A DOUBLE PROPOSAL ON THE NILE
We left the dining room, washed our teeth, a few hasty kisses not to lose the habit, put on our jackets with Lizzie's passport safely in my pocket and into the elevator of our foreplay and down to the street. To walk the streets of Cairo with Lizzie at my side. To live a dream come true. If only for a few short days. If only in the process of anxiously trying to send her away. The sun was out and a cold breeze was blowing but not strongly enough to raise the dust from the streets. We walked down Garden City, a district of Cairo that was neither a city nor had any gardens. Just better class apartment buildings, a few of which sported a courtyard and some isolated mansions with moribund gardens that had not seen a gardener in a decade. Their rich owners having joined the ranks of the genteel poor, courtesy of the Revolution.
The traffic was thick and noisy in this part of town. Drivers used their car horns to express their feelings: anger, impatience, exasperation, even good humor. An exuberant lot, the Egyptians, generating noise at every step. Pollution, too, with their badly maintained, ancient vehicles. The government had stopped imports of new cars because it had opened factories and was churning out old model Fiats which it renamed Nasr, the Egyptian word for victory. Their boast was that the Revolution was now capable of manufacturing anything from pins to rockets. I cannot vouch for the rockets, but as for the pins, they were soft, blunt and rusty. However, that morning I was treading on air. The very purest. Pollution-free. With Lizzie next to me, holding my arm, giving me smiles and loving looks. I was indeed the center of the universe. If not a God, then surely, the luckiest man alive.
We walked on slowly towards the embassy. I could see it a little way down the street. We did not talk. Lizzie was looking left and right. The people on the street were mostly shabbily dressed. A few beggars were sitting on the sidewalk, bleary-eyed, hands outstretched. Constant exposure to misery tends to immunize us. We do not notice it anymore. It is right there, invisible.
We entered the embassy compound. Egyptian police on the outside. Short, scrawny, ill nourished, mustachioed, in creased, ill-fitting uniforms, looking like Charlie Chaplin. American marines on the inside. Tall, blonde-haired, well fed, well built, impeccably uniformed. We went to the small building that housed the consulate and at the desk, an Egyptian girl employee told us to fill an application form and produce a picture. I had the foresight to bring some along. When we completed and returned the form with the picture, she looked at her diary and fixed us an appointment for an interview a week hence. Lizzie on her own asked to see the consul. The girl asked us to sit down and went into another office. She returned and told us the vice- consul would see us in a moment. I asked Lizzie if she would see him alone or wanted me with her.
'I'll see him alone. I'll be less self conscious fibbing on my own,' she whispered.
A few minutes later, they called her and she went in with a confident stride. She was regaining the assurance that Abdullah tried to snuff out. I sat in the little waiting room thinking that I would soon be losing Lizzie again. We had not talked about the future. Hardly had the time. We had been together for all of twenty hours. A supercharged, tightly packed twenty. Escape, a four-hour plane trip, passionate lovemaking, insufficient sleep and now the worry to get her to the States. Excitement enough for a lifetime and the bliss of being with Lizzie. It was comforting, the way she seemed to want to include me in her life. Talking of us. Wanting to know, what about us? I had not even started to formulate the questions let alone consider the answers. With so little sleep, I could hardly think straight. All I could think about was making love again to my Goddess. Lack of sleep is a well-known aphrodisiac. Meanwhile, my eyes were feeling heavy. From nearby offices drifted the drone of American accents lulling me to sleep. One does not notice it in the States but elsewhere it hits one's sensibilities. And Lizzie? Lizzie's accent was Bostonian. The R's dropped wherever possible but Lizzie's accent was not irritating and the sound of her voice sent shivers down my spine. I can neither describe it in words nor imitate it. I can only say it was attractive with a hint of throatiness. It was something you noticed despite the very many other things you had to notice in Lizzie.
She came out looking somewhat subdued, said a few words of thanks with a smile to the girl at the desk and came towards me quickly. Uh oh, I thought, things did not go too well but on the way out, she said everything was fine. The vice-consul, a woman, lapped up her story and promised to speed up proceedings as they usually did in urgent cases. We should have the visa on Tuesday at noon. Hurrah! We went out in the street and started to walk towards the city center.
'How was it?' I asked.
