Chapter Four: The Red of Roses
The next morning found me totally refreshed, and in rather high spirits. I couldn’t wait to see Rosa, and Valentina. My life was moving in a positive direction, at last. I quickly prepared myself for the lovely start to the day opening up before me. Then I left my flat, and headed up the road. Rosa wasn’t on her bench. With great pleasure I realised that most probably she was already waiting for me at the coffee shop. How fantastic was that? The new Rosa. I wandered up, cheerfully, to the coffee shop. As soon as I entered, Valentina approached me, looking slightly apprehensive.
‘Have you seen Rosa?’
‘No, I thought she might already be up here, ready for breakfast.’
‘I haven’t seen her since yesterday morning. She wasn’t on her bench all day after that, at all. And now, not this morning either. With such nice weather, she should be there. I’m worried about her, Nigel!’
Her voice sounded rather anxious. I felt disorientated.
‘I don’t think... I don’t know... where could she be?’
A wave of confusion rolled over me. Looking at Valentina, a chill came over my body. What was going on? Something was not quite right, but I couldn’t understand what it was. Valentina gripped my arm.
‘Nigel, you don’t think that maybe yesterday was her way of saying goodbye to us?’
My body stiffened, and my turmoil grew. A wave of anxiety flooded through me.
‘My God, Valentina, don’t say that! That can’t be right!’
Valentina was obviously extremely worried.
‘Please go and check at her place. I’ll phone the owner, he lives in the same building, in a flat downstairs. Wait.’
Valentina went back behind the counter, and pulled out the phone book. She found the number she wanted, and called someone. My head was spinning. What was happening? What did Valentina mean that it may have been Rosa’s way of saying goodbye to us? That couldn’t be right. It just couldn’t be. Things had been going so well. Just the day before Rosa had seemed to be so at peace.
‘He’s waiting for you over there, number 14. His name is Luigi. Hurry, Nigel!’
In my bewildered state, I rushed over the road. An elderly man was waiting for me outside apartment block number 14.
‘Are you Valentina’s friend?’
I nodded.
‘Come on, I will let you in. She’s on the second floor.’
We entered the block of flats, and walked up the stairs in silence. Luigi knocked on Rosa’s door, but no one came. He unlocked the door for me, and beckoned for me to enter. In a state of great apprehension, I entered her dark, closed flat.
‘Rosa, are you there? Rosa, it’s me, Nigel. Are you alright?’
Behind me, Luigi turned on the light. The lounge room was in a mess, but there was no sign of Rosa. I walked into her bedroom, and turned on the light. The bed was unmade, and again, the room was very messy.
‘Rosa, are you there?’
I continued along the corridor, opened the bathroom door, and turned on the light. That was where I found her. In the harshness of the blinding naked light bulb I saw her. She was lying in the blood red water of the bath, with both her wrists slashed. She was still wearing the same clothes she had worn the previous morning, in the coffee shop. On the floor next to the bath I could see an empty pill bottle. My head was spinning, I felt sick. My legs felt like they were buckling beneath me. I gripped onto the door frame, to stop myself from falling over.
‘Oh dear God!’ I heard from behind me.
