Cherry Picking

It was not often that Stefan would forget his deadlines but for today he had. When he awoke, he was as blissfully ignorant as the cattle to the butcher’s blade. It was only after he had checked on his calendar that he realised he had a 2500-word essay on the relationship between Hyacinth and the Princess in Henry James The Princess Casamassima due the next day. Whilst he had finished the novel two days ago he was by no means an expert or even a lover of it. He felt very little sympathy for Hyacinth and his predicament though strangely he did harbour a deep detest for Paul and the Princess for their manipulative behaviour towards the end. But these exact emotions were not sufficient enough to carry a whole essays worth of content meant to impress those who are very ostentatious about their literary knowledge. But from whatever depths within himself, he did manage to scrape together enough drive to complete his essay. He trapped himself in solitary confinement, the library to be precise, as though a murderer writing his confession. He typed and typed away. It was only after nearly 6 hours that he was finally free from his shackles and ready to relinquish whatever work his caffein high brain could produce on such short notice. He stumbled from the library on campus before deciding to move towards the river for his last cigarette. He had been having a smoke every half an hour to reduce stress before he realised, he had just the one lucky cigarette left. Figuring he would like a reward for his effort he promised himself that if he could finish his essay in time, he may have the last cigarette as a reward. Though this did mean going the final hour and a half without the sweet poison smoke filtering through his lungs.
After walking for almost 30 minutes from campus in the moonlit night he could see the tranquil fluorescent lights illuminating the soothing waters that only a night in Paris could offer. He decided to sit by this quaint little café by the Seine called L'Inconnue de la Seine. A morbid name he thought to himself though it didn’t seem to bother the owner, a tall, bearded man with long, drooping grey hair called Jean-Paul Bernard. Stefan was a regular and was now on first name basis with the owner where they would often sit by the river, complaining about their love lives or in Stefan’s case, lack thereof. Jean-Paul’s wife had recently left him, presumedly for his dull standards and selfish desires to keep her for himself. He was of a time where marriage was like using the mouth coverer and leash one would put on a loud pet. Stefan thought of himself as a stark contrast as he was a hopeless romantic. Perhaps all his time spent with books rather than people had made him almost senile to the ways of the modern world. He often envied what he saw as the loving marriage Jean-Paul so greedily refutes whilst overlooking the strenuous other aspects of a relationship.
However, tonight Jean-Paul was too busy on the phone to his now ex-wife to chat, so he merely took Stefan’s order for a cappuccino and let him smoke his reward in peace. As he inhaled the cancer filled fumes into his lungs, he looked at the Seine which he could see from his seat outside the black painted café. He could see how the full moon danced elegantly above the quiet and still rivers dark but crisp blue waters. Mesmerized by the image of the lonely moons reflection on the waters surface he was reminded of that old African folktale in which the Sun and the moon were lovers here on the Earth until the water began to flood the land, forcing the sun and the moon to flea to the sky where they remain to this day, far apart from each other as they left the water to conquer the planet. He reflected on that story and felt a little pity for the moon, almost being mocked by the water that is exposing its loneliness through forcing the moon to do nothing but look at its own lonesome reflection. He felt a connection to that story. Waking up staring at his lonesome reflection in the mirror and often aching for a woman to be besides him, to love him, feel him and give him all the happiness in the world. It had been so long since he last had a girlfriend. He had hoped that university would be ideal to find someone special. But so far nothing but a few awkward encounters and women who thought of him merely as a kind friend but nothing else. Stefan had begun to presume that he could not tame any woman for himself.
Jean-Paul delivered to Stefan his coffee encased in the pale white mug, distracting Stefan from his own wondering thoughts. Despite it being dark on the ground, in the sky there were stars now hovering around the moon like flies over a carcass. Stefan was reminded of the folk tale and somewhat relieved the moon now had some company to alleviate what he felt was the worst kind of suffering of all. Loneliness. As he allowed small sips of the hot liquid to ease in between his lips he felt a Christ like rejuvenation rinse its way across his body. After taking his few more sips he returned to his cigarette still lit in between his index and middle fingers.
As he took a few more inhales he noticed to the left of him a petite red-haired woman of around his own age of 22 if not slightly older. Her dyed crimson locks flowed elegantly like the waves of Niagara Falls down her pale white neck. She wore bright blue jeans that dangled down to her bright red high heels. She had a zebra striped tank top and bulging Kurt Cobain sunglasses that she wore above her hair. This all toped off with a thick deep purple handbag slung over her left shoulder gave her a very distinct indie image that she seemingly wore with pride.
Stefan was captivated by her appearance as she was sat by the little bar next to the café and was merely a few inches way from his own table. She was sipping on red wine whilst replicating Stefan’s hypnotized gaze at the moon’s reflection. Stefan was so enthralled by this grand appearance that he remained frozen, fixated on the woman in his view, who in turn was fixated on the waters beneath. Unlike many other men of his age Stefan did have a phobia of approaching a woman that held him down as though a shark dragging its prey to the further depths of the ocean. He very rarely unless under the influence of some drink or drug approached a member of the opposite sex but for some reason, whether it be the celebratory nature he was enveloped in or just her divine Aphrodite like beauty Stefan finished his coffee, killed his cigarette and ventured forth to talk with the woman. She held the look of a lost puppy in his eyes. He was overcome with the need to enter her world.
