The eye of Natou

It's been a long time, years, that she's been fighting her cancer: first, her breast, then her shoulder, and then… her brain.
She's been in a private clinic for several months. I called her on her birthday, but she didn't want me to come see her that day — I understand, I respect her.

A few days later, during a last-minute summer dinner in the garden with friends, her husband tells us that Natou will not survive much longer, her  life is ending. We can't believe that her mother went on vacation anyway with their son, so far away. Her husband feels abandoned; we decide to take turns staying with her during this week of August 15, that's so empty, so hot.

Sunday, I go with him, along with some other friends. Natou is hooked up on IV, doped up on morphine, she hardly speaks, she only moves her legs, her arms, her head. She communicates with her eyes.
I give her a small blue Japanese fan decorated with a pretty drawing of a wave. She clutches it in her hand for hours.
I sit by her side, and holding her other hand, while another friend massages her feet with a scented cream. Her husband had painted her toenails a lacquered red, so pretty and so incongruous on this hospital bed, the white stockings on her legs, the blue blouse made of disposable synthetic paper.

She catches my eye as I walk by the foot of her bed.
“I love you, Natou," I gently tell her. And she replies, “I love you too”.
I kiss her forehead, she kisses my cheek. I sit down again, I take her hand, and my tears flow, I'm overcome with emotion.
Love, she only believes in love, she doesn't believe in anything else.

***
I return by myself on Thursday afternoon.
She seems weaker, it's hot — a damp cloth is placed on her forehead, covering an eye, her head leans on her shoulder.

I sit by her side, holding her hands in mine.
I know that she can no longer speak. Her leg trembles, as well as a muscle near her mouth, making a small involuntary grin.

I watch for a moment of consciousness, in between her somnolence.
A wave of pain awakens her; she squeezes my hands so tightly. I whisper that will pass, I try to give her some strength.

Time passes, she drifts, she returns, I listen to the noise made by the fan.
Suddenly, her eye looks at me, she sees me.
I mumble some words about our friendship, of the wonderful times that we shared, all the times we danced together at parties…. and I dissolve into tears. She gives me strength now, I didn't mean to cry in front of her, holding her hands, at her bedside.
My vision is blurred by my tears which still run down my cheeks, but I don't look away, I look into her one eye which holds mine.

No convictions. What can I say? My ideas, my vision of death: the white tunnel, the energy of the soul freed, transformed… It's her death, after all, not mine.
I am just there, simply being with her, breathing with her, to stay with her during these few hours.

She covers her eyes with the cloth, she's tired, she wants to sleep. I disappear without saying goodbye: I'm not sure that I'll return, so that she won't see my tears again. This love, our friendship, is the essence.
 

photo © SpyPrincesse 2012