Episode 13 | Taboo

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I had never felt so connected to nature, not like on the Île du Blanchomme, and at least not since my teenage years helping my grandfather in the fields on the Apennines. 

I had never felt so connected to nature, not like on the Île du Blanchomme, and at least not since my teenage years helping my grandfather in the fields on the Apennines. 

And my meditation sessions seemed to increase that connection to all forms of life, its rhythms of birth and death, no birth and no death. The stars that could have died eons ago and were still blinking at me seemed to confirm eternity, made of a sequence of present moments.

I finished each session by praying.

May all sentient beings have happiness and its causes, 

May all sentient beings be free of suffering and its causes, 

May all sentient beings never be separated from bliss without suffering,

May all sentient beings live in equanimity, free of bias, attachment and anger.

"So you've taken up meditation, Carlo?"

I did not startle as Armand was suddenly by my side. Over the years I had grown accustomed to his inaudible footsteps, as if he floated around in a cloud instead of walking. I had learned to sense his warm proximity and presence, more than hear him approaching, as we normally do with most people, who are usually so noisy.

"Haven't you?" I replied, serenely. If Armand hadn't spoken, I don't think I would have found the courage to interrupt the immense silence of the nights on the Île du Blanchomme, that I was starting to revere.

I think I have already mentioned it to you, Laurent -- my interest about these practices were aroused by that wonderful book on India I'd read. But having begun as an artistic curiosity, I guess it evolved more into an intellectual interest, very theoretical. I only and actually learned meditation when Armand returned from his first trip to India. In three months of vacations, he had been to several ashrams, done different retreats under the orientation of various gurus, and happily, enthusiastically shared with me some techniques he had learned. Most important, he communicated me his motivation and inspiration to meditate and free himself from all forms of suffering.

Armand slowly and silently lowered himself to sit by my side on the soft sand. "I have, Carlo. Oh yes, I have." His sweet smile shone in the darkness. "Meditating has brought me the fruits of a deeper calm, and greater awareness. It has broadened my understanding and aroused compassion in me. I no longer feel the need to change the world, when I can see it changing inside myself, the way I see and experience it. And I no longer need to try change my parents... I am learning to respect and love them the way they are, no matter how far from the ideal parents -- and family -- I wish I had had... And I'm beginning to feel acceptance towards myself, too. I am even starting to detach myself from that image of the ideal son I had to live up to..."

"That's another reason why I need to be present for my mother's death..." Armand took a deep breath, and after he had exhaled, he resumed his sharing with renewed sincerity. "I'll confront my father, peacefully confront him, and inform him about his ideal son's death..." As I heard Armand say those words, I shivered. "This will be another victory for my mother. My father might be happy over her death, but he'll suffer from his ideal son's death." Armand smiled to himself, and I must have been staring at him so terrified with the prospect that his words contained, that he amended "I am not going to die, Carlo, don't misunderstand me! Just my ideal image is. I have no intention of building palaces any longer, nor going into restoration anymore, my friend. I never had. It wasn't my heart's wish, but my father's will that I've taken as an obligation. In India, I've found what I want to do -- I want to build houses for the poor!" His smile shone again.

I was merrily shocked at his decision, and I thought -- bad news, terrible news awaited Monsieur de Montbelle! His wife's funeral wouldn't be a party, after all.

And I was so happy for Armand!

"The only reason I have actually concluded the École was... you, Carlo... to stay with you!" My friend's voice trembled with emotion, but I realized we were also both shivering from the chilly wind, that had started blowing from the sea. And I invited him into the house.

That night, I had my first hot bath in a long, very long time, 'sponsored' by Armand.

"And by Herr Weissmann!" I was reminded by my friend, who laughed. "It's awkward... He might not have been the only person to die on The Birth Island. Like I have suggested before, there might have eventually been a baby or a mother to die here... But for sure, he was the only man, and I mean male, that did die here." 