“Good evening” He managed to muster from his throat. “Sorry, I couldn’t help but notice that you were looking at her too. She’s very beautiful tonight no?” Stefan hoped his French wasn’t as slurred to her as it was in his head.
The red hair woman slowly turned to face Stefan, laying her bright green eyes upon him. The slow build up to her first words didn’t take too long after she would look up and down the approaching man’s thin frame. She placed a light smile on her red painted lips.
“Yes. she is sir. She is indeed” She then returned her eyes to gaze at the moons reflection. Fearing losing her attention, Stefan quickly revised the conversation by saying.
“Did you ever hear about the African Folk tale about how the moon and the sun got to the sky and how the water conquered the Earth?” Stefan immediately recoiled in disdain and embarrassment. How could he say such nonsense to a woman he doesn’t know? “How stupid” he thought to himself. Yet these discerning worries were eased by a slight giggle emanating from the woman’s throat. He grabbed himself back into reality and out of his mind to find the woman locking eyes with him. Her eyes piercing through to his as though an arrow shooting directly into his pupils that told of her curiosity by the story. Her beautiful eyes glowed like the sparkle in a puppy’s wide eyes at seeing their owner he thought to himself. Stefan felt that the had won her over.
She shook her head and Stefan began to tell the story. He spoke with both the passion and the conviction he learned from his numerous lecturers and audiobooks. For having read and listened to many poets and authors reciting their famous works online had taught him the art of good storytelling, something that he often thought “if it was good for Caesar, then it’s good for me”.
She listened vigorously as though a fiend anxiously waiting for the next fix to hit the veins. Her eyes sunk themselves as though an anchor attaching itself to the seabed to Stefan’s own eyes. She held on tightly to every word uttered by the modern-day Homer and her chin fell to her palm as she continued to be held by the words like a delicate flower petal on a fingertip. Stefan would even add his previously mentioned theory on how the water is mocking the sun and the moon with showing them their lonely reflections. When the story was over, she raised her chin off her palm and explained how much of a beautiful and touching story it was.
She then inquired whether Stefan was a literature student to which he gladly admitted he was. She enthusiastically told him how obvious the subject of his choice was to which he let out a slight giggle and agreed. She revealed her name to be Sallie and how she was an aspiring model and actress from Toulouse, coming to Paris to pursue the big dream. The pair would divulge each other’s life stories over drinks to which Stefan was now a happy participant and funder of (like what he assumed a gentleman was, he agreed to pay for their drinks despite the little money he had left with being a student).
Sallie then revealed to the delightfully tipsy Stefan about her small cherry plant she has in her tiny garden attached to her petite flat. Sallie often fantasised about growing the perfect cherry to the point that it had now taken over as her life’s goal. Stefan, though cherry growing and gardening were of no real interest to him continued to carry on listening to how she describes her cherry-picking methods with seeming interest. It’s a mask he seems to wear well since Sallie goes into great detail about every minute little action in the art of cherry picking. Stefan was impressed by her own style of storytelling, very much told by a trained actor. Her body language being more expressive than Stefan’s more vocal dynamics. Sallie often raised her hands up and down with the slow coordinated precision mixed with the swan like elegance of a ballet dancer.
By the time the bar was hitting closing time, Sallie offered the young stranger to return to her apartment to go look at her cherries to which the very much smitten Stefan agreed. Giving how well this little dalliance was already going for him, how could he not. They walked down the Seine in close proximity, their alcohol breathes not being a deterrent for their shoulder touching affection towards each other. They continued to discuss topics of various degrees such as the books Stefan studies, plays Sallie has performed and even all the foods they could cook. All the while neither could remove the blush that lit up the pairs faces as though inside their cheeks was a burning red candle illuminating through their skin.
Sallie finally welcomed her guest to the cramped apartment. It was only a mere 20-minute walk from the bar in which they met and was a tiny attached house that overlooked a narrow street that was only a mere two streets away from the Seine itself. Stefan pondered how this woman could afford such a place in this location regardless of size. The flat whilst small was kept in pristine condition with sparkles gleaming across the polished yellow walls as though the sun itself had lent its skin for the paint. Sallie directed her curious guest to her garden which was behind a clear translucent double-glazed door. The cool nights breezed stroked both persons hairs on each’s skin after she opened the door, distilling the fresh lavender fragrance that covered all the furniture of the apartment.
The pair went out to the tiny hallways like garden with one brown wooded bench up against the tall, bricked walls that surrounded the prison cell like garden. Opposite the bench was the man-sized bush that held the red cherries. Some had littered the short and well-groomed grass, others remained attached to the branches like a child clutching its mothers’ breasts and others, were nowhere to be seen. Possibly eaten by greedy crows Stefan thought to himself.
