A Matter of Time

This is my wedding day. Today, my life begins anew. We start with blood and end with joy. A man in love can do anything. Be anything. Me, I am Valentine’s dark regret and Cupid’s knife. I am Romeo, and I will have my Juliet.

Everything is ready. The room smells of sterile solutions. The temperature is perfect. My tools gleam under the surgical lights. In the corner, there are IV tubes and fifteen bags of fluids. So many elixirs of life packed up in beautiful, single-use, plastic, ready for use. The Flesh is ready, and a network of machines keep it primed for work, their noise riffs on the heartbeat of the universe.

My hands shiver slightly. A tiny vibration, but enough to worry me. Calm is imperative. Breathe in for the count of four, and exhale for the count of five. Again. Air rushes in through the nose, and out through the mouth. My hands steady. I keep going. It is time to be fully present. To be in the moment. Stop worrying about our wedding. Focus on the road that leads to it. This is truly our moment, Maria’s and mine. This is my special chapter in the story of us.

My eyes flick to the Flesh, so beautiful and still. This, too, is mine. Everything in this room is. This is my time, my passion, my blaze at the center of creation.

Despite all this, I do not dare to speak of hope here. Yet tendrils and whispers run through my mind.

Run to me, Maria, my love. Meet me, my darling. Come to me at midnight, here in my arms. Be mine again.

She does not answer, but I know she hears me. At the deepest level, we are already together. We are destined, Maria and I. Forever and ever. Us. Always us.

There is a lingering moment of uncertainty when my eyes wander from the polished Flesh on the table to the dog drugged in the corner. A dog lacks elegance. A dog is never truly clean. On those autumn days, when she and I drank coffees together in the university bookshop, I agreed with my love that horses are beauty made flesh. On that day, the sky was a darkening stain that promised rain. Maria admired someone’s pathetic animal, a scrappy dog with fur blown sideways by the wind. She had never shown fondness before. When questioned on this, Maria admitted that, while she liked dogs well enough, her passion was equine. She talked with such feeling about riding with her father on Sundays, of the white stallions of Spain, of Leonardo and his unfinished sculpture. The joy in her face moved me. I don’t like animals, but I love all that Maria loves. It was the sheer logistical difficulties that persuaded me to reconsider.

I tried horses. The beasts proved almost impossible to operate on. There was one test-run in a field one winter. Imagine. Me, up to my knees in snow in the middle of a field, my best saw blunting on bone, pools of blood steaming under the distant stars. As you might surmise, the whole enterprise was a miserable failure. Not only did I pull a muscle in my back, the cold sank its claws into me. I was in bed for two weeks. Never again. I cannot save Maria if I cannot save myself.

Nevertheless, I fear Maria would object to my moving to this simpler solution. A replacement animal implies practicality holds value more than love. There’s a risk I am subtly undermining the woman I adore. It’s part of a wider, ongoing, concern. The questions that keep me awake, that keep me trying. To what standard should I hold myself? What more can I do to help Maria love me? Or might my love, so unpredictable, so flighty, decide that my ability to compromise makes me better at romance? Heathcliff never compromised. Yet every Flesh has agreed that a certain amount of give-and-take is at the heart of ever-lasting love. Then, when we do give and take, they change. Freud is right: it is so hard to tell what a woman genuinely wants.

With this question in mind, I glance up to where my love’s portrait hangs on the wall, near the door. Perhaps she has something to say, a point not yet considered. After all, this is her time too. But if she speaks, the words are lost in the thunder of my heart. Just a glance of her glory defeats me. Shatters me. Every day, my brilliance defeated anew by the sheer beauty of Maria. The artist has captured one of her finest expressions. There is the curve of her cheek as she smiles. The suggestion of a dimple. A slight rise on the lips. Her gaze is simple, direct, and the warmth of her dark eyes is the very definition of desire. Maria. At the sight of her, all thoughts stutter and my heart chokes. My love gazes at me as though I were her god, when the truth is, she is all I worship. All I have ever worshipped. She is all things and more to me.

Wake, my darling. Wake tonight. Love me.