I knew I should get out of there. Every instinct in me told me to leave, but I couldn’t. I was drawn to her. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I was somehow hypnotised by the sight of her, the way she looked. Rosa’s face was so serene. She looked so peaceful, lying there surrounded by the bloody bath water. I had never seen her face look so relaxed. It almost looked like she was smiling. The realisation flooded over me why she had been so calm the previous morning. She had already made her decision. She had decided to join her son. A decision that had brought peace to her troubled soul. In that moment, an awareness struck me. In that moment I understood why people committed suicide. Her pain had ended. She was now with her son, her little Angelo. Forever. Never to be separated. Contrary to everything I had always been taught, maybe suicide wasn’t such a bad thing? Society condemned it as an act of failure. The church condemned it as a sin. Maybe it was neither. Just possibly, it was sometimes a courageous act. A necessary act. An act of freedom. As I stood there captivated by her face, my heart was beating furiously, my mind was racing, but I couldn’t move. I just stood there, leaning against the door frame, and continued to look at Rosa. I have never seen anyone look so beautiful, so angelic, as her, in that moment. My whole being was transfixed by her beauty, and serenity. She had found the comfort of angels. Surrounded by the blood red water, she had found the place she had so long craved. She was with her son. Never again to be apart. After a time, I don’t remember how long, people started arriving. Someone took me by the arm, and accompanied me outside. There were people in uniforms, lights flashing. There was a great commotion everywhere. People were asking me questions. I couldn’t understand the words. I could barely stand. My head was pounding. Nausea was growing in my stomach. My body was shaking. I couldn’t understand what was happening. Everything was blurry. My mind couldn’t focus. My recollection of the following events is vague. Somehow I found myself back at my place, and I was lying on the couch. I couldn’t concentrate. How was any of that possible? I had thought that Rosa had been getting better. She had even started speaking. It had seemed like the worst was behind her. None of it made any sense to me. How was it possible that just the day before, she had seemed to be so at peace? Had her sense of peace been caused by the fact that she had decided to join her son? Could the thought of death really be so alluring? Can death really be the answer to your problems? I couldn’t understand any of it. My mind was invaded with waves of indecipherable thoughts. How could I find the answers if I couldn’t even understand the questions? I turned on the television, trying to drown out the clamour in my mind. The new life I thought I had created, suddenly seemed like a farce. Who was I to think I could have any effect on the lives of others? I could barely help myself, who was I kidding? I lay there for hours, trying to not think about it all, but at the same time, I could think of nothing else. I was at the centre of yet another failure, in a life of failures. Just when I had thought that my life was turning a corner, that my life had new meaning, something always happened to remind my how futile it all was. Nothing was getting better, if anything, it was just getting worse. Everything I put my hand to was doomed to fail. My mind was being bombarded with all sorts of undesirable thoughts. I needed to escape the constant images of the blood red water flashing through my mind. I had to get out. I had to see Valentina. She seemed to be all that I had left in my life. I knew that seeing her would help me escape the confusion. I quickly cleaned myself up, and went back out, onto Dante street. I had to see my Valentina.
Incredibly, out on the street, there was an eerie silence. There was no noticeable sign of what had happened there, just a short time before. All the officials, and their vehicles, had gone. Life had returned to normal. Death, and the fear it carried with it, had been swept under the rug, out of sight. Out of mind, out of sight. Death had been hidden from view. Normal people could go about their normal lives, unconcerned about other people’s suffering. Death was not supposed to be noticed. Its existence was unwanted, causing nothing but disruption to the living. It was to be hidden away, not seen. Death, the knowledge of death, was not to be allowed to linger in everyday life. The industry of death had taken away all signs that it had even been present. People could return to their homes, after their day’s work, unhindered by the passing of Rosa. Untroubled by the fact that someone had died on their street. Most probably wouldn’t even know it had happened, the rest probably wouldn’t even care. There was just one person less living on Dante street. A flat would soon be vacant. A new face would soon appear. Life would carry on. Death was kept unseen, hidden. The sight of death was unwanted. Its presence intrusive. Nobody wanted to be reminded that, one way or another, death was waiting for us all. Hovering, patiently waiting, knowing full well that nobody would be escaping its clutches. How would we all be able to continue with our everyday lives, if we were constantly reminded that it would all be for nothing? Everything we did was futile. We would leave no trace. After a few hours of our death, all signs of our having even existed, would have been washed away. Death, the perception of death, was an unwelcome sight. If we were reminded regularly of its lurking presence, if we were surrounded by it, repeatedly mindful of it, could we really continue with our lives as usual? Could we carry on planning, buying, carrying out all the tedious tasks that go to make up the day? If we were constantly aware of our slowly approaching death, could we really continue with our mundane existences as usual? As if it all meant something? Or would society grind to a halt, people no longer bothered about all the goods they thought they had needed. Would society break down, if people were conscious of where we were all headed? That is why the industry of death exists, to quickly whisk away all signs of death, and keep us all following the path society has laid down for us, oblivious to where that pathway will eventually lead us.
As soon as I entered the coffee shop, Valentina raced to me, and hugged me tightly. Her taut body felt so good. I buried my face in her hair, I wrapped my arms around her. Her hair smelt so nice. Holding her felt so liberating. I could feel the tension leaving my body. She released me, and looked at me with a very worried expression.
‘Nigel, how are you? Are you alright? No one could have known. You can’t blame yourself.’
Blame myself? What for? Why would I blame myself? I didn’t understand her. I had only tried to help Rosa. What blame could I have had? Then the realisation hit me. Maybe I had pushed Rosa too far, too fast? Would it have been better to have let her find her own way back to life, in her own time?
