paix oubliée.
- vfelice4
- Jun 5, 2024
- 8 min read
Vincent Bertolini-Felice / 6.5.24.
“I wouldn’t have come if I knew it was going to rain.” A small film of the tawny brown coffee painted the gold trimmings of the eggshell saucer. The man who spoke first set down his coffee as he pursed his mouth upwards to compensate for the unexpected heat of the coffee. The drink was more saccharine than anything else; the bitter aromas that coated the marble table of the cafe dissipated as soon as the waiter set down a glass box freshly lined with sugar cubes.
“It hasn’t rained yet.” The man sitting adjacent to him positioned his frame outside their nook to fix his gaze upwards towards the neon lighting adorning the upper levels of the awning that lied above them.
“I don’t like being uneasy about the weather. I didn’t bring an umbrella.” The man looked at the small engraving on the ring marking his fourth finger, his hands still straddling the barren side of the espresso cup.
“It’ll cool down in the rain. Lord knows we need it.” The second man smiled up at the waiter as he uncorked the glass head of a prismatic bottle furnished with Brandy.
“Has it rained much in the city?”
“I spent the summer in the countryside. I only returned when the leaves started to change color. Since then, it’s been exceptionally dry.” The latter sentence was interrupted by an observation of the liquid as if it were entirely foreign.
“I don’t understand why you chose this cafe.” The increasingly irritable man flicked his wrist up aggressively to bring his watch to eye level. He returned his watch to his side equally belligerent to scan around the increasingly crowded plaza. In looking at his watch he deduced the cafe would become increasingly crowded with those leaving work. His growing disgust bordered on concealed rage to the point of an angered exit.
“What do you make of the lovers, Felix?” The second man could sense Felix’s bottled frustration and attempted a diversion to temper Felix’s uncomfortable instability.
“Poor. Poor wealth, poor thoughts.” The couple sat equidistant apart a lengthier table on the opposite side of the stone tiled square. The only divider between Felix and the couple was a flower planter sparsely coated in roses. The tint that decorated Felix’s line of sight did not distract from his dejected cynicism.
“They don’t drink, and they eat bare. I don’t know why they bother staying in the city.” The other man looked at him quizzically. His expression was one of a disappointed understanding, as if he expected no different.
“The man is much younger than the woman. The woman comes here to paint regularly. She spends little and speaks less. Her husband returned from service recently and spends his days wandering the town for work. They’re in love.” The man responded to Felix’s assertations as he nursed the fluted ribbing on the exterior of the brandy glass.
“Why ask me if you already knew, Lewis?” Felix grew increasingly disconnected as he reached into the stitching of his navy-blue blazer fishing for the pack of cigarettes entrenched in the depths of the jacket.
“I wanted to see how you acted. I didn’t learn anything new.” Felix dangled a cigarette on the ledge of his mouth, fishing for a lighter before being met with the swooping flicker of the waiter.
A half-hearted grin, biting on the tip of the cigarette was diverted into a side eyed stare back at Lewis.
“I was surprised to hear you were wedded.” Felix ashed his first breath of the cigarette as he nodded in unison to the emotionless compliment.
“She’s been in Nice visiting her mother since the honeymoon.” Felix spoke very matter-of-factly. His disheartened tone fluttered off as he poured a fraction of the French Press into the glass of sugar partially stained with the bright hue of the milk drenched coffee.
“And you aren’t with her?” “I haven’t gone to France since the summer after my father-” Felix’s sentence trailed off. He stooped his head down in a swooping motion as he ran his fingers around the handle of the ceramic cup, just now eyeing the stains adorned the trim, splotching the gilded lining.
“I was surprised my correspondence arrived. I was pleasantly surprised it was acknowledged.” Lewis attempted to meet the slumped gaze of Felix to reciprocate a sympathetic eye.
“I regret doing so. The train to Madrid was enough to deter me from going through this.” Felix gestured over to the bottle graced with an emblem of a Lion. The abrasive gesture of a Lion bearing its paws in an attacking motion lie above an engraved title reading, “VALOR”. Lewis nodded in approval as Felix struggled with the head of the bottle in a panicked manner.
“I wasn’t aware my presence would make you relive this.”
“It’s not just your presence. It’s your refusal to change.”
The weather began to sour. An onslaught of aggressive and weighty droplets battered the canvas awning. Felix sought out the lovers at the uncovered cafe parallel to his. They ran in opposite directions to duck under differing facades to hide their uncovered faces. The man looked lost, as if he couldn’t remain calm hiding from the weather without the presence of his other. The woman seemed content to bide her time in solitude.
“My hand was forced. I had to change.” Lewis retorted in a slow manner, as if he was dragging out the latter half of his thought to slow the burn of the sentiment.
Felix chose not to respond. He sniffed his nose and winced his face, masking his mind by focusing on an imaginary itch brewing at the brim of his nose. The Brandy had barely left his glass and it already was weighing a heavy impact on his ability to see the conversation through.
