Old Lovers Don't Die Read online

  Christian looked at his mother, a beautiful picture framed by the doorway and wondered how much different her life could have been, had his father survived and not been murdered. There was a persistent sadness surrounding his mother, which he could not explain other than in some way it related to his father's death. Her sadness detracted from a natural beauty; her almond-shaped blue grey eyes were never really smiling. He wished on many occasion he could find the key to alleviate her personal darkness.

  Once all the details of his father's involvement with the Bureau of State Security in South Africa had been revealed, he thought she might find greater peace. Christian knew that he was relieved to discover that his father's involvement with the apartheid government had not been entirely corrupt. His father had been more a victim of his own pride and ego, than an active supporter of the regime that brutally enforced racial segregation. In the end his father had seen the immorality of the government and tried to rectify some of his mistakes. For Christian, that made his actions a little easier to accept. Strangely, the discovery seemed to have the opposite effect on his mother and she now refused to talk about his father at all. That was difficult to understand; there had to be something else that he did not understand about his father.

  “You know you don't have to decide on which specialty you want to follow straight away. In actual fact it would be quite a good idea just to gain experience in some other specialties before you make up your mind.”

  “That's what I was thinking about doing when I first decided to go overseas, and it would also give me a different perspective on medicine before I finally committed to surgical training.”

  “Well, I know that’s certainly what many young doctors are doing now, although I think, like your father, you are suited towards a surgical specialty. So where are you going to spend all this time; let me guess... South Africa?”

  Christian looked at his mother and smiled, thinking that she knew him so well, loving the way that her intuition on occasions manifested. Moreover, she had refrained from mentioning Isabella, which she nearly always did whenever South Africa came up in the conversation.

  “In actual fact you are in this instance right but only about the continent not the country.”

  Christian deliberately shortened the sentence so that it did not give the full amount of information, knowing that it would cause his mother, in that very familiar way of hers, to scrobiculate her brow. It was her distinctive way of indicating that she wanted more information but did not know whether it was polite to ask. They stood for a few minutes looking at each other smiling; understanding each other so well. Christian knew she wanted more information, and Renata knew that if she waited long enough, Christian would tell her what she wanted to know. They had played this game among themselves on many occasions over the years.

  “Okay, I give in this time,” said Renata. “So where is it that my adventurer son is intending to go?”

  “Rwanda.”

  Christian looked at his mother, trying to anticipate her reaction. He had been uncertain as to whether she would approve and knew that he would have to give her more details as to his decision. Nevertheless, it was always the initial reaction from his mother which was an indication of approval or otherwise.

  “Having two parents who are doctors and who have a need to both achieve and help people often means that the children of those parents may inherit some of those characteristics. Not always, and in many instances, children with achieving parents feel that they are not a priority. Those children end up with a determination within their own lives to be more family centric. You clearly are the former, and it would be impossible I think for anyone to distract someone as focused as you on what they want to achieve. I am delighted that you are now an independent achieving young man. I was incredibly impressed with the way that you dealt with the discoveries about your father in South Africa. I know that any decision you now make will have much thought behind it, great sensitivity, and maturity as well as having a remarkable chance of being both successful and enriching.”

  Christian got up out of his chair and walked towards his mother. Renata hardly ever used long sentences; her inclination was to be short and to the point. He had heard her lecture during his pathology course in third year. Always succinct, almost surgical in the way that she ensured the information was presented, amongst the forest of histology, she made sure everyone could see clearly the pathological trees. That is how she had always been as a mother, direct and to the point.

  “You know you are a pretty cool mum,” he said as he stood in front of her and took in a bear hug. “You have never said anything like that to me before. That really means a lot to me.”

  Christian rested on his chin on the top of her head: he was now a full head and shoulders taller than his mother and her head fitted perfectly on his shoulder. Although when he hugged her it now, with their height differences, it felt a little awkward, as he looked straight down on the changing colour of her hair. He momentarily thought about playfully lifting her off the floor when he felt a dampness seeping through the top of his shirt.

  “Are you okay, mum?” he said as he disentangled himself and held her at arm’s length.

  Renata wiped her eyes before turning and heading towards the kitchen.

  “Yes, I’m fine; sometimes I forget how grown-up you have become and how capable you are of dealing with life.”