"And most certainly..." Armand had continued with his logic, "most weird of all, he was the only one to ever live on this taboo island, too..." His voice broke with emotion. "Until us, now. Does that makes us taboo, Carlo? Haha!"

Armand had been standing in the bathroom while I was bathing. It was kind of a taboo, I thought, that Armand would see me naked -- for the first time in all our years together. My best friend and I had intimacy, but nothing like that. It was mostly intellectual intimacy, I guess, since even his tears were new to me. 

I must have been prudish like my grandfather, whom of course I had never seen naked, and since Tarso had never seen me naked either, that made Armand the first person to ever see me without any clothes on. It had never happened before, not in our Parisian apartment, anyway.

And that comes as another confession -- since not only Armand, but no one else had ever seen me naked... Though being twenty four years old, I was still a virgin.

"I can feel his presence everywhere..." Armand went on talking, following me through the house after I had dried myself, and as we moved into my room. "Herr Weissmann." Armand clarified. "No, I'm not talking about ghosts. I mean, he built this house from scratch... see, he chose to leave all rooms open, with just curtains instead of doors. Very original and appropriate to the tropics, and for a loner like I guess he was. But there is not much privacy, is there? I suppose we will have to change that, if we want to run a guesthouse here...'

"Armand," Were I entitled to pose my opinion?, "do you really want to run a guesthouse here? Have this place full of backpackers? Just think..."

"Oh no!" Armand laughed, and raised his hand to interrupt me. "I was thinking of something a bit more exclusive... Barefoot elegance, like you proposed at the port. I really like that expression! I'd rather keep this paradise to myself... for us. But I guess I'll have to make my own money after I tell my father about my decisions." 

 "I think that, even before he lets you talk, he'll be saying 'Please have a decent haircut, Armand' Haha!" I couldn't avoid the joke.

"Do you think it is that bad, Carlo?" Armand ran his hand along his ponytail, and lowered his eyes. "You don't like it, then..." And he was obviously sad with my remark.

"No, of course I do! It looks really cool! You look more..." Boyish? Girlish? Sexy? Carefree? Defiant? I couldn't quite name my impressions on my best friend's new looks, and what it stirred in me. "But it won't suit your former clothes and your previous way of life, I mean..."

"Haha! You're right, Carlo." Armand still glanced at me with doubt. "He might even say... 'For your mother's funeral, at least.' Is that what you mean?" And blinking to his own morbid humour, Armand changed his tone. "I hope I get home before my mother dies. I think she'll be delighted to see my suntan and my hair grown long. She'll understand them like signs of a deep change, if only she's still conscious..." Armand continued, pensively. "She used to be a bit of a rebel herself. Before she married, at least, when she finally and definitely had to submit to her father's will and an arranged marriage to my father. She has since then submitted to Gaston, submitted to his rules and marching orders, to be rewarded with a 'luxurious lie', like she has so elegantly described her deceitful marriage in retrospect." Armand snorted. "You know, some people say she has flipped in this process of growing ill, that she's gone crazy because of the things she now says... But as weird as it might sound, I think she found liberation, to some extent, in her terminal illness."

"Refusing treatment was the first decision not imposed on her and that she has taken all on her own in a long, long while... Do you understand?" Armand had a delicate, subtle smile on his face, and I could identify the love he felt for his mother. "I wish she had chosen otherwise, like to be a rich divorcée spending all her ex-husband's money with trips and parties... I could picture my mother having younger lovers, as a revenge. She has always been so beautiful and classy. But she has chosen to die." Armand shrugged. "And on my part, I don't know how my relationship with my father shall evolve, without her intermediation. I really fear for us. She has always been like a shield between Gaston and me... I don't know, Carlo..." Armand took another deep breath. "These are Armand's last days you are witnessing, do you realize it? And these are Armand's first days you are seeing!" he smiled.

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Author's note: having been imported from a former version of the story, some of the comments below are dated previous to this post. Once the plot has not been altered, just the pagination, I am keeping them since they are very dear and precious to me.