Rafael Grugman - The Twenty-Third Century - Nontraditional Love

“Don’t be afraid, we’ll get through,” Liza smiled and pressed the “Talk” button.

After two long rings, someone picked up on the third.

In a very professional manner, Liza interviewed the person at the other end. Without giving the age of the children, she explained that the girls were friends, and they wanted to connect their rooms so they could visit each other without going outside. Liza easily told her inoffensive lie about the girls (in the plural!); heterosexuals are trained in the art of lying from the day they first realize their nontraditional orientation.

Both participants in the conversation easily understood an allegorical language, which was second in popularity after sign language. In order to get a quote, Liza arranged to meet the builder on Sunday. When he arrived at our house, I gasped. By an irony of fate, the person who submitted the announcement turned out to be Richard, Frank’s father. We laughed; although we had surmised about each other’s sinful predilections, we were afraid to acknowledge them. And now everything had been settled by itself.

Richard suggested doing a little modification. Our bedrooms were one on top of the other. The solution suggested itself: we would use the wardrobes, dismantle the floor in the closet and go down a stepladder.

That was what we did. We would make the arrangements over the phone, and then I would climb down to Liza for an hour or an hour and a half, and Helen would climb up to Daniel. Why not the other way around? That’s a silly question! This was the only way I could stand for five minutes next to my sleeping daughter’s bed, and Helen could stand by her son’s bed.

Our happiness lasted three years. Then Liza abandoned me; she went off with Richard. No matter how I tried to dissuade her, she applied for a divorce from Helen and moved to Bay Ridge to be closer to Richard. When there is a divorce in a lesbian family and that was what their family was officially, by law the child remains with the woman who gave birth to him or her. Helen had no objection; her relationship with Daniel was unchanged, and she continued to see her son every day. But what about me? What was left for me?

The fact that Frank’s father, who had taken Liza from me, had been punished by fate – he wouldn’t be able to see his son – was no comfort to me. His situation was similar to ours, and he had also lived in a two-family house until his wife had grown tired of running up and down the stairs, and she had become a normal woman – a lesbian.

The possibility of not seeing my daughter every day reshaped my entire life. At thirty-five I had become used to restraint; I had learned to manage my emotions, to hide my feelings, to play the hypocrite, to dissemble. From the moment, I had finally realized that I belonged to the handful of people with nontraditional sexual orientations condemned by society, my life had become a theatre where I excelled; I had transformed myself so well that no one could suspect what was hiding in my cerebellum, which was responsible for my sexual dissipation. But what could I do now, when Liza was happy, and I was back where I started, alone and forlorn?

I thought of reporting to the police that Liza had treacherously taken my child, thereby depriving Liza of Hanna for the sake of senseless revenge; it was a good idea, but only to dream about while I was sitting and gnashing my teeth. Such a confession would immediately have a boomerang effect on the accuser. The disclosure would become common knowledge, and I would be the object of disgrace and public humiliation; I could forget about my career and my privileged life. In the end, I could live with the disgrace. When it came to my daughter, no career could tip the balance of the scales. But I already knew what the result would be – no one would return Hanna to me – and this prevented me from carrying out any rash actions.

I would wait for Hanna outside her day care, and when Liza brought the child, I would get out of the car and turn up next to them, as if by chance. The first time Liza reacted calmly to my appearance. However painful it had been for me, we had not parted as enemies. Hanna welcomed me as a friend, as a neighbor from home she was used to seeing almost every day. She told me the day care news. Liza did not interfere with our contact.

Hanna told me cheerfully:

“I fed my doll today.”

“What did you feed her?”

She spread her fingers wide

“I gave her cereal from this finger, milk from this one, and juice from this one.”

After a week of “chance” meetings, Liza called and invited me to meet her at Starbucks. I gladly agreed. I confess my feelings had not changed. I was excited by the smell of her body, her supple breasts and thighs, which were worthy of having stanzas dedicated to them. If I could leave my autograph on them, there would be no blank spots. As soon as we met at the coffee table, she “grabbed the bull by the horns.”

“I understand your situation, but that’s life. It’s unfair and idiotic, but we didn’t plan it that way.”

I listened attentively, trying to figure out where she was going with this. Had she broken up with Richard and wanted to return? She finished unexpectedly.

“And it’s time for us to stop meeting. Hanna should not have to grow up with a split personality.”

“What do you mean a split personality?”

“Sooner or later she’ll guess the truth. She looks like you.”

Liza was right. I was proud of the fact that Hanna had my eye color, the same oval face, thick wavy hair and smile. There would be no need to conduct additional tests. It would be enough to compare photographs to ascertain that she was my daughter.

“What’s so bad about that?” I protested. “That didn’t bother you before.”

“Believe me, it bothered me. And that was one of the reasons I left you.”

“Explain.”

“I don’t want her to lead the same underground life we do. If I can do it, I’ll try to have a medical certificate issued for her.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You know how it will all turn out.”

“I know. But we’re not talking about today. We have about thirteen years to spare. Maybe by that time the laws will become less discriminatory, and maybe fortune will smile on me and I’ll be able to get her documents.”

“So much the better. Why did you have to break up the family ahead of time? We could have lived the way we were until times got better.”

“It wouldn’t work, darling. She’s a copy of you. She’ll realize this a lot sooner than her eighteenth birthday. If she doesn’t sense her identity herself, the people around her would point it out. There are plenty of ‘well-wishers.’”

“The world has no lack of ‘good’ people,” I remarked sadly.

Liza regretfully confirmed this.

“The day care teacher happened to see the three of us on the playground and told me, ‘Your daughter looks just very much like the man I saw you with on Friday.’ Can you imagine how this could turn out if she reported it to the police? Of course, I will transfer her to another day care to spare her from further troubles. But when she starts school? If someone else notices the two of you, and they start tormenting the child – you know how cruel teenagers can be – we could lose our daughter.”

She was right. Tears caught in my throat. Disregarding the danger, Liza placed her hand on my palm, touched my ankle with the tip of her shoe, and whispered:

“I still love you. And right now I have the same feeling I did the first time, you remember, when we were alone for the first time?” I silently nodded. Her eyes became moist, and she completed her phrase with difficulty: “My knees are shaking.”