Aminatta Forna - The Memory of Love

‘We had such a storm here last night,’ she tells him over the telephone. ‘She was furious about something, my goodness.’ To his mother the sea is always female, prone to womanly moods. ‘Thought she would sweep us all away. What a noise! But the light this morning was quite marvellous. I counted at least six dead birds. Gulls. Two avocet. Looked like they’d been washed out of the sky. Rather picturesque in their own way; I went back and fetched my camera.’

He listens to her and for the first time realises from where his love of birds most likely comes. He’d never given it much thought. Probably she used to take him for walks and talk to him about these things. It had all stopped with his father’s illness. But the memories, doubtless, had lodged in his subconscious. Suddenly he feels immensely grateful to her.

‘So how are you doing out there? How’s the work going?’

They talk for a while longer. She listens. At the end she says, ‘Well, you keep at it. We’re all very proud of you.’

And Adrian says without thinking, ‘Why don’t you come out and visit? It’s not as crazy as it sounds. Come on. I think you’ll like it. At any rate, it’ll be interesting.’

‘Oh, darling, what a wonderful idea. Don’t you think I’m a bit old?’

‘No, I don’t. There are old people here, I see them every day.’

She laughs.

‘Don’t say no,’ he tells her. ‘Say you’ll think about it.’

‘All right, dear. I’ll think about it.’

He hangs up. He realises they have never spoken about his reasons for coming here. He had taken it for granted she would understand that his connection to the place came through her. He has no idea how she actually feels about it, if she feels anything at all.

How does a man like him believe in love? A man trained to analyse the component parts of emotion. Measures of neurochemicals, of serotonin, hormones, oxytocin and vasopressin. He who would name, classify and diagnose every nuance of the human soul into attachments, complexes, conditions and disorders. There exists, somewhere, a scale for love invented by one of his profession. Others have identified the neurological reward pathways of the brain, the tripwires that mark the way to love. And there are others still who say love is but a beautiful form of madness.

Adrian does not know.

Above a moss-strewn yard, the night sky, so many, many stars. Next to him a woman lies sleeping, her head upon his thigh. The second when she passed from wakefulness to sleep he recorded as a momentary heaviness in her body, to which his own body responded with minute adjustments.

He didn’t come here looking for happiness. He came here to change who he was. And in her he has found his escape, this sleeping woman, for she offers him a way out of himself, away from the person he might have become. She wandered by accident through a portal into the hollow of his heart and led him out into the light.

How does a man whose task in life is to map the emotions, their origins and their end, how does such a man believe in love?

Adrian does not know. But he believes. There it is. He believes.

Again.

‘Why do you wish to work in the United States?’

The woman at the US Embassy visa section had not looked at Kai since he entered the room, concentrating instead upon studying, at some considerable length, the letter advising him of this appointment, which he’d brought with him as instructed by the letter itself. A woman with a smoker’s tired hair and skin, she peers down at the signature at the end of the letter. The signature he assumes belongs to her, Andrea Fernandez Mount.

‘Well?’ she says. ‘What is your reason for wishing to work in the United States?’

What is the right answer?

To live the American dream.

Because it is there, like Everest. Was it Everest?

‘To advance my career,’ he says.

Andrea Fernandez Mount’s right eyebrow lifts.

‘My medical career,’ he adds. ‘I wish to gain clinical experience and to sit additional professional exams.’

So now she looks at him.

‘Are you looking for permanent residency?’

‘No.’ He shakes his head. Kai has no plans ever to return, but he does not intend to say so, it isn’t as if there is anything honest about this process. The Embassy official’s job is to make Kai jump through certain hoops, to persuade herself that this man wants to come to her country, to live in a house like the one upon which she has just taken out a mortgage, shop in the stores where she shops and send his kids to school alongside her own. He exists to validate her dreams. Doctors are given special dispensation. Because the truth, again — only if it matters — is that they want him. But Andrea is careful not to reveal any eagerness. There are only a limited number of places each year, even for medics; this gives her a little leverage, restores a little of her authority.

Kai looks at his feet. He realises he has forgotten to change his shoes and is still wearing flip-flops. There is a smear of blood on his cuff. In the street outside the Embassy a queue of men wait for the green-card lottery. Kai had been five minutes late for the interview. They’d kept him waiting nearly forty.

‘Have you brought your preliminary documentation with you?’

Kai pushes the envelope across the table. Andrea Fernandez Mount opens it and removes the contents, placing each one on the table in a row, like a detective perusing evidence. Copies of his birth certificate, passport, school certificates, medical degree, medical licence.

After a while she says, ‘Fine. Somebody here will need to interview you, but there’s a wait list of three months now. In the meantime you can take your medical exam and a language proficiency test. I can give you a list of Embassy-approved clinics.’

‘May I undergo the medical at my own hospital?’

She glances at him briefly. ‘If it’s on the list. Do you know yet which state you’re going to be working in?’

‘I’m not sure. Maryland, I think.’

‘Once you have an offer of work you’ll need a state medical licence. Your employer should help you out with that. Sometimes the application can be held up waiting for the visa to come through. We can’t give you a visa until you have the licence.’ She shrugs. ‘Catch 22, but that’s the way it goes till some person fixes it. Let them know your visa is being processed. After your formal interview I’ll be able to tell you more.’ She pushes her chair back. ‘I think we’re about done here.’ Quite unexpectedly she looks up and smiles warmly at him. ‘You can pick these up in a week.’

Kai stands up. ‘Thank you,’ he says. He’s been inside her office no more than five minutes.

‘Let me see you out.’ The meeting over, her manner seems to have changed entirely. As she walks with him to the door she says, ‘Well, who knows, I might see you around. It’s a small town, after all.’ She extends her hand. ‘Maybe you could tell me which your favourite restaurant is. It’s always good to have a local recommendation when you’re new to a place.’

Kai takes her hand, feels the slight pressure of her thumb on his. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t get to eat out much,’ he replies, smiles briefly and turns away.

Out in the street, he walks past the line of men. They look at him, with the same silent yearning as the patients waiting to be seen outside the hospital, working out who he is, whether he might be in a position to help them. He sees them notice his flip-flops and turn away. Never will any of them meet Andrea Fernandez Mount.

Kai goes to Mary’s for lunch, the second time they have seen each other in a month. It is early yet, the place is quiet. She spots him the moment he enters and advances towards him, manoeuvring her stomach between the tables. She reaches up to kiss him, her belly pressing against him. It feels warm, soft and at the same time resistant. He experiences a sudden urge to press his face against it.