'Well, I went in and in a quiet sort of way, I told her the fib. She asked me how long I was married and I told her, three years. She asked if you would be coming along and when I said no, that seemed to reassure her. They do not want people going in the country with tourist visas and staying on. She happened to be from Boston, we talked a little about it and she asked me what high school I attended. Meanwhile, I tried to keep a low tone, as if something preoccupied me. I was also careful not to fall into any contradictions. She asked me if I talked Greek. For a moment there my heart started thumping but I said, 'of course, though my accent is atrocious'. Imagine if she spoke the language! But she did like me. When I was leaving she said, 'We must meet again'.
'When I return, I shall look you up,' I answered. Will I ever come back, I wonder. Her name is Judith Swann. She was nice and I felt terrible lying to her. She gave me her home telephone number.'
We passed by the Mogamaa, the jewel of the crown of Egyptian government bureaucracy. An ungainly, multi-storied, labyrinthine monster with perpetual crowds and worn out steps of the overworked staircases. To our left, the elegant ministry of Foreign Affairs and in front of us the huge Midan El Tahrir square.
'Oh, there's the Hilton, Michael. And the museum. Oh, it brings back sweet memories.'
'Sweet for you, my love. Heart-rending for me. That meeting with you was happiness and despair at the same time. I cannot tell you which was stronger except that they were both overwhelming.'
She looked at me sadly for the pain she caused and moved to kiss me. 'Not now, my love. Not here. Don't fret. I am so terribly happy.'
We walked slowly, arm in arm, up Mariette Street. Friday traffic was bearable, not like the daily madness. Opposite the rear entrance of the Hilton were the TWA offices. We entered and booked Lizzie's ticket for Boston for Wednesday morning January 27. I wrote out a cheque with a sinking heart. Another countdown in my life had started.
'I shall pay back every cent you spent for me, Michael.'
'Oh Lizzie, who cares about money. Pay me back for the love I have given you. This is one debt I would be grateful to collect. If you consider it a debt. Because you did not ask for my love. I offered it.'
'I shall, my sweet, you'll see. Things will change. They have already changed.'
On towards the Hilton but we did not enter it. We headed for the Nile and walked along its banks enjoying the warmth of the sun and the radiance of our love. Nevertheless, parting's sweet sorrow gripped me prematurely. She sensed it and made small talk to cheer me up. We sat on the marble benches and watched the Nile with the hard up, ill-dressed couples who could do little else on their day off. The feluccas were criss-crossing the river, picturesque, non-polluting and silent. Their sails billowing, being pushed by the wind. Some with single couples in them, a few larger ones with whole families having a tour on the river, munching sandwiches, drinking cokes and playing the tabla, a sort of bongo drum, which is an essential prop of any gathering of young people. The beat keeps their spirits up. Sometimes the boys and girls would stand up and sway to the beat imitating the oriental belly dance. Simple, uncomplicated pleasures that brought smiles to their lips and to ours. It was nearly two thirty. I asked Lizzie if she was hungry.
'No. But I am dying for something.'
'What, for heaven's sake?'
'Some sweet corn. The man is roasting it on charcoal, over there.'
I bought two ears of corn and we started munching. It was delicious. So was Lizzie in her absorption and sheer enjoyment. What a sensual creature she was. I wiped her mouth with my hanky when she finished removing the black burnt tit bits that remained there.
'Thank you daddy. Can we now go for a boat ride?'
'Oh, my dear, that won't do, you are costing me a fortune.'
We got up and walked to a stone staircase descending down to the river's edge on to a landing platform where the boats assembled and there was a veritable shouting match amongst the boatmen as to who would capture our patronage. Bargain concluded, we wobbled into a small felucca and set sail for the great unknown. We drifted mid- river and then headed upstream crossing beneath the Kasr El Nil Bridge and continued a little way up. The noise of the city, especially the car horns reached us, mercifully, in miniature. We sat, holding hands like most of the native couples, on the front part of the felucca, in front of the mast that held the lateen sail. To our left we slowly bypassed the Semiramis Hotel. I pointed it out to Lizzie.
'This is where Sarah stayed the first time she came. We met at the lobby and went for a drink at the bar.'
'Yes. She thought you were terribly nice.'
'I thought she was terribly nice too. And a good friend.'
'I owe her my sanity. We were attached as only two people in a wilderness can be. Next to you, I owe her too my freedom. How does one pay off such a debt?'
