Authors: Roman Payne
The Wanderess (36 page)
1
OMAR KHAYYÁM: 11
th
Century Persian poet and thinker, most famous for his
collection of poems known as
The Rubáiyát
. Khayyám’s poems are highly respected among
scholars and often center around the virtues of wine and intoxicants, as well as the joys of
drunkenness and the romantic advantages of being inebriated to the point of losing
inhibitions. Payne read Khayyám’s poetry with fervor during the brief time he lived in
Muslim Morocco.
“You know, it’s funny,” continued Saul, “I used to have three
ambitions: To visit Florence, experience the white nights, and
then to let the earth swallow me up.”
“You wanted to die after visiting Saint Petersburg?” I asked.
“Well, to be honest…
just imagine that, as a novelist, you like to study man’s character.”
“I’m interested to hear it,” I said.
“It’s just that I don’t believe in living a life in decline. Either
one grows, one blooms, or one diminishes. I wasn’t able to
imagine any way after witnessing the white nights
to continue to
live while growing.
And since I refuse to
live and diminish
, I
wanted to die.”
you’ve seen
the white nights. And you’ve chosen to
live after?”
“With Saskia, I cannot diminish. When lovers are in love,
they don’t diminish. When wanderers wander, they do not
diminish. The world lays itself out beautiful before them; a rich
tapestry to explore; with love in abundance. But for this, a
wanderer must be favored by Fortune. Fortune is
not
“riches,” it is
“Poetic Beauty” that comes by surprise!—like a ship coming in
from Dover…”
And with those words, a ship came in from Dover. It came in
as if summoned by the gods. A vessel emerged from the twilight
and entered the port of Calais: A stately ship, with English flags
fluttering. On the deck, a multitude of passengers: the ladies
brightly-colored in their spring clothing, or else dressed in white;
and the men in their white, or their dark, serious suits, all
gathered for their arrival on the continent. Saul and I raced from
our private dining room out to the great balcony overlooking the
port below. I put on my eyeglasses to see more clearly the horde
of passengers gathering to disembark.
“Saskia is on that ship,” Saul mumbled calmly, “She is on that
ship…” And then he cried out… “There she is!… the beauty wearing
the yellow dress!” He turned to me, “You know how my heart is
racing right now! It will stop beating all together if I don’t hold
her in my arms very soon!”
“Go and meet her, Saul!” I cried, “Don’t wait here a minute
longer. Don’t wait for me. I will hurry down to the port, just the
same. But I have to take it easy on my leg; I will watch you two
from up here… but you run all the same! Saskia is coming
ashore… This will be the first time I will see you and her
coming
together…
and not
splitting apart…”
“Okay, but we will wait for you below by the ship… We’ve
been hoping to find you again for so long. Saskia won’t be happy
to hear how I spent these last two days until she gets to see you
herself… she will insist you spend time with us!
What a perfect
surprise!… À tout de suite
1
!”
Of course I wished to see Saskia again after all these years. From
where I stood on the balcony of the
Lion d’Argent
, all of the port
was lit-up and bright. She looked amazing. She disembarked
from the ship, no longer like the clumsy young girl she was—
albeit
she was a very beautiful
clumsy, young girl… No, now time
had passed for the better, and she was a woman—sophisticated
and alluring. She didn’t skip or hop down the platform; she
walked with the feminine perfection and grace that God, the
sculptor, gives when he has created a masterpiece.
And from my balcony I saw him approach and greet her:
the only man that God created worthy of this woman. Saul took
her bags and embraced her in his arms; while I watched on with
pride and with love. So why on earth would I want to go down to
the port to be with those two? Was I not the author who helped
create their happiness? Did Saul really think Saskia wanted me
there at this moment, when on earth all she wanted was him?
As for me, I had all I wanted… I had their story.
Saul and I
spent all of two days together, separated by a night where neither
of us slept, nor ever wanted to. For two days and one night, Saul
narrated his story, while I set his soul to page for generations of
readers and dreamers, of lovers, and of wanderers and
wanderesses: those tossed among the continents on this, our
pleasant earth. And so I ask you one more time: Do I really need
to go down to the port—amid the travelers in their drab or
colorful dress who grow fewer until gone—so that I can interrupt
the eternal kisses Saskia is giving to Saul? No, I knew better than
to go meet them. Saskia would thank me in her heart for not
coming. Perhaps I will run into them again someday, in some
unexpected place as usual… or perhaps at the Comédie-Française
in Paris.
Until then, I can always read about their love in the novel I
will write from Saul’s story. The book will begin in Italy. And it
will end right here: where Saul left me… I’ve changed my plans
since my arrival in Calais…
Au Bras d’Or
and the gardens of
England can wait. I have something more important to do. And
so, I am finishing to pack my bags this instant, to leave Calais—
and Europe altogether—to travel long and far, very far away. And
so, the novel will end now, just as Saul left me to run down to the
port, so he could leave every person, every soul, everything
behind—so as to meet his love, his
Wanderess
, his life; the woman
he himself had wandered so long to find.