"No, I'm sorry but you are absolutely not right," Professor is saying, getting a bit red in his face.
"I'm glad you are not claiming that, in my age, I may be immature. Gullible and naive sounds just as bad. Why, I believe I've had a normal experience with women. I've always been a perfect gentleman, though."
I am looking at him thinking, " Why is he so defensive?" I won't say a word. If there is something, it will show by itself. How does the old saying go: "Give him a piece of rope, and he will hang himself."
Something like that.
"There is one intimate story in my life that I could tell you. It will help you understand my point." And he nervously brushes his high forehead, as if wiping off the swarming memories to choose the right one.
"It happened while I was in charge of the teachers' international field trips, some twenty years ago. I was leading a group from Belgrade. At the railway station in Zagreb, another, smaller group joined us. There I noticed a young, outstandingly attractive woman saying good-bye to her husband. He was much older and at first I was not quite sure whether he was a husband or a father, but there was intimacy between them that made me pretty sure they were a couple."
Without interrupting him, I just nod and smile to encourage him to proceed.
"Naturally, I wanted to know more about a woman who loves her husband so much that she cries when leaving him for only a fortnight." And he smiles a smile of a connoisseur who may be modest, but he also knows his worth. "I made sure we sat together during the trip. Her name was Cecilia. An unusual name like everything else about her. During the trip she told me, among other things, that she had a good marriage. Her husband was considerably older, but kind and wealthy man. Her great sorrow, however, was the fact that she wanted children and it just wasn't happening."
"What a shame. Hope it didn't ruin their marriage." I say, getting involved in the story.
"Don't interrupt me." Professor stops me, annoyed. Collecting his thoughts, he proceeds: "I was impressed by Cecilia. Here was what I call a real woman. They are a rare species in these days."
After this, Professor sits silently, obviously reminiscing. I am not sure anymore if I am going to hear the whole story at all. Then, suddenly, as if deciding to skip the details, he just adds with assurance: "I know, Cecilia will never forget me."
"Why? I see you haven't forgotten her," I smile, hoping to hear more.
"It is a sensitive matter. You don't seem to understand." He sighs deeply, but continues: " On the train, in the evening, Cecilia felt chilly. Naturally, I offered my jacket. She didn't want me to sit in a shirt and catch cold because of her. That's when I learned she was a sensitive, caring woman." Professor stops, flipping through his memory like through the picture album with some happy, memorable scenes. Then, with a mischievous smile, he concludes: "We ended up sharing my jacket. You can imagine how I felt sitting so close to an attractive woman. She was beautiful, as I've said before. And, I was young, single, and not bad looking myself.... You understand. Something was starting to happen. One of those things, stronger than a human being, any human being. Honorable as both of us were, we still were young and human, only human. No words spoken, of course, but the rest of the people must have noticed it too. After that we were inseparable, to say the least."
I am thinking: this is not clear, not even logical. What does he mean "after that?" After what? Sitting next to each other and sharing a jacket? What could have happened on a train in front of so many teachers? And, weren't they moving rather fast, especially for a woman whose face had hardly dried from the farewell tears?" Sure, Professor was free and single (he still is), but Cecilia wasn't. She desperately wanted to have babies but... not like that, I hope. Maybe I should just be quiet. It will be clearer later. I have a hunch already, but I may be wrong."
"London was our target. Everybody was getting impatient to get there. Although we had seen so much on our way, we were getting tired of sitting and ready for walking, taking a shower, and sleeping in a comfortable, soft bed. After one day in London, I was going to proceed to Oxford and Cambridge with a small group, the rest were to stay in London for the whole period. I felt quite sure that Cecilia was going to go with me. However, she told me she had an aunt in London and wanted to stay with her."
Professor was silent again. Silent and sad. I could understand: going together would have been the first opportunity to have some privacy with Cecilia, if she joined him. Not to mention how short time they had together anyway. It's never long enough for those in love.
"From Oxford, I tried to call the hotel, but couldn't get hold of Cecilia. I was hoping she missed me as much as I missed her. I could hardly wait to be back. Naturally, I couldn't pay too much attention to the sightseeing in Oxford and Cambridge. Cecilia was on my mind constantly." Professor brushes some invisible hair from his forehead and proceeds faster, in almost staccato outbursts: "We returned to London. Instead of the greatest happiness, I went through a heart wrenching shock. A few teachers told me Cecilia had been constantly seen with a certain young man. They described him to me in full detail and told me the name of the little cafe on the corner of the street where they regularly met. What was I supposed to do? To spy on her was demeaning, I knew. But I needed to know the truth. Shakespeare, that genius with profound knowledge of human nature, offered the solution."
Before I could imagine Professor reciting; "To be or not to be, that is the question..." he moves close to me and, gazing into my eyes with almost hamletian madness, unfolds his "scene within a scene: "I told her I'd seen her in the cafe, and I described the young man briefly. Cecilia blushed, stammered, then stopped trying. Seeing that everything was lost, she started crying."
Professor drops his head and stays quiet for a long time. Then, with hamletian disgust, he smiles a bitter smile. Spontaneously and in unison, we both quote Shakespeare's timeless wisdom:" Frailty, thy name is woman."
I think that's the end. I've heard enough, and I'm not a bit surprised. The words naive and gullible, still apply. But Professor continues: " Of course, Cecilia recovered from the shock and explained: the young man was her cousin, he was driving her to her aunt. Strangely, the spell was broken, irreparably, and it didn't make any difference anymore. We parted our ways right there, and I never saw her again. That's the end."
Before I can say anything, he adds:" You see what I mean? I stay a gentleman, no matter what. Therefore, I know: Cecilia will never forget me."
After some deliberation, I add softly: "I wonder if that's how she sees it."
"What do you mean, young man? You still don't understand." Professor is seriously annoyed now. He probably never had a student as dumb as I appear in this matter.
"Well. There is more, if you need know. After all that, later, Cecilia came to Belgrade and tried to find me at the University." And he looks at me with a challenging smile almost saying: You see now? It is all clear, just as I am telling you.
While I am still thinking, he adds hurriedly: " At least, that's what I've been told. I wasn't there at the time."
Now he is waiting for me to finally understand.
But the dumb ones are usually stubborn: "Maybe she needed a place to stay while in Belgrade? Maybe she wanted to check whether you were still under her spell? One never knows." I shrug.
"Oh, listen. You don't understand. You seem not to want to believe that I was of any importance in her life. But, I'll tell you more. Later, she got a divorce and never re-married." And he looks at me triumphantly.
"Oh, so she never re-married?" I ask.
"Never," Professor strongly emphasizes. "At least, that's what I've been told. I never inquired," he adds quickly.
"So, she never re-married in spite of the fact that all she really wanted in life was to have children?" I ask again.
"As I told you." Professor confirms. "She is probably still in Zagreb: single, with no children."
Nodding, I feel I know enough about Cecilia and dear old Professor. With a sigh, I decide not to say more than the cryptic:
"I hope her aunt in London is in good health."