by Raphael O’Suna

They were old and had been friends for a very long time. It was unusual in those days for a man and a woman to maintain a loving friendship, despite the fact that each had lovers and mates who never quite embraced this friendship, as the friends had.

When they had become very old and foresaw that the friendship would soon be coming to an end, they decided to spend an afternoon expressing what the friendship had meant to them.

He said without hesitation: “At first it was your beauty–your face, your figure, the life and fire of your heart. It was your grace and spontaneity and the way you laughed and the sound of your voice. You were a pearl, a ruby, something so valuable that I vowed never to risk its loss.

Later, I realized that we were so much more conscious and smarter when we were together. We were more intuitive, more inspired, more creative, more imaginative and possessed greater moral courage. Still later, I imagined that you understood me more than anyone else. The thought of you made me sigh. And smile. Goodness, truth, beauty and a controlled wildness which I loved. You spoke in exclamations and passion possessed you from sources which seemed inexhaustible. You really were a star, which cast no shadow.”

* * * * * * *

She seemed surprised. She smiled and her eyes twinkled. “I liked the mystery of you. The secret of your being. You rarely repeated yourself, and always had new and startling things to say. I loved your sense of humor and your honesty. I loved the way you held intensity and maintained reserve. I cherished your solicitude toward me. Your cheerfulness. Your gratitude. Your patience. Your tenderness. Do you realize in all the years we’ve known each other, you have never brought me down or darkened one hour of any day. I loved your high-mindedness and your devotion to me. And all the times you listened intently to my relationship problems. I loved the way you always wrote to me using symbols, so that I could understand things according to my level of consciousness.”

* * * * * * *

“Thank you,” she said, and held his hand.

“Thank you,” he said, as a tear dropped from his eyes.

* * * * * *

He died not long after that, but it wasn’t until she died later, that mutual friends began discussing this unusual relationship. In fact, the talking began at her memorial service. A small knot of women, which later grew into a larger circle, which included men, seemed intent on unraveling the mystery of their friends.

The main question, of course, which seemed to be on everyone’s mind was this: “Had they ever been lovers?” And if they hadn’t why not.

“What I found touching,” said one friend, “was that neither ever seemed willing to speak of the other. It was as if speaking of the other would destroy the magic. There was power in secrecy. Intensity in the privacy of their relationship. Neither wanted to admit another’s comments or opinions into the idealized vision one had of the other. Each was like a secret spot in the forest to the other, and no one else would be allowed there.”

“They must have been lovers,” said another woman. “The way he used to look at her.”

“I disagree,” said a third woman. “Men look at women that way, when they have not yet slept with them.”

A man spoke up. “They would have made an odd couple. Neither resembled any of the other’s other lovers.”

“That’s true.” One of the women friends was speaking. “Her taste in men was superb and consistent. He did not fit.”

“Somebody wrote that we choose mates for growth through friction, and friends for harmony.” A man had spoken.

“Their friendship was remarkable,” said a close friend of the deceased woman. “Whenever they met, it had the aura of first love. It was really beautiful. I just assumed that they were lovers.”

“What was the secret of this bond?” asked a man: “Their friendship was always fresh, spontaneous, and yet desireless.”

“He once told me that one of the secrets of success in a relationship is to always give of your need. I always remembered that, but I never understood what he meant.” The woman seemed baffled.

“They were not otherwise easy people to get along with,” added a man friend. “But they were lovely together. Did anyone ever ask either of them why did they not share greater space and intimacy?”

Several people said they had, but none had received more than a smile or ambiguous gesture.

“It was as if talking about it would make it disappear,” said a man who had joined the group later.

“What would you call the love they had for each other?” asked a woman.

“Agape,” said a man.

“Mutual respect,” said a woman.

“With him it was devotion,” said a woman. “With her, it might have been respect for him. Somehow they had found their way into the other’s imagination.”

“Yes, yes, they captured each other’s imagination. That was very important to her. Her lovers and husbands failed miserably in this direction.”

“Did he leave any poems about her?” asked her best friend. “She never showed me any.”

No one knew.

One older gentleman said: “It doesn’t matter now. I do know, however, that having someone like her in his life, was like finding a magical circle. She was like a luminous and lucent dream. She filled the silence and the abyss between his heart beats with the sound and life of her own.”

“And was wise enough not to make any sudden moves.”

Everyone was laughing.

Someone raised a glass and said: “May they find each other again.”