  Christian followed her into the kitchen. Cook books, mostly Jamie Oliver and Nigella Lawson, lay open at various pages at the far end of the bench. Next to them were multi-coloured chopping boards, green for vegetables, red for meat, yellow for chicken, and white for fish. The colour coding was part of his mother’s belief that cooking needed science; colour separation was a memory aid, which she argued reduced cross contamination of the bacteria in foods. His mother loved cooking and Christian had been the recipient of many of her wonderful cooking experiments throughout his life. Garlic was an ever-present smell in the house, and there were few dishes that garlic did not find its way into. Christian, however, was not certain from the large amount of garlic that his mother used, whether it was added to each dish purely for flavour, or because she believed that it had certain medicinal properties. Garlic was one of those strange quirks, which was his mother. Her training was in evidence-based medicine, which she normally insisted on if he was to convince her of his argument. Moreover, being the Gradgrind that she mostly was, it fascinated him that she would put her faith in the medicinal properties of things like Echinacea and garlic for which he could find no evidence. When he had started studying medicine, he had done Medline searches to try to convince her. Quoting the research to her in this instance had made little difference. After a while, he no longer puzzled as to how that exception worked and just accepted that is how it was with his mostly scientific mother, and no one was perfect.

  Renata simmered the chopped garlic and onion for a few minutes in the frying pan. As she added the pasta sauce and basil leaves, the aroma again changed. The new smell distracted Christian from the discussion and reminded him of when he came home late from university. Opening the backdoor, the various aromas would envelop him stimulating his hunger. He watched as his mother fiddled with the arms of the pasta maker, sensing her uncertainty about how to proceed after his question. Throughout his life, she had never been comfortable with emotional statements. Any small emotional discussion that they had had over the years was usually followed by an uncomfortable silence. It was like a compensatory pause after an irregular heartbeat, a pause required to overcome the natural disinclination to talk about things emotional. He felt that tonight, would be no different; she would busy herself with the pasta and then with her composure regained, would initiate the conversation around another topic. On this occasion, he decided that he had more to talk to her about and venturing into the refractory period would be acceptable. Before he had a chance to speak, his mother surprised him and broke with tradition. Without turning to look at him, she said,

  �
�I think I know why you want to go to Rwanda,” she said. “You found out that your father once went there.”

  Christian had realised for some time following his intern year that he had a decision to make. It was now nine years since he had been back to South Africa looking for information on his father. He had mostly closed the book on that in his own mind, although he did still wonder what had happened with his father being in Rwanda.

  “That’s partly true, mum, which is something that I wanted to ask you about. It wasn’t clear when we came back from South Africa. I know looking through dad’s papers that he visited Rwanda and went down to a small town on the border of the Congo called Garanyi. I just thought it would be interesting to go back to a place where he had been which has not been tainted by all the issues of apartheid and corruption that we discovered in South Africa. And when I looked it up on the Internet, the hospital there has 300 beds and serves a catchment area of one million people on both sides of the border which would give me heaps of experience in medicine and surgery.”

  Renata listened, not turning to face Christian, part of her not really wanting to hear what he was saying, hoping that the chapter, which was Africa, had truly gone from their lives forever. In her heart of hearts, she understood that Christian was truly his father’s son, and that part of his father which she had loved, the desire to help the less fortunate, was present in Christian. That desire needed to be fulfilled. She put down the sheet of pasta and turned to face him.

  “I can understand your desire to go somewhere where your father has been. However, there are certain things that you should consider in making that decision. Your father was only there two weeks, I seem to recall, and it was on some kind of government business, therefore it might not have been medically related. He was never specific about why he was there, only suggesting that it had to do with his genetic research. Nevertheless, at the time, and with the information that we now have, it might have been related to trying to obtain some of the rare minerals from the eastern Congo, for the nuclear development programme in apartheid South Africa. Even if he did work at the hospital, which I cannot recall him talking about, I doubt that they would remember him. Going there with your limited experience in medicine and surgery may not be regarded as a useful experience with regards to a future specialty.”

  “I realise that my experience is not great, but I do have two years surgical experience now and my time in the Trauma unit, which will be helpful, and certainly I will learn a lot. Also it would just complete things in so far as I’m concerned, being in a place where my dad was, in trying to imagine that he was there helping people.”

  Christian looked at his mother and could see that she was not entirely convinced.

  “Christian, you can probably sense that I am not happy. There has been genocide there and there are still countless reports of rebels in that region. I think you would be better going to South Africa. However, I know that being the person that you are, trying to stop you would be counter-productive. My underlying concern as a mother will always be for your safety. There has been ongoing conflict on the border between Congo and Rwanda and I don’t want you caught up in anything.”

  “I do understand that, mum, and I have already been in contact with the Department of Foreign Affairs in Canberra. There are no travel advisory notices for that area; it is regarded as a safe region to travel to. Besides which, you know me after the South African adventures, I now have an intuition that hopefully allows me to avoid dangerous situations.”