I step forward, caught in the siren’s sweet spell. The table bumps my leg and the Flesh twitches under my hands. A noise is made, soft in the throat. These small things bring me back to myself. To my moment. Maria taught me everything I know about love. Now it is my chance to respond.

The Flesh moves again. A soft protest. My hands have too tight a grip. There’s a risk of bruising. I let go as shame floods me. This skin is soon to belong to my love. It must remain perfect, or my love will not be perfect. And my love is everything.

I pick up a scalpel and hesitate. Give and take. There is a slight chance that Maria may not approve of this, of what I do for her. During that slow drift away from us, she spoke to me of morals, of values, of rights and wrongs. She talked about church, as though there were no cruelties there. The depravity of the church holds up the altars of priests. No matter. If Maria said it, it must be so. I play recordings of her voice as I work. The tone of her calms me. I love her certainties. In all I do, I try so hard to stay true to her, to her vision of us.

When my love returns, she can be forever certain of my willingness to do what a relationship requires. There can no longer be any doubt that she is my queen and I her knight. Like Lancelot, I do not deserve her and yet strive to be true. She loved me once. She can again. Despite all that is arrayed against us, she is mine, and I will win the right to her by fair means or foul.

“What we do here, we do for love,” I say, stroking the Flesh with the edge of the blade, watching skin pebble under my hand. It is silent again and I am glad. The tone of voice is not right. Nor is the skin a perfect match to that in the portrait, although with the right light, it will work. A few freckles are out of alignment. If I consider too much, the imperfections mount up. There is only so much bone that can be sanded and sculpted before the body revolts. But it is close, closer than the last Flesh had been. This time, it might work.

I admire the vessel, Maria, my love. I admire her, because she is you. This body could hold you, and I know you wish to be held again. Remember how you loved to be held? Remember how you squirmed with desire, there under the ropes and flame?

My task remains, and I must begin. For what is this lovely body worth to me, if it cannot house the most beautiful mind? Maria’s brain is two handfuls of matter as magical and misunderstood as the moon. Breathtaking, haunting in its complexity. Weighing only three pounds, it is an organ rich in fat, oxygen, and water.

Maria. Do you remember my holding your brain in the palms of my hands, how you stilled there, pulsing in rhythm to my heart? Could you feel my touch in your most intimate of places? Did you yearn for me even then, as I did for you? Did you know we were together?

When I held my love’s brain, cupped in my hands, breathing in the sweet smell of her, I grew drunk the scent of her. Moved beyond words, I nibbled on a small area, making us one flesh, one love. I want us joined, forever. For a perfect moment, I held her brain in my mouth, and even then, she fled from me.

My Maria had so many crazy, incomprehensible thoughts. Towards the end, she talked so much, so fast, it was all I could do to still her. To let her find her own focus. It was in this silence that I learned a new form of love. The first opening of Maria was a tentative cut, delicate, shivering with desire. It was a heady thought, that I might know the whole of the woman I desire. To have and to hold. To hold and to have. Can any husband say they have done both actions as completely as I?

Maria, do you know that I am here? Are you talking to me as I talk to you? Do you remember me?

There is no answer. Without a body to instruct, the brain remains mute and foolish as a naked snail. The human body seems so pitifully hopeful that the fragile cave of a skull would protect itself from scrutiny.

This is stalling. I am like one of my students, so afraid of failing I cannot bring myself to begin.

I dedicate myself to crafting the perfect vessel for Maria’s return to the world. Today, this body, this beautiful shape, is my most recent offering as a vessel for my love. I know the Flesh is not perfect; only Maria is perfect. But it is close, and my darling must have a familiar body. Something comfortable she can slide into, like her favourite coat. Somewhere that is the shape of home. A place that smells right. I have bathed and perfumed the Flesh with this in mind. I don’t like to admit it, but the scent of disinfectant is difficult to overcome. All I want is Maria made anew, to be sleeping here, waiting for me to wake her with a kiss.

Maria, you are a princess, a bride asleep, waiting for the kiss that only I can bestow. You are my spring, my summer love.