The felucca turned right, off the southern tip of Gezira and into the other branch of the Nile hugging the island. That branch was considerably narrower but at that particular point of separation, the river widened to a width of at least one kilometer. Slowly, silently, pushed by a gentle breeze, we moved towards another smaller, convex bridge originally called Le Pont des Anglais; now El Galaa, the Evacuation Bridge referring to the evacuation of the British forces from Egypt. Lizzie was enjoying the sun, the peaceful gliding on the water. Enjoying our proximity and our joined hands.
'Who would have thought, Michael, just a year ago, I would now be on a felucca on the Nile after a loathsome experience and an escape, with a man I love?'
'That loathsome experience also started with a man you loved.'
'I deserved that but please don't rub it in. Like history, after some time, after the events are well over, I shall perhaps be able to explain my feelings and motives in this affair that ended so strangely. What is important now is that I love you. Equally important to me, is that you should believe me. Do you, Michael?'
'Yes I do.'
'Will you marry me, Michael?'
My heart started thumping, my breath lost its rhythm and a sudden dizziness came and went. I tried to smile. Was it a joke? Some words and situations you never forget. I remembered her words three years ago. At another, very hesitant but impossible proposal.
'Wow Lizzie, that caught me unawares.' She laughed.
'Think about it Michael.'
Yes, yes my love, I thought, yes, yes. That is all I have wanted for so long. It was a shock to have your life's dream offered on a platter so unexpectedly. However, I concealed my upheaval and played it cool.
'Isn't the man supposed to propose?'
'But you never did.'
'I never dared.'
'Then do it, Michael. Do it. Dare!'
'Will you marry me, Lisa Baccini?'
'Yes, yes, yes, my love. Yes, my lover.'
All this, sitting down, just holding hands. For we had a witness to the double proposal, the one explicit acceptance and the other implicit one. A witness who understood not a word of what was being said. Who saw the agitation and perhaps wondered what was happening. Who had his hands full attending to his sails, guiding his vessel. I told him to head to the nearest staircase. I could not take it peacefully sitting in a boat, holding hands. I wanted to run, shout and kiss my wife.
'But Lizzie!'
'What?'
'You are already married!' She smiled.
'Don't get bogged down on details, my sweet.'
The boatman deposited us on a small pier nearby and we took a cab home. We started necking in the elevator and rushed into the flat, shut the door and on to the bedroom, laughing, kissing and shedding our clothes on the way. Someone entering the door could follow a trail of discarded clothing. To find us in the bedroom, kissing, tugging at the rest. Traversing the whole spectrum of movements, sensations and emotions of lovemaking. As old as prehistoric man, as commonplace and worn and unchanging as a thousand porn movies, as new and thrilling as falling in love.
After the explosion, I held Abdullah's present but mainly past and my future wife in my arms. I held my treasure, momentarily knocked out and limp, wrenchingly beautiful from the effort and rapture of lovemaking. Her eyes, marked, closed, recuperating, oblivious to my lovesick looks and caresses. My left arm, her pillow, my right, her lover. Caressing her hair, her face, eliciting a hint of a smile from the recesses of drowsiness. Moving to her shoulders and perfect arms, lifting them up to look at her lovely hand that held me so intimately and lovingly. Cupping her breast that offered me its nipple, to the firm flat belly and pubic hair, to the legs that Aphrodite would have envied. I pulled my arm that was her pillow and disengaged from our embrace. Turned my attention to her feet. I held them, massaged them, found them delicate and high strung, a curious adjective that came to mind. Caressed her calves, shins and thighs, softly not to disturb her rest. Opened her legs and contemplated her vulva, moist, slightly puffed and bewitching, unable to draw my eyes away, thinking of all the pleasures it gave and received in its lifetime. Wondering if I was a pervert, a masochist, to rejoice in Lizzie's love affairs, in her sexual freedom and sexual needs. To rejoice that she was above all a Goddess of love. I caressed her softly there and when I felt arousal choking me I turned to lie next to her. I covered her, put out the light and lay beside the naked, warm body, to go to sleep belatedly since I was already in a dream, holding her hand, inhaling her odor, basking in her warmth.