  Christian finished the last sentence with a smile and winked at his mother hoping that his humour would break the impasse, as it normally did. Renata looked back at him understanding his strategy and holding his gaze to let him know that she understood he was using his youthful charm to try to win her over.

  They looked at each other for what seemed to Christian like an age. It was on occasions like this that he wished his father were still alive. His mother had tried to bridge the gap; but at times, he just longed for a true male perspective. In some strange way, he felt the last nine years of medicine in Adelaide was something that his father would have approved of. On more than one occasion, he had wondered whether his father was out there watching somewhere with a sense of pride. He would have loved to discuss many things with his father and particularly to try to have understood how he felt about the new South Africa. He wondered whether his father would have adapted to a country where legal separation no longer existed. However, from what he had observed, it was a long way from the rainbow nation that everyone now claimed it was. From what he had seen, there were still only three primary colours: black, brown and white, a long way from a multi-coloured carefully integrated rainbow.

  The living conditions for the majority of the black population had also not significantly changed since the era of the white government. Building programmes had been undertaken, but it was nowhere near what was needed. The social needs of the black population were not being met and there was growing discontent amongst the youth who were advocating nationalisation of industry as a way of redistribution of wealth. Would his father, he wondered, have said integration is such an unnatural thing that it produces systematic chaos, or would he have been of the opinion that integration requires generations to overcome racial bias in order to succeed.

  “Have you thought about catching up with Isabella if you go?” Renata again interrupted his thoughts.

  Christian again looked at his mother. He had never really discussed with her what had happened to the relationship that he had with Isabella. However, he knew that she sensed that they had had an intense albeit short affair. The chemistry was something that he had not experienced since and not something that he thought he could discuss with his mother. He was also uncertain as to whether it was unique to Isabella, or whether such intensity was because it was the first time for the both of them. Strangely, he had not been able to replicate that intensity with other girlfriends. Inside, part of him longed for the intensity again where colours were brighter and desire became an all-consuming fire. He knew if he was to have any peace and success in future relationships, he needed to find out if the chemistry he had with Isabella was just a first relationship phenomenon. If it was, he needed to accept such intensity could not be replicated and move on.

  That the relationship had not survived due to the distance he could understand. However, that the flame for Isabella still flickered after all these years intrigued him. Looking back, there were so many things that they had in common, so much so that initially he had even thought about trying to study medicine in South Africa, so he and Isabella could be together. When they had enquired about whether he could, they discovered the difficulties of being admitted into medicine in South Africa for someone who was white and Australian. Finally, he had been persuaded by Renata to return to Australia and leave Isabella behind. To Christian at the time, it all seemed so desperately unfair; two people who had a wonderful attraction for each other could not be together.

  They had tried to maintain the relationship when he returned to Australia. Certainly, for the first few months the combination of e-mails and Skyping maintained their intensity and hope. Christian even planned to return in his first holiday break to Cape Town; however, as the full immersion into university life in Adelaide progressed, the intensity of their relationship seemed to diminish. They could both sense it and in the end, they agreed that given the distance between them, it was better just to try to remain friends.

  “Well mum, we have maintained a friendship but Isabella has moved on and has another boyfriend now.”

  “Is that so? I had an e-mail from her mother Nadine the other day who suggested that Isabella still asked after you, suggesting I would have thought that she is still interested.”

  Renata looked at Christian with the small smile she reserved for occasions when she wanted him to know that, despite not having had a relationship since his father, she still understood them.

  “Mum, it is probably too difficult for
people such as Isabella and me, from very different cultural backgrounds to have a successful long-term relationship.”

  “That sounds like a well-thought-out response, or a reason not to try again, but thoughts don’t always effectively deal with emotions. I think you should see her and make sure the flame is not flickering.” Renata said with another knowing smile.

  Christian was a little taken aback; he was not used to his mother venturing into his emotional space. She had been a brilliant mother in terms of providing support and organisation, but he had always found it difficult to discuss the emotional side of his life with her. It was not that she lacked emotional intuition; he knew that she did from several things that she had said during his various relationships. However, that is all they were, comments with no real emotional depth or understanding. Fortunately, the mother of one of his friends from primary school had an uncanny ability to both bridge the age gap and understand emotional conflict. Gabriella had become his confidant, and in many ways she was like a big sister to him, providing him with the inside into relationships as he grew up. It was Gabriella, whom he talked most to about Isabella.

  Christian looked at his mother, wondering whether to respond in the way that he had with Gabriella. Past experience suggested it wouldn’t be a discussion but more an analysis and recommendation. Then he thought about how Gabriella had taught him to always be prepared to take a chance. Her favourite ‘The heart that’s afraid of breaking, will never learn to dance.’ He decided to take a chance.