Noon (A Love Story)

Noon
(A Short Love story, dedicated to my wife Rosa)

Marina, raised and born in Huancayo, Peru. Young and beautiful fell in love with Winston, a handsome man, but not of her culture, rather he was quite the opposite in that he was a gringo, as she called him, and she an Inca, as he called her; but love flowed, and it was as should be, love at first sight, and a lasting love. And because they loved each other so much they would hurry home to meet each other after work each and every day of their lives, simply to be in each other's arms. One might say she was in the summer of her life, and he in the fall, for there was an age difference, but it did not seem to matter between them. Nothing could be worse than separation, so they both admitted to one another, and so they lived their lives out as full as two people can, that being, to the brim, to the very top of the cup of coffee you might say. They lived in the moment.

As years passed, his sweetheart never left his mind, and at noon, he would come home, greet her, and wipe the glass around the frame of their picture, in their small apartment; sometimes she would be home waiting for him, and at other times, she would be busy at the Post Office working. Nonetheless, he would not fail to keep this little ritual up. And as the days passed, they would visit the Andes beyond the Mantaro Valley together, the valley he loved so very much, and in the blue of the evening he'd kiss her as if they were just married. Now looking back, seven years had passed since that first day, the first day they had fallen in love. Deep inside of each of them, they knew there was no other mate for them on the whole earth, lest they were in denial, and this was not so. Likewise, they both loved the Lord, and prayed each night. Marina, often prayed: should one die, the Lord should take the other, and thus, it would not be so painful then. But Winston had told her time and again, it was up to Him (God), not for them to choose the time, and place. He assured her, should one die, the other would simply have to wait for the other, and meet up at heaven's gates.

Thus, as I have said, and you can see, they were-for the most part-inseparable, and to the onlookers, unforgettable with their love for each other.

One day, as all days must come for each person, she died. Needless to say, Winston was shell shocked, in disbelief, in shock you might say. Paralyzed. For many years after Marina's death Winston walked the streets aimless, forlorn. Life seemed not worth the living, yet death was not an alternative, lest, he play God, and it was not in his faith to do so. And as he grew older, he was still a handsome man, and quite famous in many of his writings, and looked upon as a man of words, and letters. And one day, as many days are, that is, a single day often changes a person's life, or can. It was such a day when he was invited to a rich woman's home, he and many other people of importance. Thus, he met, September, whom was attracted to him immediately. She being half his age. She was captivating with her beauty, and slender in body form, and quite healthy looking in the breast area. He did notice her, but only looked for a moment, as many young men tried to tempt her with their canned looks and gestures.

As the party had ended, Winston had fallen asleep in an outside lounge chair, there with several young maids cleaning up; September was helping clean up the party items also, putting them away. Thereafter, she lay down in the thick of the grass, as Winston woke up, her eyes gazing upon him, catching him. She spoke to him in a most romantic and enticing way, and he being without much company for a long spell, sat by her and listened attentively. And as they lay together, she found he got excited, and he said to her (diminishing her hopes for anything beyond the normal), "My wife died several years ago, I have not had another woman since, forgive me for my bodies reactions." She smiled, and was most pleased: not so much with his statement, but with her ability to excite him.

As time went by, they seen each other on many occasions, and slept with one another. Yet at noon, no matter where he was, he'd go home and clean the glass around the picture frame, on the mantle, of him and Marina. He thought of September often, but not as often as he thought of Marina. And she, September, had now fallen in love with Winston, yet he had never told her in the two years they had dated that he loved her. Nor did he talk to her about Marina. Yet she did visit his apartment on occasions. But deep inside him he wanted to be with Marina, to meet Marina at heaven's gate, and should he marry September, when he died how could this be possible. Hence, as he and September walked in her long drawn out backyard filled with every kind of plant the jungle of Satipo had to offer, she was hoping this was the moment he would propose marriage to her. And as she had fallen to sleep, upon her waking up, he was gone. Knowing it was noon, it dawned on her where he might be, she rushed to his apartment-for the first time she had put it together, that he always went home at noon. Not giving it much attention previously. When she entered his house, she did not find him home, then looking at the mantel, she noticed something was missing, but could not for the life of her figure out what.

Winston, being of old age, and of some ailments, had died that day, in the Mantaro Valley, died with a picture in its frame in his hands, holding it tightly against his chest. And there he was buried with by Marina, still his wife!?

Note: written down mostly from a dream 3 May, 2005, Lima, Peru

Dennis Siluk, is the author of 29-books, three of short stories, three of poetry. His website is http:dennissiluk.tripod.com