Here comes the continuation of Giselle’s story, where Paul matures into a “real” person. I hope that this will quench the curiosity of some of my readers. Below is the table of contents for the complete novel: “Tidal Lock” as published so far:
Tidal lock:
a. The story of Giselle, Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3,
b. The dark side of the sun, Part 1, Conclusion
c. There is no such thing as everlasting love
e. Catharsis, Part 1 , Conclusion
Upcoming chapters include:
g. An unforgettable evening (subsequent parts)
h. Serendipity
i. Echo’s call
j. Our last paradise
An unforgettable evening
Giselle arrived early at Laura’s place since she didn’t realize that there were only two blocks between Carnegie Hall, where she was for rehearsal, and 59th street where Paul’s cousin resided. Maria received her at the door. She introduced herself as the house stalwart and announced that Laura was going to be late. She then escorted Giselle to the living room and offered a drink. After Giselle declined, she excused herself to return to her chores.
Alone in unfamiliar territory, Giselle was compelled to explore. A perfunctory inspection of the premise revealed Laura’s aristocratic simplicity that balanced with grace family memorabilia with contemporary addons, the latter collected in large part from exposure to the New York highlife. Giselle felt futile in the silence of the empty room. It seemed that time, in synchrony with the ticktack of the wall clock, was taking in turn a step forward and a step backward, suspending indefinitely its progression. She was breathing an atmosphere of controlled unease and for a while she stood still in the middle of the room as her steps, like those of time, hesitated to follow the unfamiliar script. It was as if the Devil had choreographed a dance without motion.
Among the antiques and on top of a Persian carpet, a grand piano sat close to a French door that opened onto the terrace overlooking Central Park. It was an old Steinway of exquisite marquetry with the spruce soundboard and keyboard inlaid with carved statuettes and tessellated with fancy stones. On top of the soundboard, three standing frames caught her attention.
Giselle approached to discover that all contained pictures of Paul and Laura. In the first, Paul stood center stage with Laura at one side, the orchestra director on the other, and the instrumentalists behind. In the second, Paul was smiling, holding a glass of wine with the right hand, the head turned towards Laura, who, in an elegant soiree gown, was returning the smile. The third picture portrayed them in casual attire walking barefoot at sunset along the seashore with a seagull flying in the background. She took the frame in her hand to take a closer look. Paul appeared cheerful, even ecstatic and Giselle forced herself to feel happy for the beautiful couple. But then she wondered:
“What am I doing here? She brought me here to show how happy of a couple they are! She made herself late on purpose to give me a chance to explore the evidence of their intimacy. What am I doing here? I should have thought before accepting. …It is OK. I have no right to intrude into someone else’s life. What am I expecting? I have never been part of this man’s life! He barely knows that I exist …if he does! But now; what am I supposed to do? Spend the evening listening to Laura chatting about her wonderful man?”
***
“It isn’t what you think. Paul adores me like a little sister, but he does not love me.”
Laura’s voice interrupted the silence.
“I know! There are lots of rumors about us. People like to talk, and one cannot shut their mouths. But none of them is true. Do not worry, Paul is a free man, perhaps he is too free, which could be a way to say …a lonesome man.”
Then Laura continued:
“Thank you for coming my dear! You are a superstar now! What a great performance the other night. I heard only wonderful comments! You made it where only few can’t even dream of. You are a Broadway star! And you are so beautiful! Breathtaking beautiful. Sei bellissima! E’ un piacere di averti qua[1]. Should we speak Italian? Maybe not! I have been in America far too long. It comes easier to speak English if you can believe it.”
Giselle assented:
“Thank you for inviting me. It’s so elegant, …so beautiful here, …and what a great view of Central Park. May I look out?”
Laura moved ahead anticipating Giselle’s steps, opened the French door, and walked out first. Then, she leaned through the threshold of the door into the apartment and called:
“Maria, brings us the Prosecco and the appetizers.” Then, turning to Giselle:
“We can eat out here if you prefer. It is a pleasant evening.”