“It was not a time in your life to deal with it. That was not your fault.” Lewis was almost perpendicular to Felix. The chairs that originally sat diagonally, tangent to the table facing outwards had lost their original orientation. The chair of Lewis had made a 180 to face the unchanging exterior of Felix’s Italian silks.
It had become evident to Felix that Lewis' gaze was ever fixed on his right cheek. Out of fear that his eyes might wander too close to Lewis’ mind, he faced away towards the division leading to the entrance of the cafe.
“I don’t wish to speak of this anymore. I-”
“Felix, I know you’re-”
“No.” Felix responded in a collected manner. He raised his palm as his eyelids buckled, not wishing to hear any bits of closure Lewis sought.
“You’re the same man I didn’t understand then.” It became clear to both parties that Felix needed to say this. The words came out quicker than Felix intended. He feared having to repeat himself for fear of an inability to repeat them. In content, the words had no more sting than any frustration or qualm Felix had expressed before, yet it was the most difficult phrase to grace his speech.
“I accept that you view me that way.” It began to thunder. The rain had halted to a calming melancholy and the thunder felt friendly. The harsh crashes no longer scarred the young child, rather embraced the misunderstood creatures that could not fathom a loving pain.
“You must know I can’t believe that. You are smart enough to know you shouldn’t say that.” The heat of the moment had seen the prism be denied its volume and the bottle’s burn to cool the heart of the unbreakable exterior clad in broken dreams.
“I didn’t expect you to grasp the effect time has had on me.”
“I know time doesn’t change the way you believe it does.” Almost as if it were nothing more than pure instinct, Lewis gestures his hand towards Felix, yearning for a cigarette from the pack half-lying off the table that never seemed to have enough room. The snow-white exterior of the package almost blended in with the degraded marble. The pristine condition of the table simply reduced to a noticeable decay scuffing the yellow hue that now resides on the previously stainless crystal.
They were a French brand. The minimalist shade of white lined with no other marking than an impalpable line of text that lied uneven on the indentation of the package. It read, “paix oubliée.” Lewis’ tilted his head slightly as it took some time to realize he had grabbed the wrong end; Lewis, now facing the proper end of the French phrase he could not understand gestured towards Felix as if he was confused.
Felix did not tell if his sardonic expression was indicative of judgement or inquisition.
“Forgotten Peace. The brand is no good, but they are cheap, and I enjoy them regardless.”
“Do you remember the watch my mother bought you when you visited us in the spring?” “I do. It was a secondhand watch with a cracked leather band. I could not read the numerals, but I wore it nonetheless.”
“I was going to purchase a watch from the same watchmaker for you. The shop is owned by his son, but the watches are as fine as ever. Mother would be delighted that I no longer needed to beg for a dollar shorter than the tag asked for.”
“What stopped you?” “A voice in my head told me you grew out of that watch. Another one told me that you wouldn’t appreciate that it wasn’t recognizable from fields away.”
“Which one did you listen to.”
"Neither.”
Lewis took the moment of solace that accompanied his final thought to light the cigarette that was slimmer than he imagined. The gap between his fingers that housed the cigarette was nearly skinny enough for his fingers to touch.
“How was the ceremony?” Felix immediately understood he had reverted to conversation about his wedding.
“It was quick. She doesn’t have much family and I don’t have much time.” “Did you dance?” Felix didn’t make eye contact with Lewis but was evidently offended by the question. A patience that was a far cry from a fair ask to Felix had degraded from an uncertain courtesy to an unwanted veil.
“I watched her dance. She was beautiful in her dress. I just did not feel the urge to dance, so I didn’t dance.”
It was at this moment, the monochromatic vest of the waiter loomed over the shadowed side of the miniscule alcove central to the neon lighted Madrid Street.
“I do not care for the Brandy.” Felix spoke to Lewis as if it was a demand for the waiter to abide by. Lewis gestured towards the leaning hand of the waiter as if to allow him to keep the final drops of the bottle to remain at the table.
“Have you had this Brandy before?” Lewis posed this question as if he knew the answer as he returned his bulky brass lighter to the linen stitching of his relaxed tunic.
“I have never had Brandy before.” “Do you allow yourself to indulge?” “I cannot stomach the burn.” Felix lingered on the answer he left. He felt he no longer needed to explain his actions to the seemingly omniscient man he still could not face. His chair remained locked towards the dissipating drops of rain puddling near the shallow curb. The red light reflected a fraction of the sign directly above the two men. As Felix fixed his eyes on the “ale” of the neon reading, “El Aleman Triste”, he resolved to limit his speech.
“I wish you could speak to me without seeing the past.” Lewis’ tone had diminished to a defeated sadness. His words closer to tears than Felix could fathom.
“I wish it didn’t rain.”
“I have learned to love the rain.”
“I wish I could learn.”
Lewis poured the remaining drops of the Brandy into Felix’s glass. The amber drink failed to form more than a soft puddle. The reflection not enough to show Felix the limpid pools his eyes were drowning in. It burned all the same.
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