We were exhausted and slept for many hours. I woke up several times but could not bear to open my eyes. Sleep was still too sweet and too delicious. I had not had enough of it. I felt a warm body next to mine, a regular breathing and drifted back to sleep. Hours later, I woke up in her embrace her mouth on mine, a cheeky tongue rousing me, trying to arouse me, c'mon lazybones, wake up, you are neglecting me, you've slept enough. To drift into lovemaking, half-asleep with Lizzie leading me, in the darkness, to new secret places and sensations. How deep and ordinary and extraordinary love can be. How infinitely varied in its simple, unchanging essence. How fortunate the sensuous and adventurous, the Lizzies of this world. How fortunate the Michaels who cross their paths.
Another orgasm and new, tender post coital embraces. Fields of energy moving from one body to the other like invisible magnetic waves, fields of love, palpable because they choked you and made you dizzy and almost unbearably happy. Passionless emotional kisses, soft tongues lingering in each other's mouths. Tightly hugging each other's body with all our strength imagining we could fuse them together. Words no longer strong enough, too oft repeated, meanings too worn to express the strength of feelings. We reposed in this state of perfect bliss for a while. I did not know what time it was. I felt hungry. Lizzie probably, too. I switched on the light.
'Oh, Michael, why?'
'It's what? Eleven. Aren't you hungry?'
'A little. But we were so peaceful in the darkness and the warmth and the smell.'
'Oh, so you like the smell?'
'Yes. Your smell and the smell of our lovemaking. It's an acquired taste.'
'Whereas my taste for yours was always there. I was born with it.'
'Oh, how I love you!'
'I must have been born with a gene bearing your image. When I saw you, it locked on you. I think that it was destined I should go to Boston to find you. The university was just the pretext. It did not matter.'
'Oh what a lovely fairytale. That was a lovely thought. I have never been so happy and comfortable in my life. We shall get married, Michael, won't we?'
'We shall, my love. Indeed we shall.'
'I suppose we must get up. I'll go have a shower.'
'Lizzie, we have not been taking any precautions. Shouldn't we?'
'No.'
'No? Are you in a safe period?'
'I'm always in a safe period.'
'Meaning?'
'Meaning, I don't get pregnant.'
'What do you do for it?'
'Nothing.'
'You mean….?'
'Yes. I never in my life fell pregnant and I never in my life took any precautions.'
'I see.'
'Disappointed? That your Goddess of love is barren. A little ironical, isn't it?'
'Oh Lizzie, in the immensity of my love it seems so trivial.'
'I did not doubt it, my sweet. And you are the first person I ever told. Even my mother doesn't know. It would break her heart. Being Italian and family oriented. I never told Abdullah either because I was afraid he would not marry me if he knew.
There, I told you the truth, I cleared my conscience.'
'Not of one but of two things. That you can't have children and that you did want to marry Abdullah, after all.'
'Yes I did. That's the truth. What a silly fool! What an idiot I was! But, you see, his money dazzled me. Are you upset?'
'No. It's understandable.'
'You still want to marry me?'
'If you will have me.'
'Yes. Yes my sweet. And we can see a doctor if we decide we want a child. Can you imagine I have never bothered to investigate the cause? It suited me fine, the way I was. In any case, I'm glad I cleared the issue. Now for a shower.'
Spry and energetic, as if lovemaking charged her batteries, Lizzie threw off the bedcovers, vaulted to the floor, walked briskly and naked to the bathroom. A moment later, I went in and watched her enjoying the hot spray of the shower, her head uplifted, her mouth open, letting water pour in it, spitting it out and smiling at me. Her body was faultless, classic yet sexy, trained yet feminine, a body that took your breath away, magnetized your stare and made you think of the infinitesimal probability of so much beauty concentrated on one person. Stumbling through life, a Snow White with Seven Dwarfs, or eleven or twenty-one, the Teds and Abdullahs and all the others and not a Prince in sight. Not Michael. Not by a long shot. I just rescued her and worshiped her. In my heart of hearts, I felt she merited a Prince.
I pulled her out of the spray, took the soap and soaped her body and she let me without a word, with an inquiring look and a smile. I soaped her tenderly from the neck down, everywhere, shoulders, arms, armpits, those breasts of consummate assertiveness, belly, back, heavenly behind, and then the perfect legs, on the outside and in between and her feet and her toes, one by one. When I stood up, she kissed me on the mouth but soap from her face slipped inside and the kiss and the mood changed to laughter amid the spitting and rinsing out of soap. I pushed her gently under the spray of hot water and she stood there, eyes shut, relishing the warmth while the soap washed away, feeling the after-massage well-being.