In the bright light of the moon, Sallie stood solemnly, offering her very juicy and ripe cherry to her compatriot. Temptation had all but held Stefan in its clutches without ever the possibility of relinquishing its suffocating grip unless the urge was given into. Stefan gazed into the cherry offered to him, a red glistening fruit that he could see his reflection in, as though it had chosen him. His desires, his needs and his unconscious cravings all combined into one very small little fruit. He placed the small fruit in between his lips and with the hard crush on his teeth, he squeezed out all the juices that laid within the cherry’s flesh, letting the warm juice sprinkle itself all over his tongue. The tender and succulent taste of the oozy large berry sent Stefan’s head into a spiralling fall of hedonistic pleasure the likes in which he had not experienced before. He closed his eyes as he continued to chew on the sweet like substance, letting the dribble from the Cherry’s innards drip down his throat.
After he was finished in draining all the fluids from the red berry he turned towards his smiling compatriot and offered himself to her. Whether it was the courage from the alcohol or the blind whimsical intoxication from the Cherry he had just consumed he had become a feral dog lunging at the first thing it can bite onto. He had experienced such pure bless with this stranger he had just met that he could only think of her and nothing else. He asked her to be his girlfriend.
Sallie merely stood there smiling. Her lips never lowering, but her eyes widened only slightly that to raise them more would be to give away herself whilst to not raise them at all would be to show no response to the proposition and thus fooling the proposer. After a few seconds of agonising silence for Stefan, Sallie finally returned with an answer.
“I’m sorry. Truly I am. You seem like such a nice man. And I’ve really enjoyed my time with you this evening. But I’m afraid my answer is no. You see, I am not looking for a relationship. For now, I just want to focus on my attention on growing the perfect Cherries. I’m sorry. I hope you can understand.”
And like the Saint Sebastian before him, Stefan had been tortured and stricken down for exposing his true beliefs. Feeling as though his heart had now sunk down to his gut and was filling his lungs with the dried blood spilling from all the loose veins, he found it difficult to breathe properly. He was a sailor who couldn’t tame the violent waves and was thusly consumed by the unshackled ocean.
Stefan left shortly after and wondered down the Seine, past the bar he had met Sallie and past the café he had once celebrated in. He left with an awkward farewell. No promise of ever seeing her again. Not that his shame would ever permit another encounter. By the time he had reached the bar, the clouds had now blocked the moon, relieving her from the suffering of staring at herself in the reflection.
Stefan decided to pause for a brief moment and lean against the cold metal railings looking over the Seines now filthy waters. The water was of no colour besides the engulfing black with remnants of cigarette butts, discarded bits of food and numerous white plastics shopping bags all like the victims of a consumer world floating down the river. Without the beauty of the moons natural but lonesome rays the waters are exposed with all the filthy bacteria mankind carelessly discards. The filth mixed with his growing loneliness and anger at the veil of the acquiescence of all heavenly desires being lifted from him, leaving him a skinless wreck of a man only further sunk Stefan to the depths of despair and anxiety.
He looked within his coat pockets to find something to ease his anxiousness, only to be reminded that he was dry of cigarettes. Another disappointment of the night. However, as though a god had answered his prayers, a man approached and stood to the right of him, replicating Stefan’s own pose on the railing. He reached into his own pocket and pulled from the dark depths a packet of the one thing Stefan was craving the most. In desperation for some relief Stefan approached the stranger beside him and asked if he could borrow a cigarette. The dark shadowy figure nodded and happily obliged.
The altruistic man next to him wore a thick black overcoat that flung down to the knees of his dark trousers. He was seemingly much older than Stefan, going by his stubbly and worn face one would say late 30s to early 40s. Though, despite this he was still rather attractive with his bright blue eyes glowing against his more tanned face. He spoke with an Italian accent though his French was near perfect.
As the man went back into his pockets to look for his own lighter before passing the cigarette to Stefan, he pulled out from the deep pocket a familiar item. Its bright red shine hit Stefan’s eyes like a grappling hook, spearing it towards its luscious body. It was a cherry and judging by the colour, shape and size of the fruit, Stefan could already tell where it was from. Upon seeing the Cherry Stefan was immediately taken back by the Cherry plant and all the branches that were as naked as a dead tree in winter. His mind was then engulfed in the painful reminder of his night’s failure. So much so that he felt he would’ve preferred taking any amount of physical pain than the pain one was to feel by a mind laughing at your shame.
Stefan then kindly told the stranger not to worry about the cigarette before swiftly walking away without even the utterance of a goodbye. Stefan walked alone once again along the Seine. The only reflections on the river were now of the streetlights that paved the roads like a red carpet for all those to walk along and be gawked at like a dressed-up animal in a circus. It was all but silent except for the slight moments where a tiny giggle escaped through Stefan’s lips. They happened as though they were hiccups. For Stefan could not control his restrictive laughter. As he looked back on the night’s events, he could do nothing but laugh at himself. He knew he wasn’t special. He realised that man’s collar didn’t hold the same power like it used to.