I Looked for the One My Heart Loves (20 page)

34

Anne went through customs
at the airport. In the hall, dozens of people were waiting for the passengers. Alexis briskly walked over to her.

“At last,” he whispered.

Neither one of them cared for public displays of affection, and so they merely hugged. After Anne retrieved her suitcase, they hurried outside to hail a cab.

As they drove toward Vienna, he kept his hand in hers. It had been almost a year since they had last seen each other, but nothing about her had changed. Her elegant beige trench coat, walking shoes, and hair in a ponytail gave her a youthful look. Who would have guessed she was forty years old?

“I couldn't wait for that plane to land,” Alexis told her.

When he had arrived in Austria two days earlier, he had gone to the Lycée Français to meet with the principal. Then, he had looked for a furnished apartment. Until now, nothing had grabbed his attention. But how could things have been any different, since all he was able to think about was Anne's arrival?

For their few days together, he had selected a hotel whose Biedermeier decor he knew would please Anne. As soon as he shut the door to their room, he took her in his arms, waltzed her around, and kissed her again and again.

“Tell me you're really here,” he whispered. “That this isn't a dream.”

“I was going to say the same thing,” Anne said.

The two looked at each other as if they had just survived a major catastrophe. After a long separation, they had to get used to each other's presence. They no longer had to cling to memories, fantasies, and dreams. Here they were, lovers, bewildered after being away from each other for so long.

Until the end of the afternoon, they stayed in their room. Through the window's tulle curtains, Anne could see the sky getting dark. She kissed her half-asleep lover on the forehead, got up, and walked to the window. Once again, she had left Paris to be with Alexis. Coming up with an alibi was made easier by her recent professional changes. Didn't she have to travel in order to meet promising artists? This time she had invented some Czech painter who had fled his homeland. …

It was still daylight as they walked down the street. Anne enjoyed the spring breeze. Compared to San Francisco, the Austrian capital looked dark and closed in on itself. Would Alexis get used to all these imposing buildings? She asked him the question as they stood in front of the Hofburg.

“I had that same impression the first day I was here,” Alexis said. “But it quickly went away.”

He also told Anne that when he learned of his transfer, he wasn't all that thrilled. He would have preferred a city closer to France. But then he started reading about the history of Central Europe, as well as the region's writers, artists, and musicians. He discovered a fascinating universe. He read Sigmund Freud, Arthur Schnitzler, and Stefan Zweig, looked at paintings by Gustav Klimt and Egon Schiele, listened to Gustav Mahler's symphonies.

In a café that had kept its turn-of-the-century feel, he told Anne how much he enjoyed Vienna.

“Tomorrow I'm going to take you to the Belvedere, and then the Albertina. I was there yesterday, but I want to go back with you. …”

It had taken very little time for them to be in sync again. As he listened to Anne talk about the purchase of her gallery, Alexis thought about all he had done to make their relationship work. Looking at Anne right now, he wondered how he had managed to be without her the past year. Without the presence of his son and the friendship he shared with Phil and Lizzie, he might not have made it. How many times had he thought of leaving Geneviève, who kept going from periods of suspicious euphoria to threats of committing suicide? Though she was being treated by a psychiatrist, she could never seem to remain stable. When he told her about their move to Austria, she had taken the news positively. The nearby mountains and the winter weather would remind her of Montreal, she had said. If she only knew that Alexis had planned all of it for his own reasons … Honest by nature, Alexis hated having to lie over and over again. But it was, unfortunately, the price to pay in order to avoid fights that might spin out of control.

“There's a small, secret room in the gallery,” Anne said. “I decided it keep it for the two of us. When you come to Paris, we'll be able to take refuge there.”

“Our very own place,” he said.

“Where we can keep whatever we want.”