Waiting for the Prosecco, Giselle looked down.
At the close margin of Central Park, a line of horse-drawn carriages waited for customers. Behind it, there were stands improvised for some special event. A mosaic of tourists fretted like a colony of ants around the stands examining deals and selecting grubs. A melee occurring in the distant meadow turned out to be caused by a flock of children fighting over a soccer ball, while, at a close distance, unperturbed ladies practiced Taiichi. At the closer corner, a violin lament ascended over the crowd and the traffic reaching for angels in the sky.
Laura rested on a wicker armchair and Giselle set in front of her in Paul’s favorite place.
Referring to the Maestro as Giovanni, Laura continued:
“Giovanni is right. You and Paul are identical! It is difficult to explain; but your behavior is so similar. It is as if the same soul split into two persons; confident posture …mixed, …I guess, with inquisitive reticence; minimal loquacity, waiting for others to start the conversation, intense engagement with the interlocutor, no small talk, no frivolous giggling. I do not know about you, but Paul detests small talk; it is either a conversation of substance or silence. This is why he likes my company. With no expectations from my side, spontaneity can flourish and each of his words, expressions, and gestures is genuine. Yet his …I should I define it? …his magnetism! Yes, his magnetism can be exhausting at times. I hope that you are not as bad!” Concluded Laura with a smile.
“I barely know him.” acknowledged Giselle “I met him once for a few minutes in a cafeteria in Milan; a fortuitous encounter, he just grabbed the only open seat, which happened to be at my side. But you are right, each word, each eye movement, face expression drew me into the center of his life, at least for those few moments. It was as if the rest of the world had vanished and only the two of us existed. With a few words, he shaped my life. For a long time, I believed that I loved him. Can you believe, I loved someone whom I barely knew?”
With a reticent expression Giselle concluded:
“Do you think that I am a fool?”
“Not at all, my dear. Not at all.”
“I even tried to contact him. I felt that our conversation had been cut too short. I needed some sort of closure. And I wanted to see him again. But he never returned my mail.”
“Of course, he didn’t. He probably never saw it. His agents most likely discarded it. But I can tell you that if he had, he would have responded. Can you guess how I know?”
Giselle kept staring wordless into Laura’s eyes.
“When he came back from Italy, he mentioned you to me:
– I met a young woman; her name is Giselle. She acted mature, but she was only fifteen. She knew who I was but did not behave like a fan. No small talk, no ass-kissing, no subdue affectation, no attempts to impress; just spontaneity is what I recall. She opened herself to me and shared her dreams and uncertainties. She told me that she wanted to become a principal ballerina. At first, I laughed inside, but then, when her big unflinching eyes pierced into mine, I sensed her determination, and I encouraged her. God knows what will happen of her, but my intuition tells me that she will succeed in whatever pursuit she will chose. I wish that I could help her, but I didn’t even ask for her contact. Who knows, maybe one day I will see her again, perhaps, performing somewhere. –
Therefore, when Giovanni mentioned you to him, Paul smiled, he seemed to remember, and agreed to join the performance.”
“But what happened then? Why is he sick?”
The prosecco arrived with the appetizers, it was Italian charcuterie with meats and cheese. Enough for a complete meal. Hot bruschetta with basil and chunks of fresh tomatoes and burrata slices. An Italian feast in Giselle’s honor.
“I know that you are from the North, but I am sure that you would appreciate a little spiciness from the South!”
Laura spread a layer of velvety ‘nduia[2] on the bruschetta and offered it to Giselle.
“This is imported straight from Italy! Do not ask how!”
Giselle was not hungry, and every crumble of energy was concentrated on Paul’s life. It was as if their encounter had appended just the day before. She crunched a few bites of bruschetta and listened.
***
“Paul’s story is unusual. His youth was not privileged like ours. You come from an upper-class family, living in one of the capitals of fashion and culture. You probably do not even know what poverty means.”
