Double Dealing: A Menage Romance(87)
We were dressed strangely for a burial, as each of us was wearing jeans and work clothes. It was a sign of respect, however, as the four of us dug his grave by hand, using shovels from the estate to make it deep and large enough for him. When that was done, we lowered him by hand, then heaped the dark, clay-rich dirt back into the hole over his cotton shroud. When it was finished, I was sweating, although I think some of the wetness on my face was tears. Still, it was cathartic, and I don't think I'd ever said goodbye in such a complete fashion.
Afterward, Syeira prepared a combined welcome home and memorial feast for Felix and Francois, while Charani changed. For the next month, she'd wear black, mourning for her son even when few others would. For my part, I was also in a black mood, although for different reasons. It was nearly sundown when Charani found me, sitting in what was going to become my room, wearing my black pants and blouse I'd chosen for the dinner. “I'm the one who lost my son, yet you look more despondent than I,” she said, coming over and sitting beside me. “I know part of it is that you lost Francois, but I suspect part of your feelings are because of Felix as well.”
“They are,” I whispered, looking down at my hands. So many times during the day I'd wanted to reach out and find comfort in taking Felix's hand, but each time he wasn't there, his attention on Syeira or lost in his own thoughts. “I don't know how to reach him.”
She thought for a second, then went over to the closet. She opened it and withdrew a familiar looking case from inside. “Francois had more than one of these prepared, you will find,” she said, unsnapping the cover. “You and he shared the love for this that will give you comfort for the rest of your life. It would honor me if you would take this and play it for him, and for Felix. If I remember correctly, it was how you reached him the first time.”
She lifted the case, and I once again looked at the black carbon fiber of Francois's acoustic guitar. Fresh tears mixed with a smile as I looked at it, so unlike any other guitar I'd ever played in my life, with the steel wrapped strings and neck made of artificial materials, unaltered and unwarped by temperature or humidity. “Thank you. I’ll think about it.”
It took me a while, but I decided eventually on two songs, one for each of my husbands. One that was lost forever, and one that was lost, but I hoped to find again. When Syeira found me, my fingers ached but I was ready. I was looking at my now-red fingertips, smiling ruefully. “Remind me in the future if I do get involved with more crazy adventures with your son or with this family, that I don't neglect my guitar calluses while building the calluses on the rest of my hand.”
She smiled and patted my shoulder. “Charani told me what she thought you might be up to. Did you choose what you wanted to play?”
I nodded. “One for Francois and one for Felix. It’s appropriate, I hope.”
“And successful as well,” she said. “Come, let's eat. Your hand can rest, and afterward, the four of us will go back out to Francois’s grave to let you play.”
After the first half of our dinner, a light affair that allowed us to quell the rumbles in our stomachs, we made our way out to the graveside. The freshly turned dirt was still dark and easy to spot by the light of the full moon, and Felix carried a torch that cast flickering flames around us. Setting the torch to a pile of wood that we gathered, we soon had a pretty fair representation of a campfire.
Charani and Syeira spoke first, in a way that was different than Felix's memorial. Instead of speaking to an audience, they spoke to Francois as if he were still there, listening and responding to them. They shared some of their favorite memories of him, and Charani spoke about how proud she was that he had redeemed himself. “Not so long ago I told you I was ashamed to have ever borne a child,” she said, her voice warm and tender. “But I wanted you to know, I've always loved you. And I’m so proud of you right now — I will always have that pride in my heart. I love you, my son.”
After we'd shared our words, it was my turn, and I took out the guitar. A flicker of recognition came to Felix's eyes, sparking hope inside me. I knelt down in front of Francois's grave, showing him the instrument. “You always did like when I played, so I thought I might play some for you and for Felix. I hope you don't mind.”
I started my first song, one that I'd never played for them before, but by one of my guitar heroes, and one of the greatest guitarists of all time. Eric Clapton had written it for his son, but the words were timeless and were applicable. I wasn't the only one in tears as I started the lyrics to Tears in Heaven, and I had to give up on the singing three-quarters of the way through in order to focus on my playing. When the last notes drifted into the night, I smiled, even as I continued to cry. “I love you, Francois. Now, lend me your strength.”
I looked at Felix, who was also moved by my song, and who'd knelt down next to his brother’s grave, watching me as I adjusted my feet and wiped the tears from my face. “Francois loved this one too, but this song is for you, Felix.”
I strummed once and started the fingering for Aerosmith. It had been one of the first songs I ever played for him and was the song that changed the way we looked at each other. No other song had as much shared meaning between us, and no other song I could think of might unlock the memories buried in his brain.
The first chorus started, and a miracle appeared in front of me. Felix's eyes widened, and he started to mouth along with my, singing, his voice growing in strength and volume as the song continued. By the last chorus, he was singing along with me fully. I let the last note linger, looking at my love as he climbed to his feet and reached for my hand. Francois's guitar slipped from my fingers, thankfully caught by the sling I was wearing, where I unconsciously slid it around to my back.