8. X
From 'Passages' by Jean de Lier
The European practice of using an "X" for a kiss grew out of the medieval practice of letting those who could not write, mark documents with an "X" to represent their name. This was done in the presence of witnesses and a kiss was given upon the "X" to show sincerity. The "X" then became synonymous with the kiss in the minds of most people. The reason why the symbol "X" was chosen to represent one’s name is found in the Greek alphabet.
The pledge was given in the Name of Christ, but not the cross upon which he died. The "X", or Chi symbol in the Greek alphabet was often used to represent "Christ", the first letter of his name. Henry liked kissing, and even rather liked the idea of kissing the signed X before a witness, which surely derives from the Pax. A fervently lapsed Catholic, he remembered the Pax, in Roman Catholic ritual, being kissed, and the host (communion biscuit) often had the Chi impressed on it.
Similarly to kiss a lover, to embrace a relative, to cuddle a child or fondle a dog; and the formal kisses of Presidents and Monarchs (of which he had no experience), were all important gestures of affection, of sincerity or at the very least, of a lack of enmity. Even the ‘kiss of Judas’, whose significance, he mused, is not always as clear as the simple minded suppose, is between people well known to each other.
Cultural differences, altered mores, and national customs play a part - the Spanish Ambassador to the court of Queen Elizabeth I (Gloriana) was much shocked, and wrote in his report that at Court in England the ladies kissed each other in greeting and what is more they kissed men as well; even unmarried ladies did so. Henry’s Muslim friend Ahmed, who claimed to be a non-violent fundamentalist, fondly embraced him in greeting as did one or two gay English or American friends. Ahmed was not at all gay, but these kisses were still received by Henry with a slightly restrained resignation. He was quite aware that the intention was kind, affectionate and sincere and that it was his stiff old fashioned upbringing that held him back. He did kiss his adult son but not routinely, not as often as he kissed his daughter. In general he kissed women rather freely, mostly just on the cheek without any particular sexual implication. To kiss a total stranger, even a woman, was still a rather special.
Henry was in Brussels alone and went to Aux Armes de Bruxelles, for moules & frites. It is one of those funny old places that seems unchanged from a former age, and he loves it. He had not booked and it was packed. But alone one can often manage to find a seat if one stands about and gets in the way long enough and indeed before too long a small table became free, tightly packed. At the next table a middle aged lady was reading a book in English. So he spoke to her, discovered she was in fact from Vienna, the Austrian representative at a conference on, I think, drug abuse in the European Community. She turned out to be former clinical psychiatrist, by that time government official. They chatted amiably between the tables for an hour or so "as strangers met anight" and then, quite suddenly she looked at him, and said quietly that he must have something serious on his mind. Henry was surprised and asked why she should think so. He had come, she explained, confident and happy, clear and cogent. Now his mood seemed to have changed, the atmosphere had clouded over so to speak. She added brightly, " And I am much too old and unattractive for you to be worrying, trying to work out how you might be going to get me into bed! And so" she concluded “there must be something quite else and rather serious on your mind.” There was indeed.
Of course then it all came out in the greatest detail, about his divorce, and the complicated reasons for it and then she told HIM about HER failed marriage and they sat and talked till two in the morning when they turned off the lights and put the chairs up on the tables. Now it really was too late for her to take the metro so he accompanied her to a taxi rank (small middle aged lady alone), gave her a fervent peck on each cheek and a small hug and off she went into the bowels of the city. He walked back alone to the Hilton. Not only had each of them spilled an awful lot of beans that night, but neither had made the smallest attempt to get an address, a name, even a first name, of the other. It was a perfect relationship - strangers on a train - why spoil it? They both understood that, but now years later, sometime in the future perhaps, he feels that he would after all like to meet her again, not for the kiss, far less for a sexual encounter, but just to thank her for her humanity and sympathy.
On another occasion Henry was at a conference and had promised to lunch with friends, also attending. But as they all hurried out (there was barely an hour) he met someone he needed to speak to, at least swap cards. That’s what conferences are for. Then, late, he rushed up the long stairway toward the brilliant sunshine of the square. A lady, not quite young, nor yet too old either, was standing silhouetted against the light and directly in his path. Black against the light, he thought she was an eminent professional, well known to him, and in his haste and hurry, he thought to give her a quick kiss of recognition. His friends were on the pavement waiting and urging haste, waving him on as he approached but then, from a distance of about one inch from her face, he realised that she was a total stranger. He was actually running, so as he veered away and went by he almost yelled at her “Excuse me - I thought you were someone else”. “I am someone else” came the instant riposte.
He was already nearly in the street but wheeled round, describing a full circle at speed round the startled lady and gave her a big kiss on each cheek; and now laughing as well, burst into the bright sunlight and off to lunch. His wiseacre friends, who had witnessed but not understood the whole of this little scene mocked him gently “Ah, you Henry, as usual kissing all the girls” (Whoever she was, she had hardly been a spring chicken). But “No No” he insisted “quite otherwise, I have just kissed a total stranger.”
He searched the audience at the second session of the conference but it was mostly dark and anyway he had no particular reason to think she was part of it. She had just been standing there. Somewhere there lives a lady, foreign perhaps from the four words he had heard her say, by now perhaps in her early sixties, who is telling a story of how friendly the British are.
