Babayaga

When he awoke, her pillow was empty and the room was dead quiet. He lay there thinking about all he had felt with her, how exposed and vulnerable, yet paradoxically also safe and assured. In the throes of their passion, he felt as though he had pulled back every layer and laid himself open to her, still wordless and yet revealing more than he had ever confessed, even to himself. He knew a threshold had been crossed, and that what he was feeling now was deeper than the various flirtations and romanticism and thoughtless screwing around that had come before. Because now she held some part of him, an indescribable, essential, and secret part, what he was at his best, a knowledge of his true potential, what he was made of, who he could be. He needed to be with her again, perhaps for as long as he remained in Paris, however long that would be, or perhaps for the length of his life, for if she did leave him she would be taking with her that essential part of him, and then he knew he would never feel whole again. The more he lay there thinking about it, the more certain he was. She had become an integral part of him, the person he would not be able to fully live without. He did not know if he lived within her in a similar way, but he suspected he might. It felt too strong not to be mutual. An exchange had occurred, of comfort, of knowledge, of intimacy.

He knew he was not being sentimental, it was more scientific than that, chemical to the point of being elemental, or maybe tribal, he could not say. All he knew was that they were one now. It was as simple as that. You didn’t need an advanced degree to figure it out, or a priest to tell you it was so. He rose from the bed and wound the sheet around himself.

Wandering through the dark apartment, he sought a sign of her presence, a note or a clue that she had actually been there and might be coming back. All he found was an irritation from the scratches on his back and the lingering scent of woodsmoke. Other than that, it was as if he had always been alone.

He lit a cigarette and sat on his couch, watching again as the sun came up over Paris. Looking back, he did not recognize the man he had been that morning when he had awoken hungover on the bench beneath the Pont Neuf. Since then, everything about him seemed to have changed. How was it possible for someone to travel such a great distance within himself in such a short period of time?

There was a ringing from the downstairs doorbell and Will rushed for the buzzer. It was her, he knew it, coming back, she could not have left him, it made no sense. He was surprised, moments later, when he opened the door to find Guizot standing there.

“Hello!” The little man burst past him into the apartment. “I went by your office yesterday, they say you are not there, they have no idea where you are. So I called here, I even came by yesterday afternoon. But today, aha, today I got you! I knew if I came early I would catch you, and I did. Where have you been hiding? It does not matter. But, my God, look at you, you look pathetic, we should get some caffeine into you.”

He went straight to the kitchen, put the kettle on, and began going through the cupboards, pulling out the coffee, the press pot, and the sugar. All the while he talked. “I met a girl, Will. A lovely girl! I know, I know, you say, ‘What of your wife, Guizot? Oh, you adored her so.’ Ah, well, my friend, you cannot waste your whole life worrying about one woman. So I am getting a divorce. It is not my style, no, I agree, and it will give my Catholic mother a heart attack—and it is going to be expensive—but we only each get one life, right? And this new girl, she is also going to be expensive too, ha ha, I could tell that right away. But worth it! So, I tell you what I am going to do. I am going to make my new girl a new perfume. I’ve already got a name for it: Eglantine. We are going to sell it by the truckload and make a mint. The best part? My wife’s lawyers won’t be able to touch the profits, right? Because I made this perfume after she left. My lawyers have it all figured out. Modern romance, Will, it’s crazy wonderful, is it not? Wait, what is the matter? You look like I just shot your dog.”

“I’m sorry, Guizot. I’m really not up for this right now.”

“Of course you are, you are my advertising genius! I need you. I know I fired you, forget it, don’t be mad. It’s over. We’re going to do this together, today, right now.”

“I don’t think so, Guizot.”

“Listen”—the little man shook his finger at Will—“I want to tell you this, whatever shit is going on in your life, it has no place in your work. That is the most important part of any man’s life. Work is the only thing that means anything. Ever. Whatever your problem is, you roll up your sleeves, you spit in your hands, you rub them together, and you work. Work can solve the biggest problems in the world. Money issues? Family? Constipation? I tell you, Will, work solves it.”