Maria shook her head. No, she wouldn't. You can't treat me differently just yet. I'm confronting my own demons, doing exactly the opposite of what I promised myself I would do. But let's take things slowly; tonight I'll play the part of prostitute or friend or Understanding Mother, even though in my soul I'm a Daughter in need of affection. When it's all over, then you can make me a coffee.
"At the bottom of the garden is my studio, my soul. Here, amongst all these paintings and books, is my brain, what I think."
Maria thought of her own apartment. She had no garden at the back. She did not even have any books, apart from those she borrowed from the library, since there was no point in spending money on something she could get for free. There were no paintings either, apart from a poster for the Shanghai Acrobatic Circus, which she dreamed of going to one day.
Ralf picked up a bottle of whisky and offered her a glass.
"No, thank you."
He poured himself a drink and swallowed it down in one--without ice, without time to savor it. He started talking about intelligent things, but, however interesting the conversation, she knew that he too was afraid of what was going to happen, now that they were alone. Maria had regained control of the situation.
Ralf poured himself another whisky and, as if he were making some utterly inconsequential remark, he said:
"I need you."
A pause. A long silence. Don't help to break that silence, let's see what he does next.
"I need you, Maria. Because you have a light, although I don't really think you believe me yet, and think I'm just trying to seduce you with my words. Don't ask me: 'Why me? What's so special about me?' There isn't anything special about you, at least, nothing I can put my finger on. And yet--and here's the mystery of life--I can't think of anything else."
"I wasn't going to ask you," she lied.
"If I were looking for an explanation, I would say: the woman in front of me has managed to overcome suffering and to transform it into something positive, something creative, but that doesn't explain everything."
It was becoming difficult to escape. He went on:
"And what about me? I have my creativity, I have my paintings, which are sought after by galleries all over the world, I have realized my dream, my village thinks of me as a beloved son, my ex-wives never ask me for alimony or anything like that, I have good health, reasonable looks, everything a man could want.... And yet here I am saying to a woman I met in a cafe and with whom I have spent one afternoon: 'I need you.' Do you know what loneliness is?"
"I do."
"But you don't know what loneliness is like when you have the chance to be with other people all the time, when you get invitations every night to parties, cocktail parties, opening nights at the theater...when women are always ringing you up, women who love your work, who say how much they would like to have supper with you--they're beautiful, intelligent, educated women. But something pushes you away and says: 'Don't go. You won't enjoy yourself. You'll spend the whole night trying to impress them and squander your energies proving to yourself how you can charm the whole world.'
"So I stay at home, go into my studio and try to find the light I saw in you, and I can only see that light when I'm working."
"What can I give you that you don't already have?" she asked, feeling slightly humiliated by that remark about other women, but remembering that he had, after all, paid to have her at his side.
He drank a third glass of whisky. Maria accompanied him in her imagination, the alcohol burning his throat and his stomach, entering his bloodstream and filling him with courage, and she too began to feel drunk, even though she hadn't touched a drop. When Ralf spoke again, his voice sounded steadier:
"I can't buy your love, but you did tell me that you knew everything about sex. Teach me, then. Or teach me something about Brazil. Anything, just as long as I can be with you."
What next?
"I only know two places in my own country: the town I was born in and Rio de Janeiro. As for sex, I don't think I can teach you anything. I'm nearly twenty-three, you're about six years older, but I know you've lived life very intensely. I know men who pay me to do what they want, not what I want."
"I've done everything a man could dream of doing with one, two, even three women at the same time. And I don't think I learned very much."
Silence again, except that this time it was Maria's turn to speak. And he did not help her, just as she had not helped him before.
"Do you want me as a professional?"
"I want you however you want to be wanted."
No, he couldn't have said that, because that was precisely what she had wanted to hear. The earthquake, the volcano, the storm returned. It was going to be impossible to escape her own trap, she would lose this man without ever really having him.
"You know what I mean, Maria. Teach me. Perhaps that will save me, perhaps it will save you and bring us both back to life. You're right, I am only six years older than you, and yet I've lived enough for several lives. Our experiences have been entirely different, but we are both desperate people; the only thing that brings us any peace is being together."
Why was he saying these things? It wasn't possible, and yet it was true. They had only met once before and yet they already needed each other. Imagine what would happen if they continued seeing each other; it would be disastrous! Maria was an intelligent woman, with many months behind her now of reading and of observing humankind; she had an aim in life, but she also had a soul, which she needed to know in order to discover her "light." She was becoming tired of being who she was, and although her imminent return to Brazil was an interesting challenge, she had not yet learned all she could. Ralf Hart was a man who had accepted challenges and had learned everything, and now he
was asking this woman, this prostitute, this Understanding Mother, to save him. How absurd!