I shake myself free of longings and ready the video camera. My time. This is my time. My moment of godhood shines in a small room of an indifferent universe. A universe I will wrest justice from. Maria is within my reach, if not my grasp. I inject the Flesh to wake it fully. The time is now. We must begin.

“Let me explain the process once more,” I say, fiddling with the video camera, temporarily unable to turn it on and remembering too late to take the cap off. The university loans me equipment, but I try to use my own when I can. It is important that there is a record of the current occupant consenting to what is coming. Proof of give and take. I need it, for Maria.

My darling, your return harms no one, please, come home.

For Maria, I speak to the Flesh. It demeans us both, but my love is infinite. Maria’s smile is worth this degrading moment, is worth every degrading moment.

“The seat of the Flesh’s consciousness, its mind, if you will, will move from this body into that of the dog. There is no pain. It will simply arrive at a new place of living. And it will be free.”

Maria, we can adopt the dog if we must, if that helps you to come home. And horses. All the horses you want. We can move to the country, just like you wanted to do. We can do whatever you want. Return to me.

“I need the permission to empty this body of its current occupant. This existing consciousness. This is just a rehousing, a relocation. Before we begin, I need you to give informed consent. Maria needs to know that she has your permission.”

Are you listening, Maria? Can you see how I have changed?

“Please, squeeze my hand to confirm that you understand the procedure as explained to you. Let the video show informed consent.” I pause here. The Flesh must give consent. Usually, at this point in the operation, my hand is being squeezed like a sponge. Most subjects want to vacate by now, their bodies as foreign to them as the sight of the sky. With this Flesh, there had been some issues with convulsions. Perhaps I had adjusted the soothing formula too much? Maybe that was why it made noises. Regardless of the reasons, I now need an answer.

“The alternative is to dispose of you in the university cafeteria. The dog’s brain is destined for Wednesday’s meatloaf. I like to feed brains to the dean, in the hope it will make him more obedient. I realise your own mind will be a healthier alternative to university fodder, especially the salad, but are you sure that is how you want to end up? Travelling through the colon of some spotty and love-starved student? Obliged to listen to overinflated egos and foolish hopes? Or, worse, scraped off his plate and into the common waste?”

I do not mention what happens to the bones, but obviously, if this doesn’t work, I will need something to lure a new dog with.

Still not squeezing. Hm. I try again. “Your body is altered, you remember? You are not who you were. This corporeal self, it isn’t you anymore. This flesh is renovated, ready for the new client. It is an honour, truly an honour, to be in the body that’s been honed to house perfection. If you could see yourself, you would admire the improvements, but this loveliness is not for you. You never cared much for this body, not while you owned it. A dog is a comfortable place to live and requires almost no maintenance at all. It should suit you perfectly. This body, the one you are in, we both know that it’s no longer your home. And my love, she needs a place to stay.”

The Flesh continues to ignore me. Well, this is embarrassing. I am at risk of sounding foolish. Maria can’t see me fail. She will laugh at me. This ongoing refusal is baffling. The existing occupant had treated her body like a student hovel. At her request, I took over, renovated, upgraded and polished the skin to perfection. It is the most exquisite vessel I could craft. How could this occupant pretend to feel at home in such flawless skin? Let me ponder. What else might encourage a reluctant tenant to move out?

“The dog was a stray animal. I plan to abandon it at a fire station. You may never speak again, but you might sleep next to a fireman every night. Don’t you want a fireman to hold you when it gets cold?” There, that should do it. Women love firemen. Firemen love dogs. Everyone wins. Isn’t that the hallmark of a good negotiation?

Maria, this is not lying. Or, if it is, I will abase myself to you. We can do whatever you like, when you will come back to me.

A squeeze. Not much, but a squeeze all the same. I try not to show my relief. I don’t like to show vulnerabilities, but I was not sure what more persuasion there was. It would have been awful to get so close, only to be thwarted at the final step. If the flesh had refused, I’m not sure Maria would have allowed me to continue.

Maria, what is the first thing you want to do when we are together?riting here…