‘Do you think I pushed her too much?’
‘No! Not at all! You were only trying to help her. I just think there was nothing to be done. She just couldn’t go on without her lovely boy. We all saw how she was, sitting forever on that bench. You did all you could. You did a lot. You really tried. You should be proud of that. You cared enough, to try and help her. Unfortunately, there was no way back for her. She was carrying a pain which could not be erased.’
‘Maybe I should just have stayed out of her life. I probably just made things worse.’
‘Don’t say that! It’s not true! You were very kind to her. She really appreciated that. What you did for Rosa was a good thing. Let them say what they like!’
My God, so that was what people thought. They were blaming me for having pushed her over the edge. Maybe it was true. Maybe it was all my fault, or at least partly. In that moment I felt so pathetic. I felt as if I just couldn’t get anything right. For some reason, everything I set out to do, just seemed to turn out in the worst of ways. Everything went wrong. If I tried to achieve one thing, it turned out the complete opposite. It seemed like I just couldn’t understand anything, anymore. All my life I had considered myself to be someone who really had a good handle on things. Someone who could instinctively understand people, and where they were coming from, almost immediately. I had prided myself on my ability to sum up people, and situations, with very little effort. The vast majority of the time, I had been proved to have been right. But in my new life, the new version of me, the opposite was true. It seemed like I just couldn’t get it right at all. What had happened to me? Had the blow to my previous stable existence shattered that ability to pieces? Or, possibly, when I had been following life’s standard pathway, the pathway of normality, it had all been easier to understand. When you are with people living standard lives, all doing the same things, there weren’t that many surprises out there. After all, knowing the script everyone was following, understanding the rule book, made it all easier to decipher. Average people, living average lives, doing average things. Who could get that wrong? Now that I lived among those who, like me, had fallen through the cracks, maybe it all wasn’t as easy to understand, as it once had been? Once a person had been stripped of his normality, his facade, the real person inside would emerge, for better or for worse. The complexities that had been hidden deeply within would bubble to the surface, changing everything. This new person, a person not following the old rule book, would be much more complicated, more problematic to comprehend. The codes had been changed. People who had fallen through the cracks needed to be interpreted with different ciphers.
‘Are you sure you are alright, Nigel?’
Valentina’s voice shook me back to reality. I needed to find a place to think.
‘Yeah, I just need some air. I will see you tomorrow.’
‘OK, but don’t blame yourself for this, please!’
I walked down to Rosa’s bench, and sat down. Rosa’s bench. Maybe it was my bench now? I jumped up, frightened at the prospect. Would I be the next Rosa on Dante street? Would this be my bench, until I, following Rosa’s example, decided to end it all? I was gripped by anxiety. After the industry of death had cleared away any sign of me ever having been present, would I be remembered? Had I successfully destroyed any ties to people who would have remembered me? And what about McGinty? Who would take care of him? Would he starve to death, slowly, before my body was eventually found? I had to organise things to save McGinty. But, what was I thinking? I didn’t want to kill myself. Or would that be better? My mind was racing, I felt hot and sweaty. I hurried home, and locked myself in. Then it struck me that maybe it would be better not to lock the door. That way it would be easier for them to find me. I unlocked the door. Then, in a burst of anger, I locked it again. I was not Rosa! I had to stop thinking like that. I turned on the television, and threw myself on the couch. My mind was in a state of total confusion. I tried to concentrate on the program I was watching, one of the many banal cooking shows. Anything, just to stop my mind from dwelling on the dark thoughts that were descending on me. There was a darkness that was enveloping me. I had never had those thoughts before in my stock, standard life. But, after falling through the cracks, there were no borders, there were no limits, no safety nets, anything was possible. I found myself to be terrified of my new life. I desperately wanted to return to my old life. A life with stability, with no surprises. A life where the only choices you had to make were based around what you would watch on TV, or what colour you would paint the bathroom. Suddenly, I craved the predictability, and security, of my former life. The simplicity of knowing what each day would bring, because it would only bring more of the same. No surprises. A continuous repetition of all the previous days. A loop of ordinariness, easy to understand. Out there, in life’s wasteland, nothing was conventional, nothing was easy to fathom, no one was safe. After having fallen through life’s cracks, anything could happen. The rules governing that tangled maze were written in a language impossible to interpret. Could I survive out there? I felt so tired.