RED 2: A Trick of Mirrors [#Wattys2017]

39. Pledge

Marisa randomly gathered and piled clothes, cosmetics and shoes inside the suitcase. She still dithered after Robert's visit, and her hands moved detached from her body, without feeling the items she transferred from here to there. She couldn't dispel from her mind the image of Robert at her door. His agitation was patent and his expression, tortured. Marisa remained rigid holding the doorknob without inviting him in. Robert asked what she had decided. He called her Mari.

Hear him say her nickname, the one only Marco used, shook her conviction. Robert's voice transmitted a tenderness that enveloped her in the spell of promises made on the eve and, for an instant, it was as though the conversation with Eliana had never occurred. Next came to her mind the image of the vampire, the one requiring an invitation to cross the threshold before claiming his victim. Marisa forced herself to return to reality. She repeated Eliana's words to Robert.

Retracting like a wounded animal, he protested: "I can't believe she told you that. Do you know who was diagnosed with pathological narcissism? Eliana. I didn't mention anything because I wanted to spare her. She's unstable, Mari."

This time he uttered her nickname with great intimacy, suggesting their pact was already in progress and wouldn't allow any interference. Marisa stepped aside, hesitant, and Robert entered the cabin. They stood by the door, he with inflamed eyes, she frightened at the violence of her own emotions. She reckoned the uncertainties had quieted, for better or worse. She was wrong.

"Eliana told me about her diagnosis in the first year of our marriage, one evening when we had too much wine," he said. "I loved her and ignored it, I didn't even know the implications of narcissism and couldn't think straight. We were so drunk. Eliana laughed dismissing the subject, next she was crying and made me promise I would never leave her. She tested me to ascertain how far she could go."

Only then Robert fathomed the reason behind his wife's mood swings and fits of rage where before there was solely sweetness and devotion. Eliana accused him of neglecting her, despite Robert doing his best to maintain the domestic peace and even suggesting she quit work to enjoy life. He figured it would make her happy, but Eliana always found a reason to complain or blame him. Other times, she was so affectionate she disarmed Robert.

Trapped in his dilemma, he consulted with a renowned psychiatrist in the hospital where he had his residency training. The colleague explained her condition was irreversible. Robert couldn't reconcile with that fact. In reality, the psychiatrist said, if the situation became unsustainable, he would need to divorce and cut off all contact with Eliana. Otherwise, she would continue to manipulate him and attempt to resume their relationship. That day, tense and tortuous, brought to Robert a warning he disregarded.

He refused to accept there was no hope for Eliana, the victim of a pathology that dominated her emotions, thoughts and actions. She couldn't be punished for that. There must be a way of rescuing her from herself. Eliana kept alternating sadness, joy and rage, fantasizing more and more with scenarios of abandonment and persecution. There were other men during that period and Robert forced himself to be patient, already aware that Eliana provoked him because she suspected he had a mistress. However, that was nothing more than a projection of what she herself was capable of doing.

"Eliana's emotional instability escalated. I tried convincing her to see a psychiatrist. She became indignant and retorted she wasn't crazy." Robert's face denoted defeat. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and added in a broken voice: "There's nothing worse than to watch the suffering of the person you love the most and being unable to help."

His friends had no idea what went on in the privacy of their marriage—in public Eliana was the amicable woman who captivated everyone with small and great gestures. One day Robert confessed to a friend the hell that his life with her was. The friend replied that Robert exaggerated: maybe he was the one in need of therapy as he worked too hard and it harmed his personal life. Robert realized it was useless trying to make his friend or anyone understand the reality of his marriage.

"Besides my colleague psychiatrist and my friend, you're the only person who knows about Eliana's condition. Unfortunately she played you like she did with me and everybody else. When she sensed she couldn't dominate me anymore and I was detaching from her, Eliana sought Marco. Now that she's found out I'm in love with you, she wants to separate us for vengeance. That's the truth."

"Do you swear, Robert?"

"I do. And I swear I love you and will commit to giving you all the happiness within my reach. But I need a counterpart."

"Counterpart?"

"I can wait, Marisa. I can't love for both of us, though. Yesterday you were disturbed and said you loved Marco. And today? Will you keep loving a man who longs for another woman?"

"I don't know," she replied with sincerity.

His countenance revealed a melancholic hope. Robert was about to say something, and a slight nod indicated he'd reconsidered. Before opening the door, he murmured: "I won't pressure you. This decision must come from you."

Marisa's legs weakened and she leaned against the wall. There was this man who wanted her and would do anything for her. His justifications weren't ensnarled in details like Eliana's and, precisely because of that, they sounded more honest and real—Robert had no need to extend into minutia as the truth spoke for itself, whereas it was the lie that required a careful construct to be verisimilar. Zoe's advertence brushed against her, passing by without effect. Marisa was already aware of her own missteps and the problems in a relationship. With Robert, she would make it right and resume the course of her life.

"Wait. I made up my mind."

She touched his shoulder, imagining how many more times she would repeat that gesture when they lived under the same roof. Its sturdiness comforted her. Robert turned back and, for a fraction of a second, Marisa caught something unexpected in his gaze. On the crystalline irises there was no longer the ocean nor the sky and the sun: she faced empty orbs like those of the angel statue guarding the tomb of her father. Marisa thought of Robert's suffering over the years. And then the orbs suddenly filled with blue and warmth. She, at last, understood what they contained.

"Don't ever talk to me again, Robert."

He stared at her, his gaze retreating to the back of the orbs that calloused until all remaining in them was stone, coldness and the discolored vestige of an ephemeral triumph.