Those kisses were his induction and in different degrees, quite chaste. Henry was a loyal man, his life had had few upsets, nothing particular had happened, not really remarkable except to himself. Even the few affairs he had had were serious matters of the heart, shorter or longer relationships (and a couple of marriages). He had denied the existence of a sincere one night stand.
It was an accident or else it was cupid’s arrow. During the brief interregnum between two marriages he had a different experience of just the kind he did not believe to exist. He attended a conference and was dining in one of the large and impersonal conference hotels with three male colleagues. One of them, an Italian, had earlier caused a stir by inadvertently wearing a Coldstream Guards tie just because he “liked the pretty stripe”. He had no idea about club ties but these things are not done in England. Meanwhile he noticed and was noticed by a similar group at the next table, three female executives (and a man), even more earnestly discussing derivatives and arbitrage and the state of State Finance in S. Korea. The man was from Hong Kong. Henry actually had his back to that table so he saw nothing though he was only a couple of feet from the back of the formidable and celebrated Dutch executive, Neeltje van Breen.
Checks signed, the two tables rose to leave at exactly the same time and each spent a certain moment on hand shakes and nodding and Henry found himself walking to the exit more or less beside Neeltje. They looked at each other, saw each other for the first time and as if by instinct, by the merest nod, detached and walked together to the bar. Neither said a word nor had any idea who the other might be but, conference schooled, they exchanged cards, each ordered their own drink and looked into each other’s food-and-wine sated eyes. They looked into each other’s eyes and hardly spoke, hardly wanted to know details of who they were or where they had been or why they were there.. They had been to the same mind-numbing conference, they had endured dull colleagues for dinner, they were both very tired and did not want to discuss it any more. Strangers on the bar stool, her knee touched his, his hand slipped off the glass on to hers. They smiled, a half smile of recognition and assent.
There was a little dance floor on which two couples were embracing to the tune of an old number. They danced a couple of tracks during which time her cheek brushed his stubble, her perfume (some fifteen hours old by now) infected his cuff. Midnight plus ten. He surreptitiously looked at her card again to try to memorise the name, and noted (he thought) that she had given the keynote speech at a seminar that morning which he had failed to attend. He signed for both drinks with his room number and at the same time put the magnetic card that acted as a key to his room on the bar top. She looked at it dreamily, fiddled about in her brief case, found a little refresher spray and placed her room card beside his, together with the folder indicating the room number. They looked into each other’s eyes again, briefly, idly almost and with no further word she rose to her feet, gave him a quick professional kiss on the cheek for the benefit of some passing colleagues, a few of which still littered the darker places of the bar and left decisively wishing him a firm goodnight. She took the duplicate card out of the wallet leaving the cover with the number and her entry card next to his.
He got up slowly and deliberately, taking both ‘keys’, wondering, then yes, yes, definitely, decisively to his own room waving a cheery good night to a few people he half knew, who duly noted he was on his own. He dumped his brief case, poured and drank a large glass of water, took off his tie and jacket, which he hung neatly in the closet, and as precaution he put his money and cards into the little safe together with his car key – who was she anyway? Anyone could have a card – he put her card in the safe too. If he never returned someone would find it. He brushed his teeth, and then, with only the two room-entry cards in his pocket, he sallied forth along the corridor, and up a couple of floors.
When he entered Neeltje was in the shower. She heard the door but pretended not to. The bathroom door was ajar, and he half debated whether to go in, better not, but quickly stripped and got into the large bed. He lay on the far side under the covers with his face away from the bathroom. She smiled to herself at his tact at not playing the Peeping Tom – he had got that right. Having come out of the bathroom in a bathing gown, she immediately dropped it to her feet, turned off the lights completely and slipped in beside him, naked in the pitch dark. He felt her smooth taught skin and silky hair, the breath of perfume between her breasts. She felt eighteen hours of stubble and a firm grip which she approved. Firm, strong, hard. Neither had much idea what the other looked like.
We need not describe the rest of the night except that it was short and neither got much sleep. He rose hurriedly at seven, offered her a last quick honour from his manhood which she accepted with grace if not much pleasure for herself, and with a suitable farewell embrace, he left for his room, shower, and a breakfast meeting, spry and black suited at 8.15. He was only a moment late.
The conference lasted another couple of days and though she was still there, they only passed each other once, in conversation with others, the briefest nod of recognition along a busy corridor. She answered no messages to her room and Henry never saw her again. By the time he drove home he was not totally sure he would recognise her.
They still exchange Christmas cards. Henry is now married again and Neeltje has been much in the news with some important takeover. He saw her picture in the paper. In fact the whole tale would be quite unremarkable if it were not that each of them, in fact, remembers that night as the most perfect night of pure unsullied love, real love and not just sex, in their entire lives. Free and unencumbered they had agreed so completely that there had been no need for speech, hardly even for recognition. They therefore preserve the most wonderful, because totally abstract, intact memory of each other, unprofaned by mere experience. And they both understand that the memory is exactly what they must preserve, nor ever try to repeat it.
Two people share the same secret. Two people keep the secret even from each other.
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