock on the mantelpiece was audible. That and the squeak of my pen on Christmas cards were the only sounds. Outside snow was falling and the twinkling tree lights were giving an intermittent rhythm by the lace curtains, underlining my solitude.

The phone rang. The caller’s number was as long as the screen. It was an international call. The answering device kicked in. The voice I heard brought back a million memories.

‘Hi’ the once familiar strong Italian accent strummed like the fingers of a harpist, on my pounding heart. ‘It’s Roberto’

Roberto.

The voice shaved years off my life. Suddenly I was singing on stage in Toronto, Canada, watching a tanned young man take his seat front and centre. I was performing nightly to an appreciative audience. At the interval the promoter introduced us. Roberto was a smart businessman who owned a fashion emporium in the city. He was beautifully mannered and fascinated by my Irish accent.

‘Ireland’ his ebony eyes looked right into mine ‘that’s in Europe right?’

When he left he placed his business card in my hand and on the back I found an invitation to lunch the next day. From that moment we were inseparable. He taught me about Canada the land I had chosen to tour and I taught him about Ireland, the land he had never seen. I sang for two weeks in every city and covered many miles in the twelve months I had been contracted to tour. That never bothered Roberto. He would work hard all week, and take an internal flight to see me. We visited Niagara Falls, adjacent to the river Niagara on the Ontario side and named after the city it shares with New York. Roberto told me how the businessmen of yesteryear harnessed the power of the water for electricity and inexpensive hydro power to develop commerce.

We took a trip to The Blue Mountains where we walked and watched the sunset over snowy hilltops. He took me to see Sault Saint Marie and shared with me the history of the Canadian Indians as we chose delicacies from a smorgasbord. We went to concerts of visiting artists like Leonard Cohen, Frank Sinatra, and Tony Bennett.

One eventful evening in Montreal, things became serious. ‘You will give up your career, Sweetie, leave Ireland and marry me’ I stopped in my tracks. ‘Tell your parents, you are starting a new life. Tell your management to release you from your contract. I got people who will help you.’ He had it all planned. There was marriage, a business partnership, raising a family and putting down roots. I told him quietly that I missed my family, and loved music. I was not ready to make the change. He dismissed my reasoning with a wave of his hand. I felt the pull of an invisible chuck chain.

I tried several more times to explain but each time he bought me an expensive gift and waved away my objections. The day he presented me with the keys of an apartment owned by him I did the unforgiveable and bolted.

I savoured my freedom on the plane journey to my next engagement and soon got absorbed in the busyness of life in the fast lane.

It wasn’t until many decades later that I began to understand the hurt my selfish actions had caused. Back home and enjoying a new career out of the limelight, I had met a man who treated me the way I had treated Roberto. That was when the phone call brought me back to the Canadian days. The sapphire stars peered in the window to hear the mixture of accents on the night air.

‘Hi Sweetie’ ‘Roberto’ ‘I am just calling to see if you are okay ’ ‘I am, you?’ ‘Yes, I’m good’ ‘How did you find me?’ ‘I am a technophobe so I relied on phones, intuition and the universe’ ‘And’ ‘A guy came into my store and when I found out he was Irish I asked him if he knew you. He told me where you work now’. ‘Go on’ ‘I phoned enquiries and they gave me your number.’ ‘I am so sorry for the hurt I caused you.’ ‘I am so sorry too sweetie’ would he monopolise a relationship and I told him that never again would I shirk the responsibility of confrontation.

We talked about Karma, co incidence, serendipitous happenings and atonement. He confessed that I had been his first encounter with an independent lady who loved her parents and her homeland so much. He had been unfamiliar with that phenomenon. We marvelled at how much we think we know when we are young, and how we listen but do not hear. Roberto told me that getting cold feet for marriage at the age of twenty one was no crime and it took time for him to realise it. It took him years to learn that discussion should precede a proposal. The hurtful part for both of us was not communicating when it came to the important joint decisions of life and, in retrospect that would never have been a foundation for marriage.

And so we talked on. The absence of light muted the surroundings as we each filled in the events of the past years. We agreed that there is a connection between people, there is a force that tells us what is right and what is wrong and there are only certain people who can totally uproot.

That conversation ended with ‘I forgive you’ being spoken by both of us. Now, the chuck chain has been replaced by an invisible cord. When we feel the need, either one can tug on it mentally until a connection ensues. Then, we continue our conversation exactly where we finished it earlier.