Because of the jet lag, Alexis didn't sleep much during the night. Lying still, he listened to his lover's breathing. His naked stomach rested against her hip. Her floral and powdery perfume tickled his nostrils. It was the same one she had worn since the beginning of their relationship, and he would have recognized it among thousands of others! Three years had passed since he had first set foot in the Galerie Kircher. Three years, during which they had only spent four weeks together, had sent a few hundred letters to each other, had talked dozens of times on the phone. In spite of all the obstacles, nothing had altered their feelings.

When Anne woke up, he told her about that.

“Did we drink some kind of love potion when we were kids?” she asked, laughing.

“I don't like the idea of a magic potion. Attraction is all about choice, not some cosmic fate!”

Forgetting the splendors of the Austrian Empire for a while, Anne and Alexis made their way to the Belvedere and its museum, where the works of artists of the Vienna Secession were exhibited. Between 1892 and 1906, artists had revolutionized painting, architecture, and decoration. Turning their backs on academicians, they turned to organic forms, floral compositions, and an abundance of curves. Alexis took Anne to the rooms dedicated to Gustav Klimt, the water landscapes, the houses merging with foliage, the elegant and feverish young women. Anne lingered over each painting. Then she headed for one of the museum's centerpieces:
The Kiss
. In an explosion of gold, a man wearing an elaborate geometric patterned robe held a young woman in his arms. Kneeling on a flower-covered pedestal, they appeared indifferent to the outside world. The man's face was turned to the woman's as he kissed her. The woman's eyes were shut, her face calm and her hair sprinkled with flowers. A mutual strength and trust emanated from the couple, who seemed to have not a care in the world. Looking at them, Anne was reminded of
The Songs of Songs
. Filled with mysticism and sensuality, this embrace was, for her, the quintessence of love. Both there for each other, while retaining their own individuality.

“That's Gustav Klimt with Emilie Flöge,” Alexis said. “She was his lover for many years, even though they pretended otherwise.”

“Isn't this painting an indisputable expression of their love?” Anne said.

Before walking away from the painting, she added, “If Adam and Eve hadn't yielded to temptation, they would've looked like that couple. They seem to know nothing about guilt.”

Alexis was right. Vienna was not a suffocating city. The boats floating down the Danube River, the parks where irises and tulips grew, the bandstands, the open-air cafés—it all made for a charming urban environment.

“It's hard to believe that the Iron Curtain is only a few miles away,” Alexis said.

Since his arrival, he had thought about the women and men who, living under the Soviets, were deprived of their most basic freedoms—freedom of thought, expression, movement. Victims of a totalitarian regime, they had to deal with an extremely well-orchestrated mass brainwashing, as well as the constant fear of reprisal if they ever stepped out of bounds. They lived their lives year after year without the possibility of fulfilling themselves. Those born after the Yalta Conference had known nothing but this negation of individual rights. What would Alexis have done if he had been born on the other side of the watchtowers and the barbed wire? No doubt, like most others, he would have bowed his head and put up with a harsh life. Musing about all this made him realize even more clearly how fortunate he was. That he and his son were able to flourish in an environment where individual rights and liberties were respected as an incredible privilege. He said so to Anne.

“You're so right,” she said. She looked at the people going by them on Grabenstrasse with all its fancy shops. “And it's also so very easy to forget,” she added.

The following day, Alexis got up early to prepare for his meetings. The Lycée Français's principal wanted to see him one more time before he went back to the States, and the real estate agency had apparently found the “perfect place” for him.

“What are you going to do with your day?” he asked Anne, who was stretching in bed.

“I haven't planned anything.”

After Alexis left, Anne stayed under the covers for a while. For the past three days, they had woken up together, had fallen asleep together. They hadn't looked at their watches, and they had spent all their time in each other's presence. The room was strewn with their clothes, their stuff. They had been in perfect harmony since meeting at the airport. A smile on her face, she recalled their visit to the Stephansdom, remembered the Albertina that contained other Gustav Klimt paintings. She could still hear what Alexis had whispered in her ear as they stood in front of Egon Schiele's erotic drawings.

