They stand before one another, unsure how to proceed.
The window behind Mariana frames the harbor and the gently swaying boats moored at the docks, the sky a warship grey. Clifford, though hesitant, moves towards her, then kisses her. He kisses her with a confidence that surprises Mariana. Desire thought lost.
They make love slowly, tenderly. How they used to.
Afterwards, in the darkness of the hotel room, Mariana turns to face Clifford, her face resting on her palm, a shadowy tendril of hair falling over one eye.
‘This was a good idea,’ she says.
‘Yes. It was,’ Clifford says, almost a whisper.
He truly wants to believe that, but he’s unsure.
The following morning they ride the ferry to Bygdøy. A sudden spray of cold water from the harbor catches them unawares. Laughter ensues. It’s the kind of laughter neither of them enjoyed in quite some time. It triggers fond memories, though that’s all they are now. Gradually, reality reasserts itself, then all is quiet again.
Mariana leans on the railing, framed by the expansive grey sky, the biting winds blowing her hair across her face. ‘Do you think it’s love or obligation?,’ she asks, almost as if it were an afterthought.
Clifford studies her, the leans on the railing beside her. ‘It’s hard to tell sometimes,’ he says, not looking at her. ‘Maybe a little of both?’
Mariana doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to.
Over the next few days the initial excitement begins to dissipate. Oslo, which Clifford initially praised, particularly for its cleanliness, becomes sterile, a mirror of his insatiable boredom. Too orderly. Almost unreal. Mariana complains about the cold, the high prices, how she can’t buy the things she desires — a new pair of shoes, the nice dress she saw at the boutique, or the food at the upscale restaurant she desperately wanted to try. Clifford counts every krone, refuses to spend beyond their tight budget. It’s a fallback to habits they hoped to free themselves from. All they did was pack them along in their suitcases.
For a change of pace, they take the tram up to Holmenkollen. The city fans out wide, green and blue, and grey, and the fjords beyond.
‘This is it?’, Clifford says. ‘We came all this way for this?’
‘What did you expect?’
He has no answer.
The air is heavy between them, as are the years.
Finally, Clifford says, ‘I don’t know. I guess I was expecting something different.’
Mariana looks away, absorbs the view which Clifford will not allow himself to see. ‘What, exactly?’, she asks.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Did you ever wonder how much effort is made to fix something that is permanently broken?’
Clifford doesn’t answer her.
‘No matter how hard one tries…’
‘I get the point,’ Clifford interrupts.
They decent in the tram in silence, rattling through the bare trees.
Ten o’clock in the morning and Clifford still sleeps. Up for hours, Mariana distracts herself, trying to alleviate her boredom, scrolling through her cellphone and answering text messages. It becomes unbearable. Silence, save for Clifford’s light snoring.
‘Come on, wake up,’ Mariana says, prodding Clifford with her finger. ‘I want to get out of here.’
‘Let me sleep,’ Clifford grumbles. ‘Go on. I’ll meet you later.’
Without another word, Mariana dons her coat, hat, and scarf and leaves.
She walks with no particular destination in mind. Along the Akerselva River, the path is shaded, the ripples in the water meditative. The young couples jogging, the young mothers pushing their strollers, the old men fishing on the bank of the river, all of it a reminder of what she’s lost. She never felt so alone. It never felt so quiet.
She sits on a bench and gazes out across the river, allowing the cold air to seep through the opening in her coat. After awhile, it becomes too much, so she buttons it. She does not move. A still life painting as life moves on all around her. It feels strange to sit there without Clifford by her side. She is only with herself now, the inner voices speaking to her. Confusing, contradicting, sometimes nonsensical. She knows not whether the loneliness she feels makes any difference, whether Clifford is beside her or not. It’s both liberating and terrifying.
Mariana sits on the edge of the bed staring at her hands, which are full of wrinkles and blemishes which once never existed. She stares at them for a long moment.
Clifford, now awake, leans back against the headboard, watches her.
‘Are you all right?’
She slowly turns to face him, her hands still open and face down before her. ‘Do you ever wonder about who you might have been if we hadn’t met?’
He takes a long time to answer her. ‘Sometimes, I suppose. Haven’t you?’
A gentle laugh escapes Mariana’s lips. ‘I have, yes. More so than I used to.’
‘And…?’
She doesn’t answer him and rises from the bed. At the window, she looks down at the harbor, where a young woman stands waiting, elegantly dressed in a long camel hair coat and red scarf. She’s young enough to have her whole life ahead of her, adventures yet to come, dreams yet to accomplish.
‘I wanted to study to be an architect,’ Mariana says.
‘I remember.’
‘I chose marriage, family.’
‘So it’s my fault that you gave up on your dream?’
‘Did I say that?’
‘You’re implying it.’
‘No one forces anyone to do anything. We all make our own choices.’
‘I wanted to be a writer,’ Clifford says.
‘You gave up. You didn’t have to.’
‘I did have to,’ he says. ‘Things change when you bring a child into this world.’
Mariana doesn’t say anything at first, then whispers, ‘I suppose.’
She turns to face him, her eyes playing upon his face. ‘This was not how it was supposed to be, was it?,’ she says.
‘How what was supposed to be?’
‘The tedium, the routine… Even here.’
‘So what you’re saying is that we remain together because it’s easier than starting over.’
‘At our age, the thought of it is terrifying.’
‘As is maintaining the status quo.’
‘That’s not what I’m saying.’
‘It sounds like it.’
‘I don’t even know half of what I say anymore.’
She turns away from him, gazes out the window again. The young woman is no longer there.
DoubleSpeak 