They had finally begun to eat.
Everyone had found themselves places to sit in the small apartment. Pierre really wanted to be with Glen and
perhaps with Stephen, only. He was
devoted to them both, for this was the only way in which he was able to
love. Fiercely, quietly, with almost a
religious fervour. To love was like a
religion to him, but only for two people could he experience this love. Now, for the first time, he felt able to
know, and accept this. For already he
felt the change coming. It was because
of Glen. Perhaps because finally Stephen had slackened the tether enough to let
someone else into their relationship?
For Stephen also loved Glen. Pierre felt at times jealous, because he
was sure that he had never received from Stephen such single-hearted ardour,
and to think that it was going out to someone who wouldn’t even permit him to
touch him. Pierre he could have any
time. He felt like cheap goods taken
entirely for granted.
But what was this
door that Glen was opening for him—or in him?
Glen, unlike himself or Stephen, loved neither selfishly nor exclusively,
but loved all the same with a greater power and intensity. Pierre knew that, through Glen, he was being
challenged to risk, to step beyond his safe little enclosure and embrace the
world outside his gate. He didn’t think
that he could do this, feeling too small, limited, weak—he felt too damaged by
life. So then, Pierre must learn to love
others besides the only two people who meant anything at all to him. Well, he might
start with Glen’s mother, who sat with him on the couch. But how could he love a woman for whom he had
experienced no natural feeling, good or bad?
Shyly examining the profile of her face, he saw for the first time how
closely Glen resembled her: the forehead, the nose, eyes, mouth, chin, it was
all there. He caught himself loving at
once the resemblance shared between mother and son. So for the first time, Pierre’s experience of
love began to rise beyond the merely personal, then he felt it growing towards
Marlene, whom he already admired and respected, and looked not at all like
either her brother or her mother. Yet,
because she was the daughter and sister of the reality that held together her
mother and brother, Pierre felt his love enlarge and extend itself to include
Marlene and to draw her in. Then his
attention fell on Marlene’s fiance, Randall, who sat with her on the floor
before the low coffee table off which they were eating. He was her lover, her fiance, which also
connected him to Glen, and to the reality that he shared with his family. Randall thus entered into his heart, and
Pierre was suddenly struck by his dramatic good looks. Dwight and Margery, whom he’d always strongly
liked, were both easy to include in this process, because they were so
important to Glen, and he couldn’t deny that a certain light mingled with love
and joy shone in them all together. His
heart felt like a mound of chocolate ice cream that had been dropped on a
summer sidewalk. Then his attention
shifted to Doris, an old lady. He had
never loved an old lady before, had never had a living grandmother. He almost asked her to be his granny. He suddenly wanted to reach across Glen’s
mother and gently stroke Doris’ grey hair.
Carol and her
friend Derek were a bit of a challenge.
He was rather frightened of Carol, and Derek, though good-looking, also
repelled him. Perhaps because of everything he’d heard about them and their
mutual arrangements. Did she really used
to spank him? Well, he did have a cute
butt, and suddenly he felt stirring the beginnings of a fondness towards them
both, that one day might evolve into love.
He couldn’t connect either with the pregnant woman from Nicaragua, nor
with her daughter. They seemed sad,
lost, and so foreign. But maybe this
pathos he felt suddenly towards them could eventually develop into empathy. He wanted just now to tell them, all of them,
that they were loved, that they were lovely, of infinite value. The door of Pierre’s heart was suddenly flung
open, his eyes and mouth wide with rapture—he had forgotten his plate full of
food on his lap, and he wanted to cry, to sing out in such joy and bliss and
universal love as never he’d known could exist in heaven and earth. He wanted almost to cry. He lifted a fork-load of pasta and sauce into
his mouth. Delicious. Then he reached for an artichoke, that
sweetened his mouth. He suddenly wanted
a cat or a dog, but certainly a non-human creature to love. He felt suddenly alone, enclosed in his own
place among all these people. Still he
desired to reach them again, though just for now, now that he no longer dwelt
there, the distance seemed too great. He
was coming down, feeling now strangely detached, and unable to fully recall his
previous rapture. He not even felt so tied
to Stephen, nor to Glen. Was this the
beginning, for Pierre, of that solitude of which he had always been
frightened? Would he carry this feeling
home with him, to the bed that he shared with Stephen? He suddenly wanted to sleep alone. He had never wanted this, yet now could
recall the stirring of this desire, this need for solitude, the which he had
always carried with him. Soon, very
soon, and he knew this, he would lose altogether his fear of solitude, his fear
of silence, his fear of the dark.
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