By midmorning, Anne was ready to go. Without any precise goal in mind, she began walking the streets of the Innere Stadt of Vienna, stopping in squares adorned with medieval statues. Hungry, she walked into Demel, the renowned pastry shop that had catered to the imperial court. A waitress wearing a black dress and a white apron showed her to a table. The feast was about to begin. Choosing was difficult, between the bakery's famous Sacher torte and strudel, the cream puffs and the meringues. Anne finally went for two pieces of cake, chocolate and orange liqueur. She also ordered a Viennese coffee. All around her, people of all ages seemed to be enjoying themselves in this temple of whipped cream and candied fruit—old gentlemen, ladies wearing hats, young women chatting and bursting into laughter … Anne felt happy in this warm atmosphere. In the middle of the afternoon, she was going to join Alexis for new discoveries. Since the beginning of their relationship, she had never experienced a dull moment with him. As a matter of fact, he stimulated her by opening the door to worlds she had never explored before. Nothing escaped his inquiring mind and keen eye. Opening her handbag, she took out the postcard of
The Kiss
Alexis had bought her in the museum's shop.

“So they can keep
The Lovers
company,” he had said.

Alexis was waiting for her in the hotel lobby, reading a tourist guide. Anne didn't walk up to him right away. Instead, she examined him. He looked so carefree.

“I know more about what I'm going to be teaching,” he said. “French literature and English to freshmen.”

“That's exactly was you were hoping for!”

He had also found a place in the Alsergrund district. A four-room apartment freshly painted and nicely furnished. So as not to make Anne feel sad, he didn't talk about that.

“I have a surprise for you,” he said, watching Anne's reaction.

He took out two tickets from his jacket's breast pocket.

“I found seats for the opera. Tonight, we're going to see
Cos
ì
Fan Tutte
.”

“But I thought it was sold out!”

“Never underestimate my determination.”

Sitting in the fifteenth row, Alexis let his mind wander. For a few days now, he had been sharing his life with Anne. How was he going to endure being with Geneviève in this city? How long would he have to suffer for a wife who had become a stranger to him? He remained set on not leaving her until their son was old enough to take care of himself. Until then, he would have to tolerate the situation. …

Sitting next to him, Anne's full attention was onstage. The gorgeous music and some of the opera's more amusing situations made her smile. Several times, she could feel Alexis' gaze upon her.

Out on Ringstrasse, he hailed a taxi that took them back to the hotel. Once in the room, Alexis grabbed Anne by the arm and kissed her violently. Then he tore off her clothes and, without any preliminaries, made love to her. There was something akin to anger in his gestures. Upright, her dress at her feet, Anne felt the same passion. It was as though both needed to physically ward off the pressures that the real world was putting on them.

In the middle of the night, Anne saw that he wasn't sleeping and she snuggled against him.

“I didn't want to move and wake you up,” he whispered.

“Still jet-lagged?”

“No, but my mind is spinning.”

“Tell me about it.”

Darkness making it easier to confide, Alexis said, “I love you, Anne. I mean, what I'm talking about is a feeling so deep that it makes me happy and scared at the same time. I love you for all that you are, all you make me see, all you give me. With you, it's like I see the world in a new way. … With you, I can be who I really am.”

Anne listened to this moving declaration without interrupting him.

“And you?” he finally said.

“I love you, too. I've always been in love with you.”

“But you knew nothing about me. … We were so young.”

“I know, but I still knew in my heart that I had to find you again. But, you know, I don't really want to understand the reason for it. I want the mystery of it all to remain intact.”

“I can't be satisfied with us being together just once in while like this. To think that you're going back home soon drives me insane. For me, love is about growing. I want to look after you, protect you … Instead of that, we're having this clandestine affair. …”

“Don't you think that this is the best way to protect the purity of our relationship?”

Alexis let out a sigh. In a way, she was right. He wouldn't want to share Anne with anyone else, friend or family members.