Nine Red Roses
My mother-in-law paid us a visit once, years ago, promising only to stay for a few hours, yet it was enough for me to realise I wouldnt cope much longer. I made some excuse that I was off to the baths, gathered my things, and set off.
But misfortune dogged my steps: the local baths were closed for refurbishment, the windows shuttered, and my mood darkened even further. Going back home so soon was out of the question.
I wandered the streets, loitering with little purpose. Shops held no interest for me; browsing was hardly what a man would do. Eventually, I dropped onto a bench and let out a long sigh.
As I sat there, a couple caught my eye husband and wife, no younger than sixty. Well-dressed, strolling arm-in-arm, lost in conversation. She held his elbow tenderly as they talked, walking without hurry as though the rest of the world had melted away.
And I, watching them, mused to myself: “They have endless things to say to one another. Its been fifteen years for my wife and mewhats left unspoken? These days, silence fills our evenings.”
Then, right before me, the man paused and gently straightened his wifes scarf, fussing with a loving patience before they moved along.
A pang of envy struck mesomehow they had kept their love alive. We, on the other hand, had stopped even noticing each other years ago.
My wife, Anne, is a dainty, thin womanone of those constantly weary sorts. There came a time she stopped caring for herself, content with little. She works in a factory, minding two children, a woman always busy. She never rests, a cloud of chores always about hera cloth in one hand, mop in the other, hair tangled, wearing her old dressing gown even at supper.
She had long forgotten how to smile. Always so serious, her brow set. She would only visit the hairdresser when it became absolutely unavoidable, even a shame to be seen on the street.
I sat on that bench reflecting, “Once, we loved each other fiercely. Where did it all vanish to?” I tried to reach for that lost feeling, andmiraculouslya spark returned: a gentle tenderness, soft and warm.
It flooded through me, leaving traces of warmth. A wave of pity for Anne overcame me, and I desperately wanted to do something kindsomething right now. Sitting there made no sense, kindness couldnt wait. Before I knew it, I was on my feet, striding briskly without knowing where.
The answer appeared abruptlyI nearly collided with a florists stand. “Should I buy her flowers? Shell think Ive lost my wits, call me a fool, say its a waste of pounds, when the children need new plimsolls for school.” I hesitated, torn.
Yet the warmth inside me settled the matter. I went in. The girl at the counter greeted me, eyes curious, while I tried to recall how this workedI hadnt bought flowers in fifteen years. A single rose, perhaps? But something inside me whispered, “Dont make such a pitiful gesture; just one wont do.”
So I found myself saying, “Nine, please. Red ones.” Immediately I blushed at my own extravagancewhat madness was this? But the words, once spoken, were out.
Stepping back onto the pavement clutching the bouquet, I felt as though every passer-by knew my secret and judged me. I phoned home to be sure Annes mother had left, and climbed the stairs, a flutter in my chestthis was so unlike me. “Shell send me straight back out with the flowers, or throw them in the bin if Im unlucky,” I thought nervously.
Anne stood at the table, setting down a bag of flour, hands still clean from shopping. I approached, heart thumping, while she looked up, none the wiser.
“Anne, these are for you. Just because. You wont shout at me, will you?”
She didnt take them immediately, staring at me as though I might vanish along with the roses. “For you, Anne. Really.”
At last she took the bouquet, lifted the blooms to her face, a tiny smile flickeringnot the factory, nor chores, nor our fifteen lived years seemed to matter anymore.
She whispered, almost not daring to say it, “Thank you.”
The vase found its place in the centre of the table, nine crimson roses lighting the room. Anne ran her fingers thoughtfully over the petals, then stood before the mirror, smoothing her hair self-consciously.
Her face softened, some of the old worry shifting aside to let in a touch of wonder. I came and put my arm about her waist, neither of us speaking for a time.
For a fleeting moment, Anne pausedjust for a moment.