Giselle did not interrupt; there was no point explaining to Laura that she very well knew first-hand what poverty meant.
“As for myself, I had all that a person can hope for, a supportive family, the best education, and all the frills one could ask for while growing up. But Paul’s life is different. He is an orphan. He is the son of my mother’s older sister. She rebelled to the family and refused to marry a distant cousin. Rather, she became pregnant through an anonymous affair and ran away. Nobody knew what happened to her and the baby. Later, a nice Italian man from the Bronx named Arturo married her and adopted the son. But soon she disappeared again till she was found dead thousands of miles away. Paul retains only vague memories of his mother. He told me that he remembers her voice that sounded supernatural like the chimes of an angel.
The poor man raised Paul the best he could. Being totally unfamiliar with the concept of fatherhood and discipline, he raised Paul more as a pal than a son. Therefore, Paul never became acquainted with childhood. Instead of playing with toys, he would stand on a chair close to the sink at Turo’s side to wash and dry the dishes. Paul became Turo’s ambitious sous chef and learned to master techniques including the knuckle rest technique to protect the fingers from sharp knives. And if the eyes watered because of the onion chopping, Turo would say: – Come on Paul! What is that! Don’t you know? Real men are not supposed to cry even when they chop onions! –
With Turo, he would go to the laundromat each weekend. Still standing on a chair, he pushed buttons at the cash register in Turo’s store and listened to the ring, while the grandmothers, who had come to buy fresh dinner ingredients, praised him, and congratulate Arturo for benefitting from such great help. And they frequented a bar protected by a local mafia family, where Turo bought ice-cream for Paul while he poured sambuca in his coffee and exchanged intelligence with friends in Bronx-Italian slang. This educational method, though not recommendable from a pedagogic standpoint, created an indelible bond between the two, while giving Paul the delusion of being a pocket-sized man rather than a kid.
Indeed, Arturo was a simple man content with a frugal life. They lived on modest means provided by a faltering business; a small convenience store at a corner of a street that could just about survive the competitive intrusion of chain markets. Prices had to be lowered to adjust to the competition reducing the margins to centesimal proportions. Yet, several loyal clients continued to visit out of habit or even social obligation, and they paid when they could or deferred when they could not since Arturo had no notion of keeping track of the balance sheet.
Arturo was also a wannabe musician. So, most of the free time was spent playing in improvised and unpretentious bands. He and his friends would play in parks, and street corners, bars or nightclubs in the neighborhood. Since Arturo saw Paul as his mirror image, he educated him about what he knew best. He purchased a second-hand violin for Paul’s birthday and showed him how to move fingers up and down the strings with one hand holding the bow with the other. That was when Paul was four years old. Paul complied out of good nature, but soon developed affection for the instrument and the teacher. It felt that for the first time in his life he held something concrete in his hands. He was soon inducted into the band, which in turn attracted listeners amused more by the presence of the sweet boy than the music. Coins poured in the hat that were used by the jovial clan to buy hot dogs, drinks for all and ice-creams for the boy. In truth, that money was not needed for a carefree life rooted on simple necessities but gave Paul the satisfaction of contributing of his own to the family business. In the shabby nightclubs, Paul was adopted by dancers, singers and strippers, beautiful women that reminded him of his mother’s image as described by Turo and made him wonder if any of them knew her.
So, for a few years, life proceeded without worries for the two comrades. But good things are not meant to last forever. As the business was failing, Arturo tried to find a paid job with the intent of selling the store. Instead, he remarried. She was a Jewish immigrant from Eastern Europe. A tiny and pretty woman, who carried iron bones under a soft skin. The carefree life soon dissipated. Paul was confronted with the preposterous concept that school is not about survival but excellence. He had started elementary grades at a public school because each day, before opening the store, Arturo would walk him there holding his hand. Arturo also explained that this was what children are supposed to do and it seemed reasonable to try learning something since he had to be there anyways. But learning was more about pleasing the teacher than for any long-term purpose. He was a decent student, liked by the teacher most of all because of his agreeable temperament. But when Naomi took control of the household, expectations soared. Even playing with the band depended upon performance. Good grades, one plays; bad grades, stay home and study.