She would have stayed there forever had I not shut the tap, covered her in a large bath towel, lifted her and in the bedroom plumped her on the bed. Naked and wet, with soap all over me, I stood above her and with another towel carefully dried her face and body. The face with the easy smile, with the gaze of love. That work of art, of nature, that evolved, through millions of years from the ugliness of the pithecanthropus to the perfection of Lizzie.
'Dress up, Lizzie. We'll go for a bite. I won't be a minute in the shower.'
'Oh couldn't we? Before?'
'It's already twelve. When we come back.'
I rushed for the shower to forestall second thoughts, had a quick bracing dose of cold and warm water and was out in a jiffy. Lizzie was examining her new wardrobe.
Smiling away.
'It's so funny. I tried on a few things and they fit me perfectly. How did you ever manage that?'
'A girl in your mold called Samiha helped me out with these purchases.'
'Are you trying to make me jealous?'
'No, because Goddesses do not stoop to such sentiments.' She laughed.
'Don't be so sure,' she said.
We both dressed quickly in a casual style and by the time we left the house it was nearing one. We summoned the elevator and kissed all the eight floors down. Out into the street, the weather cool, the traffic sparse. Arm in arm we walked towards the Hilton whose cafeteria worked around the clock. We headed for the Nile and walked the short distance to the hotel along its banks. The river cool and silent, flowing, always on the move; busy sowing life after having fed and quenched the thirst of dinosaurs and pterodactyls, mammoths and other extinct species and having witnessed the whole of the evolution of man, which our scientists are trying to divine from bits of bone and fragments of skulls. The streetlights and those of the Kasr El Nil Bridge gave it a festive air and oscillated on the dark mass of water in an unending movement. We crossed the road leading on to the bridge at its edge and continued for a hundred meters along the bank. A row of horse driven carriages were waiting for customers. It was late and chilly with very few people circulating and I wondered if they expected to be hired. Some of the drivers were sleeping on the passenger seats their heads wrapped up in woolen shawls. Perhaps, they were more comfortable there than in their miserable, musty homes with their five, six or seven children taking most of the floor space for sleeping. With a hard pressed, shrew of a wife expecting furtive sex, her breath reeking of garlic and hair smelling of cooking.
When we were opposite the Hilton, we crossed the street and entered the hotel. There was still some movement in the lobby but considerably subdued. All the shops and bank branches and newsstands locked up and that part of the hotel was deserted. We walked into the almost empty cafeteria and sat at a small square table, not opposite each other, on adjacent sides, to be able to hold hands. Soft music was piped in the background. As good an American invention as the Coke. Well-known music played in a neutral, unobtrusive manner to create atmosphere, to emphasize a setting of luxury and wealth. We ordered two onion soups, chicken for Lizzie, steak for me, a salad and a bottle of Red wine.
'I just realized, Lizzie, we have been together, uh, let's see, only about thirty hours. Thirty hours of bliss.'
'Yes, my sweet.'
'Are you really happy Lizzie? I mean, can you separate the happiness of your escape from this other happiness of being with me? I am so worried that one is the result of the other and if that is so, your love for me will not last. I cannot take another heartbreak. I have the dreadful feeling that you deserve someone better than me.'
'Oh my darling Michael, please stop this futile soul searching. Don't you see my love for you in my eyes? I would have thought it's as obvious as your love for me in yours.'
'I do. I try to. And when I see it, I almost die.'
'What then? Are any of the men I had better than you? Even Abdullah with his PhD and his zillions? Or am I going to stand around waiting for a prince? You are overvaluing me. Your love dazzles your brain. I am just an attractive woman turning thirty, past my prime, not particularly educated, without any skills or profession. And I have finally found my prince. I am in love with you. Truly. Why don't you believe me?'
'Yes, Lizzie, I do. I believe you. I do become tedious at times. Now tell me, we have three days in front of us before we get your visa, what would you like to do?'
'Don't you have to go to work?'
'Oh God. First things first, my love. Who cares for work when one has Lizzie?'
The waiter arrived with the wine and cut short my obsessive preoccupations. He went through the tasting ritual as if the wine was of the rarest and the best and, after tasting a mouthful, I nodded solemnly as if it was. It was the best local, Chateau Gianaclis, a medium-light, less than mediocre red wine with just a slight bouquet, watery but tart, no body to it and no character. But fresh and alcoholic and welcome. He filled Lizzie's glass and then mine.
