CATHARSIS

CATHARSIS:

Once again the three of them were together. Alice looked at them. Over the years they had shared so much, Finals, Graduation, the Gap year, and now the second wedding. Peter her husband, (beginning to show the signs of enjoying too many corporate lunches), Richard her brother the bridegroom, and David.
She saw Richard looking adoringly at his bride, the beautiful Titian-haired Bella; David, the Best Man, giving the perfect speech; just witty enough, just serious enough, all delivered with his actor’s perfect timing; and Peter, laughing louder than anyone at the jokes, though she knew that he had been disappointed at not being chosen as Best Man. . He had railed on: “Why David? Why not me? Richard was Best Man at our wedding, its only fair!”
Richard had tried to soothe his hurt feelings. “David’s the only bachelor now! He might find his Perfect Woman at the wedding”, he had said. But Alice knew the real reason David was the perfect choice. Peter hadn’t his natural wit or flair with words. But she didn’t say so.
The speeches continued. The guests raised their glasses to the happy couple. For the fraction of a second David inclined his glass towards Alice. She registered the gesture but did not acknowledge or reply to it.
Later, when dancing became general, without speaking, David took Alice’s hand and led her onto the dance floor. . He whispered “I think you are more beautiful than ever.”
“Thank you”. Alice was determined to keep her polite social smile in place, but his nearness was making it increasingly difficult.
“How are you? Really?” he asked.
“As ever.” Alice tightened her grip on his hand. He understood.
The dance ended, and saying nothing of any consequence aloud, but with a million things unsaid, they rejoined Peter, who, predictably, started teasing
“You’re lagging behind old man ! First me, now Richard tying the knot. When are you going to settle down?”
“Can’t find the right girl. You’ve snaffled the only one I could ever marry!” This is an old joke, and they all laugh.
The Reception continued in the traditional way. As the champagne flowed, Alice noticed Peter becoming louder and louder, his face redder, his jokes more risqué. A glance from David confirmed that he had noticed too, and his heart ached for the pain and embarrassment he knew she was feeling. At last the evening ended.

Next morning, Alice, with a slight headache, left Peter sleeping and went out to explore the Hotel grounds. Beyond the tennis courts she found the river. Not a big, wide river, but a pleasing, grassy-banked little river that could have been an illustration in a child’s picture book. The water was clear , shallow, the pebbles at the bottom caught the morning sun. As she stood her mind empty, she saw them. Brown trout. Something she had read flashed into her head. How to catch trout. How to tickle trout. You put your hand in the water and wiggle your fingers. The trout thinks you’re water weed, swims into your hand and bingo! You’ve caught your supper!

She lay down flat on her stomach, held onto a sturdy bush with her right hand, put her left hand into the water and wiggled her fingers.

“What on earth are you doing Alice? I’ve been looking everywhere for you. It’s time for breakfast.” Peter was overhung and irritable. Without looking up, she said.” I’m tickling trout.”
“ Don’t be stupid.”! He watched her for a few moments and then said “Well, I’m going in for breakfast.”
“Don’t wait for me.” He stalked off, annoyed. What had got into her?
Soon, Alice’s fingers were numb. She gave them a final wiggle and then took them out of the water, shaking the drops off in a pleasing shower. She noticed that her fingers looked pale and strangely bare. Her wedding ring had gone! Her hand looked, she thought, like the hand of a single girl. And at that moment she knew what she had to do.
She had to be brave. To face scandal, recrimination, tears and hatred.; to face the knowledge that her marriage to Peter had been a mistake: that their apparent perfection as a couple was a sham. And that she and David shared a love that went beyond convention.

THE END