It turned out that Naomi was a well-educated pedagogue, who taught education to future teachers in her original Country. For her, Paul, whatever title he held in the family’s organizational chart, became, whether he liked it or not, de facto her son. To better appreciate the woman’s mindset, I should tell you that she once had a son of her own, who would have been a little older than Paul but died of leukemia. Perhaps, that was the cause for her migration from a forlorn past towards the New World.
Although, her credentials could have paved the way to become a teacher in New York, she thought better to fix her husband’s business. Having a great deal of common sense, she came up with the preposterous idea that as a starter one may want to keep a balanced sheet, for example, requesting debtors to become solvent, independent of any personal relationships with Arturo, who with his leniency had accumulated more friends than he could afford. In addition, her bones being made of iron and despite the tiny figure, she could negotiate much better deals with vendors than Arturo would have ever dreamed of. She also promoted a differentiation strategy expanding the offerings of the convenience story to target ethnic preferences in an evolving neighborhood; nimble adjustments not easy to match by the bureaucracy of big corporations. In summary, with Arturo following her marching orders, and Paul helping behind the counter, it took little time for Naomi to turn the business profitable and even prosperous.
One day Paul in a peaceful moment spent with Arturo at the nearby park asked:
“Turo, do you think that it was a mistake to marry Naomi?”
To which Arturo replied:
“My dear Paul, I didn’t do many things right in my life, and I made many mistakes. Therefore, marrying Naomi must be one of them. But if it is, it is the best mistake I ever made!”
And then he asked: “Why did you ask? Don’t you like her?”
“She is too bossy, not only with me but with you as well. She acts as if she is the man of the household, and we are a bunch of little girls. She also wants me to study more than I already do. But I do not want to. We were happy, we had all we needed, what is the point to change; don’t they say, if it is not broken, don’t fix it? The teachers are happy with me, and I pass my classes!”
“Yes, but there is more than just passing in life. Look at me. I barely finished high school and I am not for sure a beacon. Don’t you want to be more ambitious than this? Do you want to spend all your life in the Bronx like me? Don’t you know that there is a bigger world out there?”
“What is wrong with your life, with our life? It is just fine. I can work in the shop, I love working there, and I can deliver the goods, I can take care of the displays, I can tell my friends to buy stuff at our place. And then we can play in the free time as much as we want.”
Who could argue with that? Why would one want to fix something that it is not broken? That argument resonated well with Arturo …but bore no chance with Naomi.
“Paul, life is bigger than the Bronx” she would say “and you are a pensive boy. You must explore! Besides, trust me, education is not that daunting. Your teachers think highly of you, and they think that you could do much better if you just apply a little more ambition. They say that you are great at math. Come on Paul, in your dreams, what would you like to be one day?”
“I want to become a musician.” Was Paul’s first reaction perhaps in retaliation to the anti-band curfews that, according to his account, he had to endure way too often.
“But this may not be very practical, it is difficult to make a living as a musician.”
And since he was not answering, to honor Paul’s answer to her question, and demonstrate appreciation for his effort, she continued:
“I tell you what, why don’t we start with some music lessons then? This way we can test whether there is a future. And no worries about tests or grades, take the lesson just for fun without any exams ahead!”
“But I already know how to play.”
“That makes it easier but still it will not hurt to learn from a teacher.”
As so it was that a few weeks later Naomi had movers carry a secondhand piano in very much need for tuning into the tiny living room.
Continued in: An unforgettable dinner, Part 2
[1] You are beautiful it is a pleasure to host you here.
[2] Very spicy and spreadable sausage from Calabria
Francesco Marincola 
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