Constant
a The Constant Gardener story
by Superimmunegirl
Seated in the forbidding moonscape where Tessa died, waiting amidst the crusts of salt and oven-blast winds, he fancied she was with him, fancied he could see her smile. He remembered her but it was almost as though she were there, that they were recalling sweet memories together, looking to an endless future of creating endless happy memories. Memories of meeting her, her outburst in the lecture room, flooded his mind, and Tessa beside him laughed and covered her face. He remembered the way she lit him up, the incredulous feeling he had that this wild and brightly burning woman wanted him, liked him...loved him. The quiet diplomat who gave dull lectures and gardened. How could it possibly be?
"You never understood," she said. "After all this, after marrying me, part of you never understood why I loved you. You never really believed it."
"I thought I did."
"I thought you did too."
"I know." They listened to the whistling of wind and birds. "Do you remember, back when we first started dating, there was that party with all your anarchist friends, that you wanted to take me to?"
"I remember."
"It was that awkward period when you have to start meeting each other's friends. And I didn't want to go. I knew I wouldn't fit in. I knew you liked me because you felt safe when we were alone together...but in the spotlight I was afraid you'd see just how boring I really was, and you'd be embarrassed. And that would be it."
"I remember."
He had been dreading it all week. But there was no way out of it; she had made it clear just how important it was to her that he attend. So he steeled himself to it and tried to ignore the rising fear that told him the fairy dream would be coming to an end. And then the day of the party he woke up with a cold. Although his heart lifted at this possible reprieve, he then worried that the cold itself would be enough to turn her from him...how pedestrian, coming down with a cold. How very like him. He was fairly sure that a cold would not stop her. So he thought he would try to make it anyway, but as the day wore on, he felt worse and worse. He sneezed repeatedly into a white handkerchief, and began to suspect he was running a temperature. He finally called to tell her. "Hello, Tessa," he spoke into her voice mail, "Look, I'm really sorry, but I've got a pretty rotten cold, and I don't think I'd better go tonight...I don't want to get you sick, or all your friends...I'm really very sorry, I wanted to go...anyhow, I'm leaving the office now, but I'll be home. Give me a call, if--if you like. Bye."
At home he had waited for her call, hoping that she might give him a few sympathetic words. But the phone did not ring, and his heart sank. It was about time for the party, and still no phone call, when the doorbell rang.
"Tessa!" he exclaimed, when he found her at his door, dressed to go out. "Didn't you get my message?"
"I just did," she said, leaning in for a kiss. He drew back and began to protest, but she cut him off. "Don't you worry about getting me sick, I'll chance it," she said, and kissed him passionately. "I live life dangerously. How are you feeling?"
"Not so well," he confessed.
"Poor thing. Did you take your temperature?" she asked, her hand on his cheek.
"I did...I've got 38.1. I--I'm sorry I can't make it to the party. I was looking forward to it."
"You were not. You were dreading it," she said with an impish smile. He laughed weakly.
"Am I that transparent?"
"Afraid so." She gave him another kiss. "Well, you'll have to meet my friends eventually. But tonight, we can take it easy, just the two of us."
"You don't have to change your plans..." he said, sniffling.
"I'm not changing my plans. My plan was to spend an evening with you." She kissed him ardently. "I've been thinking about you all day. If you're sick, well...you'll just have to let me do the work, won't you?" she said, wickedly. She ran her hands over his backside. And his frontside. He laughed, embarrassed.
"You don't let much get in your way, do you?"
"No, not much. Come on to bed, where I can look after you properly."
So she took him to bed, and crept in next to him, He found he had to sneeze and reached for his handkerchief..."ATCHOOO! Huh--HUTCHOOO! HATCHOOO!" he sneezed.
"God bless you!" she laughed, surprised by their force.
He had rather loud, and, he thought, ridiculous sneezes. Quite showy and out of context with his personality. But she didn't seem to mind, and kissed him tenderly while pulling off clothes. She made love to him, laying him on his back and gazing down at him as she took him in...it was perfect. A dream. When they were finished, she curled up next to him and wrapped him up in the covers, protecting him from a chill. He held her closely.
"Why are you so nervous to meet my friends?" she asked him.
"I don't know...I suppose I think I'm a bit dull, compared to them."
"I find them dull, sometimes."
"You do?"
"Yes. Oh, everyone's so wrapped up in their own story, in their own ideology...and most of them never really take any risks, it's all just fashion, and they think they're being challenging. I've been around the activist community so long, I've gotten jaded about it. Not about the work, I mean, but about the whole scene. And forget being involved with any of them, they're so bloody flighty." She turned to him. "But you're different. You're...constant. You're not the kind of man who's going to come out and wave a protest sign every weekend, but I feel...I feel like there's a strength in you...a quiet strength. And I love you for it."
He kissed her, but he didn't understand.
"Do you understand now?" she asked, a phantom in the African sun, hair wild and whipped.
"I don't know. Maybe." Her dark eyes held him and he saw himself reflected in them, waiting in this horrible place. Saw where he was and who he was. And what he was willing to do. He whispered, "Yes."
A tear spilled from her eye and he thought he could feel her hand slip into his. Home again.
He heard the faint sound of an engine in the distance.
The characters do not belong to me. They belong to John le Carré.
This won't make a whole lot of sense unless you've seen the movie. And you should see the movie!!! It's wonderful but it will make you cry buckets. It feels almost wrong to write a sneezefic about it (but I did anyway).The story takes place towards the end, when Justin is waiting in the spot where his wife was murdered.