Confessions

-- By KatherineOk - 21 Feb 2025

MARIA DID NOT KNOW WHAT TIME SHE GOT IN BED.

“It is remarkable how a man cannot summarize his thoughts in even the most general sort of way without betraying himself completely, without putting his whole self into it, quite unawares, presenting as if in allegory the basic themes and problems of his life.”

This was a lengthy line Maria once read in an English exercise book. It clung to her like a burr. Though Maria was now twenty-five years old and no longer in grammar school, she recalled the line – truly, the fact it was by the preeminent, Thomas Mann – when last Friday, John smiled while proclaiming his great interest in the Nobel Prize winner. At that time Maria laughed for no reason at all – she laughed at nothing, realizing while laughing that there was nothing. She felt idiotic but not ashamed.

Sometimes, when she met others, at parties, dinners, coffees – Maria felt a feeling like this: punctured by a spirit that was pointing, wagging a finger, at her very core, through her spine, announcing, “This is me! This is you!” It would make her senses drunk, and it would be a bit frightening, but there was a whispered sense of urgency, from someone, something, and even a thought of holiness to the interaction. Timing was everything, and bodies would be nothing.

This was possibly why Maria was enraptured with such delight, such fear when she went to the New York Philharmonic last year, to see Gustav Mahler’s Symphony No. 9. And oh, this might be why, too, Maria can only point to the why, the rattling metallic ball inside her chest, when she sits with words or listens to symphonies or prays to Christ. During the fourth movement, Maria hardly thought to loosen her fists. There was a terrible feeling of being wound-up with every push and swell of the strings, but she sat in the dark balcony. Every time she thought that this was it -- this was where something -- no more waiting -- the world would end -- the moment passed. Something, someone, went through her. It could have been the indefatigable French horns or the weak little violins. And, just when she thought it was over, something was back. Up her soul rose.

Now, it was next morning. In the morning it was raining. You could hear some cars driving by the back of the house, splashing up mud when they crossed over a small divot. It was only March, but spring had come early. Maria walked past a couple of avenues. What remained unclear was what aspect of that morning had made her walk in this wet hanging dampness. It was Sunday. She left the crowds gathered around cafés and markets because she saw Colm, He was with his sister Beth.

Colm was a physician in training. His expression was quite hard but fantastically earnest. Beth was a writer. She had light hair and wore a white dress and had polished nails. Maria had known the siblings since she was little. Their parents were friends for a period of time. Now they were not but somehow the three of them had kept in somewhat casual touch and she would see them at times to eat dinner or drink cocktails. Colm and Beth were sitting on wicker chairs despite the rain. They were under a canopy.

"Hi," Maria called.

Colm and Beth turned. Colm had a smile that crinkled half-up and half-down in a way that made him look quite winsome but also displeased and humorless. It went like that just now. How long has it been? A year? The pair sat up.

"Oh, Maria! How are you?" Colm said.

"Why, fine!" Maria said.

Colm smiled his crinkled smile again. Beth smiled too, and Maria put her hand on Beth's chair. Maria's stature sort of went to a drunken contrapposto.

"Well, I haven't seen you two in so long! How are you?," Maria asked again, more towards Colm. "How is school?"

Colm blinked quickly, and Beth shifted.

"Well, I have news!" he announced.

"Oh, yes?" said Maria, in a pinched voice.

Maria knew of this news. The truth was Maria was awfully kept up on the news. Colm had left school to start a church. It was not so much a shock but rather a confirmation, yes, that was it, confirmation of reality. And yet, here she was, standing with her fingers tracing the woven back of Beth's chair.

Maria was attracted to extreme personalities. Extremely bad, extremely good -- the common denominator was provocation. The provoking thing about Colm were his personal beliefs. They were not reckless, nor they were cruel, but through conviction they were ravishing. Maria did not know whether to agree or disagree half the time in their youth. He would speak in evenings with an unshaken strength. Opposition felt impossible and agreement felt frightening. He often spoke of universal love. And to him, belief was not about feeling, it was about discipline -- this was something Colm once told Maria. God was not there. People want to be told what to do in a way that makes them feel free. We should all be free.

She looked at Colm with a steady glance, trying to make out the root of this earnestness. But to think of Colm and his thoughts set her senses ablaze with fear. It was difficult to not immediately abandon the question of who and what and where Colm had been. Maria's perception stirred, and she felt a sort of despair.

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