he concealed from me. Had he really hidden them―or forgotten, over time―
or, more likely, just couldn't find the words?
― Patrick Modiano
Dark Transactions
Isabel was delighted that Alfred accepted our invitation. All day long she busied herself in the kitchen preparing the meal.
I offered to help but she just gently guided me out into the den. "If you're bored, why don't you go for a run? The weather's perfect."
She was right―it was a sunny day with temperatures in the high forties―mild for late March. I reluctantly complied.
But even while I was on my run, I was haunted by flashbacks from my past, mostly images of Alfred and father cloistered and whispering in darkened rooms, planning to do God knows what.
All during my youth the other boys in school would keep their distance, well aware I came from wealth, although I was enrolled in public school.
Why was that? Another mystery I could never quite fathom, but was sure had a sinister explanation.
When I got back from my run and opened the door, I was greeted by a familiar aroma that brought back memories of Sunday afternoons and family dinners.
Immediately, I was overcome by a sudden wave of nostalgia that both grieved and confused me.
I had no idea why I was overwhelmed except to attribute it to memories of mother baking pies and cooking dinner, but couldn't recall ever being happy, and yet, I must have been.
Something in the past erased part of me that persisted afterwards only in dreams, but now was inexplicably recurring and it both disturbed and attracted me.
"Jonas?" Isabel's voice called out to me, "Come in here, I want to show you something."
I entered the dining room and was stopped dead in my tracks, awed by the sudden transformation. The wall sconces glowed and the table was set with the silver and china I remembered from my childhood.
"Isn't is lovely?" Isabel beamed, "I found the silverware and china in the hutch―they're beautiful!"
"You've outdone yourself," I stammered, "the table setting is incredible."
"You should shower and get ready―Alfred will be here before we know it. I hope he likes everything."
"I don't see how he could not be impressed," I told her. "By the way, the food smells delicious."
"I hope it tastes as good as it smells, but hurry up and get ready. I want everything to be perfect."
Again, she shooed me out of the room and I obediently headed upstairs to shower and dress.
When I eventually came back down, she had changed too and was wearing a lovely floral dress. She had lit the table candles and her hair and skin glowed in their soft light.
"You look absolutely beautiful," I whispered, kissing her lightly on the cheek.
"I wanted to do this for you―I know how much this means to you. I don't want anything to spoil the evening."
At that moment the doorbell rang.
Alfred was obviously delighted to meet Isabel and brought wine and gave her flowers―ironically, white tulips.
"They're lovely, " she said. "They're my favourite―what made you choose them?"
"They were Marion's favourite flowers―Jonas' mother. When I saw them in the florist shop, they just called to me."
I was taken aback completely. I thought the first time I chose those flowers for Isabel I was just following my own taste. Obviously, I reacted subconsciously and wasn't even aware of it.
I wondered how many more of my attitudes and behaviour had been affected by repressed memories?
It might turn out to be a revelatory evening where I learned more about myself than about my father.