'So, Lizzie what shall we do these three days?'
'Let's make love, my sweet, day and night.'
'Oh, my darling, we shall, we shall. But in between? When Karima will be cleaning the house?'
'Whatever you want.'
'Okay. Day one. Tomorrow, we shall go to the pyramids in the morning and have lunch at the Mena House. In the afternoon, a siesta.'
'A siesta and a fiesta?'
'Obviously, my Goddess, a wild, wild fiesta. Day two, Sunday, we shall visit Saqqarah and have a late lunch at the Swiss restaurant. In the afternoon, a fiesta.'
'A sexy, sexy, fiesta and then a restful siesta?'
'Yes, my poetess. On Monday, we can go visit Old Cairo and its mosques and get a taste of the Islamic architecture. How's that?'
'That's fine. But please, reassure me, in the afternoon, the usual?'
'Yes, the usual visit to Priapos, may his blessings be upon us.'
'Who's the gentleman?'
'Oh, hardly a gentleman. He's rather uninhibited with his huge penis in constant erection. He's the ancient Greek god of procreation.'
'Oh, I'd love to meet him. '
'You have, Lizzie, in a small way, through me.' She laughed.
'I would say, in a big way.'
'You're awfully kind, my love.'
We drank steadily and joked merrily until the food arrived and Lizzie dug into it with the usual zest. Another bottle of wine ordered and the good humor continued unabated.
'Hey, Lizzie, how's your physiognomy hobby?'
'Oh, so so. But you know, it's always there. Once a physiognomist always a physiognomist.'
'How did you find your erstwhile countrymen?'
'You mean the Arabs?'
'Yes.'
'Most of the time I was too depressed to care.'
'I mean, do they differ from the Egyptians?'
'Oh, most definitely. A different race. A purer one. Despite the common language and religion. They have a different look. Somehow more primitive, desiccated and darkened by the desert. And in character too. More fanatic because of this purity and perhaps also treacherous and harsh. You can see that from their total adherence to the laws of Islam. Cutting off the hands of thieves, executing murderers, adulterers and rapists, publicly. Funny to think we were candidates. The Egyptian face is more Mediterranean even if it is still undoubtedly Arab and the people, more corrupt though paradoxically gentle and good. After all, they had to cope from the beginning of their history with continuous invasions and occupations of their country. In pharaonic times, the Hyksos and Hittites. Later, the Greeks, the Romans, the Arabs, the Turks, the French and the English. Continuously the underdogs striving to survive, an encouragement for underhand dealing and corruption.'
'Lizzie, I am impressed, my love. An analysis worthy of Corina.'
'Well, to be honest, I learnt quite a lot from Abdou.'
'Did you talk a lot together?'
'At the beginning, yes. That was my only entertainment, apart from a little reading when I could get my hands on a book. Who's Corina?'
'A friend. I wrote to you about her in my letters. The lady archaeologist I met on the plane on my way back from Boston.'
'Oh yes. You went on a trip with her, somewhere.'
'At St. Catherine's monastery in the Sinai.'
'Did you make love to her?'
'No. She was much older than I was and was recovering from a divorce.'
'I would have thought that would be just the time. Perhaps you did not fancy her.'
'She was no Lizzie but she was very nice and attractive and intelligent and I did fancy her but she was troubled emotionally.'
'So that was that?'
'No. But let's forget about it.'
'So you did become lovers.'
'I don't want to talk about it, Lizzie.'
'You did, didn't you?'
'All right then, yes we did. She came back to Egypt just after I met you at the Hilton on your way to Arabia. In a sense, we have been sort of loosely attached ever since.'
'Oh I see. Do you love her?'
'Well, yes.'
Lizzie lost her smile and her look was troubled. She looked at my eyes intently, trying to get her bearings on a new situation.
'Shouldn't you have told me this instead of leading me on? Is that why you avoided talking about us?'
'Lizzie, my darling, please listen to me, carefully.'
'Oh Michael, don't say it if you are going to hurt me. When I leave, send me a letter.'
'I am not going to hurt you my darling. I was going to tell you that you never stopped being my obsession. Always were and always will be the woman of my dreams. I am desperately in love with y