Dusk

In secret we met—
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.- Lord Byron

It was a crisp summer evening. George sat by the window of the old age home overlooking the lake. He saw the sun going down at a distance spreading a splash of red around it. Young nurse Betty sat by the lake outside resting her head against her husband's shoulder. Betty's husband often came to pick her up after work and allowed themselves some time in peace to sit by the lake. George wondered what they talk about or if they talk at all. George soaked in the evening. The setting sun, the glittering water in the lake and the young couple. He allowed himself a nostalgic smile and looked at the clock on the wall. It was six in the evening.  He did not know, if he wanted time to move faster or hold still. At the age of eighty-two time was just an illusion.

‘May I come in George?’ said a soft voice from the door behind George. There was no anguish, excitement or anxiety in the voice. As if the woman at the door had spoken to him only the day before. Yet the fact was they had last spoken almost half a century ago. Forty-seven years ago to be exact.

George turned round his chair and smiled not knowing what to expect. There she stood, Annabelle, a frail shadow of a woman he last saw forty seven years ago and loved for the better part of his life.

‘So nice to see you Annabelle. What took you so long?’ asked George not realising the irony of his question. ‘It seems age has only made you more beautiful’ he lied.

‘You are such a terrible liar George. Your eyes still give away your emotions’ replied Annabelle with a short chuckle. There was no rancour in her voice.

She walked inside the room and took a chair opposite to George. She looked around the room. It was modestly furnished with a bed, a wardrobe, a TV hanging from the wall and a study table. ‘I hope they keep you well?’ Annabelle asked.

‘Well. Can’t complain’ replied George surveying the room he had been living in for ten years. Since he had his first stroke. 

‘Can’t believe it’s been so many years George!’ Annabelle said trying to feign excitement. ‘How did life treat you?’

‘Well it did not ill-treat me. Which is more than I can say about many others in this place’ said George with a twinkle in his eyes. ‘Though it could have been more kind’.

‘And why the hell did you not get married again?’ Annabelle asked, almost in an admonishing tone.

‘Oh! Believe me I tried. But you set the bar pretty high’. George said with a broad grin. ‘It is not as bad as it looks’. ‘But you have come all the way to meet me. So how can I help you?’

‘It’s nothing serious really! None of us are getting any younger. Thought it’s time to catch up with an old friend before we go our separate ways for good’ said Annabelle as she took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes.

‘I am glad you came Annabelle’ said George taking a sip from his glass of water. ‘I have played this scene so many times in my head for last so many years. Complaints, arguments, allegations. But none of that matters now. Now all I feel is peace. I just want to sit with you have a chat just like the old times. The happier times. But I am guessing you do not have much time.’

Annabelle slowly nodded her head in agreement.

‘OK. How are the kids by the way? I believe you also have grandchildren. Don’t you?’ asked George.

‘Oh! The kids are not kids any more’ Annabelle said digging into her bag. ‘Robert, my eldest, is a professor of Physics at the Imperial College in London. He has a six year old daughter’. Annabelle handed George a picture from their last family Christmas. ‘Beside him in the picture is my daughter, Jessica. She is an architect. Lives in Bristol with her boyfriend.’

George looked at the strangers in the picture. The young, adult and old made quite a happy family. He returned the photograph before he started to feel lonely.

‘I was so sorry to hear about your husband. I know he passed away some two years ago. It must have been really difficult for you’ said George pretending to know how it feels like to lose someone with whom one has built a home and family for almost forty years.

‘It was difficult, yes’ said Annabelle carefully putting back the picture in her bag. ‘But we had a good run. He was a good husband and a great father to the children’.

‘I am sure he was’ said George pensively. ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish. That’s what you must have said after you got that divorce from me’ laughed George.

Annabelle was not amused. ‘You know it was not easy for me either. But let’s not go in to that’ said Annabelle in an impassive tone. Her wrinkled face twitched. ‘You avoided my question. Why the hell did you not get married after our divorce? You were only thirty-five.’  

‘As Frost said two roads diverged in a wood and I took the one less travelled by. And that has made all the difference’ said George once again looking at the clock on the wall, wishing it could turn back forty seven years. He continued, ‘soon after our divorce I left the job at the law firm. Could not do the same job which had cost me so heavily’. ‘And then did what most thirty-five year old divorcees do. Became an alcoholic’.

‘That is not funny George’ Annabelle scorned. ‘I know that you joined the World Bank’.

‘Sorry. That was a bad joke’ Accepted George. ‘I did take up a job at the World Bank. I worked on projects in developing countries. It did not pay much. But I feel that I made some difference’. ‘I have travelled to far off places. From Haiti to Bangladesh to Cambodia. It was humbling. You would be surprised to see how people still live beyond these British borders.’

George wanted to say something else but baulked. ‘I know, you are not here to hear me rant. So I will spare you that agony’.

Annabelle did not reply.

‘I am sorry Annabelle’ George suddenly said. He could feel his eyes getting moist. ‘I was young, ambitious and full of arrogance. I wanted the world for you and our child. But after the miscarriage it all went downhill. The truth is you were my world. I should have been more patient. I blamed you like a fool’. 

‘Water under the bridge George. Water under the bridge' said Annabelle with a sigh. 'Those were difficult times and we were young and naive'.

‘I know.’ George quickly replied. ‘I am glad you found it in your heart to forgive me and make a new life for yourself.’ ‘The guilt haunted me for a long time, till I learnt to live with it’.

Annabelle sat there quietly, reminiscing the vague memories and the raw emotions.

           ‘Can I ask you a favour Annabelle?’ George said in a meek voice. ‘Will you sit here with me and watch the sunset? I am sorry if that sounds weird.’

             Annabelle looked at George in shock and dismay. The irony jarred her from within.

             ‘I am so sorry I cannot do that George’ Annabelle finally said looking at the floor. ‘Don’t get me wrong. It is just very reminiscent of my late husband. When he was in the hospital in his last days, we used to sit together in the evening and see the sunset. His hospital overlooked the river.’

                ‘Oh! OK. Fair enough. I guess’ George mumbled, feeling embarrassed.

                The two old and woebegone man and woman sat staring in to each others eyes, as the sun slowly set behind George. Betty and her husband got up and walked towards their car.  

                Annabelle suddenly felt there was nothing left to talk about or it was too late to talk about a life time of stories. She finally broke the silence and said ‘I should go now. It is getting late. You take care’. She slowly got up and kissed George on the forehead. George closed his eyes to stop the tears. Once again he said ‘I am sorry Annabelle. I really am’.

                He watched as Annabelle slowly walked out closing the door behind her. George turned his chair towards the window only to stare at the darkness outside.