How I became a busker (part ten)

Sexual Intent with conditions
Char thanked me in the morning for the previous night's rescue and our attachment grew ever more closer. But now I was worried about her safety. The riddle that was Char became a dominant, obsessive force in my life. Meanwhile, in keeping with my marital experience, discussion between partners on sex or bodily function was akin to discussion on what to buy at the shops.... or any other mundane matter. Lewdness and toilet humour bridge cultures far more readily than actual matter of fact directness - as though speaking of the weather, with no intent toward lewdness. Sex can be an incredibly technical matter. Char was my girlfriend, so the matter of sexual intention needed to be worked out. When I played 'Are you out there' to her once she said, "It's a nice way of putting it!" I suspected Char did not have much experience that would commend sex to her. I suspected she would see sex as something a woman gives and a man gets. I am entirely against that idea. There is a world of difference between getting laid and making love. Char and Pierre seemed to be from a Catholic background, even though they may not place much importance on religion. So imagine that morning as Char and I were in her room, with Pierre standing not so far away in the other room... "I want to make love with you, Char," said I, " but only when I am sure you are ready and willing... and I want you to be sober and certain you want to make love too." Char stared back with a half smile - mouth somewhat open and I think she was probably overcome by astonishment.
But that was the key to Char/Brian. We were always able to surprise each other... and our carefully thought out plans for dealing with each other were flummoxed by this. It made for the most perplexing, fascinating relationship experience I have ever had. In fact, it was hard to know whether I WAS in relationship, or not. It was a case of one day at a time. The whole thing seemed crazy and impossible, but that was what made it glorious and soul lifting.

The second rescue of Char
A few days later I had arranged to call on her, but she had left a note asking me to find her on the Conscience. I found her sitting on the foot high wall that formed a tributary square before the frozen, benevolent stance of Hendrik. She was sitting with a friend named Bart and they were sharing a bottle of wine I had taken on the mantle of crusading knight... and I was looking for potential dragons. For some reason Char had been overdosing and she had to be getting drugs from somewhere. So her friends tended to fall under my private suspicion. I held a strong belief that there were light and dark forces involved in the battle for Char. If I was working avidly for the light then there had to be someone working avidly for the dark. Char's life was in danger. Something within me believed her death would have a dire effect on some future possibility. I have never had a reason to adjust or dismiss that intuition. I drank a little of the wine, but declined the joint Bart offered. Not because I disapprove of smoking joints. It is nice, occasionally, to smoke a joint when one is offered. But I have never bothered actually buying the stuff. Anyhow, at that time it was important that I stand aside from the side of life Char allocated to taking drugs, or thinking of them.
It was very quick. Char's face glazed... and she began to slouch... keeling over off the wall. It was fortunate, I reflected, that I was there to catch her. She may have badly hurt herself on the concrete awaiting her fall. I placed my back against the wall and held Char's torso across my lap. Perhaps fazed, Bart excused himself and departed elsewhere. Perhaps he thought we'd be best left alone. If so, he was right. Char was completely out for the count. It would be impossible to attempt to get her home. As a dead weight she would be too heavy to carry... and she would be too insensible to co-operate in any way in aided walking. Her breathing was normal. She was not in distress So I sat in that Holy square.... holding her...looking down lovingly on her peaceful, sleeping face. Through the passing of hours the heat of the evening turned to the cool of the night. I stayed in the same position... keeping her warm...though I shivered often in the night chill. I had to wait for her to revive before I could get her home. Constantly I gazed at her sleeping, while I stroked her hair in comfort. I saw her place a thumb in her mouth... just as my daughter would often do. This magnified the melding and bonding of our two questing souls. A bonding that would enable me to 'feel' her across long distances and made her 'feel' me too. I became aware of the vast power of communication we are capable of achieving - a capability so commonly suppressed by the disbelief of the mind.
Dawn had passed by the time she began to stir. I gently stood her up and hugged her for a long time as she sought to re-tune her awareness. She was disorientated and confused... but eventually fit to be escorted home.

Attraction, weaknesses and confessions
Her brother had gone away for the weekend. We had privacy. For the next 10 hours, from early morning to mid-afternoon, we kissed, embraced, exchanged sweet nothings, or filled in essences of our life stories. The conversation moved to my marriage.....and grief welled up in me as I looked up at her and cried,"I tried to do everything right! But it all turned out wrong." It was a plea for her belief and understanding that this was so. She unveiled her concern and pain for me as I buried my head into her midriff and felt her arms enfold me with comfort. "I will give you money to go see your daughter," she said. The prospect of seeing my daughter would be a wonderful thing, but I knew it would be wrong to accept such an offer.... "No! I would feel wrong taking money from you like this." But the offer held itself up as a statement of emotional commitment. I had built my first bridge to a person in a foreign land who directly cared for me. Cast adrift for more than two months I could finally claim some anchorage.
We spoke of how powerful our attraction was and then, on impulse, she picked up pen and paper and began writing furiously as I sat watching her. After she had finished the impulsively inspired prose she showed it to me and transformed the visual gobbledygook into a verbal translation. The prose spoke of the curious strength of our attachment and her fear that her weaknesses would let us both down. Those swiftly scribbled lines were ominously prophetic. But Char was not the only one of us with weaknesses.... and the accuracy of the prose was also revealed in its recognition of an intense love that weathered all kinds of emotional assaults and conditions.

Fairy Tales are Real (Hear the song I wrote at that time)
From the depths of despair I had been transported to Paradise... all in the space of less than three months. I was in love... and it felt great! I left her apartment at two in the afternoon. I had not slept for over 24 hours, yet I felt exhilaratingly awake and alive. The sun shone from a blue sky and with a Mediterranean heat as I strolled the short distance from Char's place to the Cafe Centrum. I found Scot sitting on the terrace with a couple of teenage girls. He was relaxing in a glow of self content. "Sit yourself down, Brian!" he said chirpily. I did, and then said, "I'm in love. I've just come from her place. She's gorgeous! She's special! I'm just so happy!" "Well, Brian," said Scot, "This is the life. Sunshine, music and girls."
He was right. It WAS the life. I could not remember being quite so happy and content. The world had become a place of fairy tales and sparkling benevolence. Antwerp became a city where dreams came true. The masses of people flowing this way and that on the festive Groen Platz became peaceful spirits... happy to see a Brian wearing a smile instead of his usual self-punishing sadness. Antwerp became the centre of one big, seemingly endless party.