Havana, August 2009
Boris sat on his patio experiencing a profound sense of Deja vu. It was almost six years to the day that he'd met Marisa in this exact spot. Five and half since he'd left with the intention of never laying eyes on her again.
He'd dreamed of that last night many times. Their long leisurely walk past the brightly colored homes of Havana. Dancing together in the square, the scent of roses perfuming the air. Returning home to a meal prepared by the gourmet chef he'd flown in from Italy. This was the point where the dream became a nightmare.
After their repast Boris had confessed what he'd overheard and posed the same three questions Marisa's father had. He'd received her three answers. Yes, she wanted to get married, but didn't need to, so long as he remained fully committed to her. Yes, she would defect, under two conditions: 1) She wanted to pick her replacement at her current facility and 2) he would fly her in to see her family at least three times a year. The final answer however, had been far less welcome. Marisa wanted a child.
Boris explained how he felt about passing on his disease and she told him she understood. She claimed she was perfectly willing to wait. Her focus for the next few years would be on finding a cure for him. Once she'd managed that, then they could begin to try. He'd realized then that they had very different expectations regarding his odds of survival.
For Boris this research was a 'hail Mary' as the Americans would say. He would try anything, but in his heart he didn't truly believe he could be saved. Marisa on the other hand presumed success. It shocked Boris, because like him, she was more pragmatic than idealistic. Her optimism said a lot about her faith in herself and her determination that she not lose him.
Boris had appreciated her desire to keep him alive, but felt he needed to open her eyes to reality. He has asked what her plan was in the event that he could not be cured. Her response had been that they always could adopt instead. A seemingly fair compromise. Then she'd kissed him and pulled him toward the bedroom. He'd let her. If he'd been a better man he would have stopped. Instead he'd selfishly indulged in a final night of loving making.
Boris had known he would never want a child to be forced to witness his decline. Even if they knew they wouldn't face the same fate, it was still too cruel for him to allow. He also knew he wouldn't change his mind, no matter how much time passed. Letting Marisa marry him believing otherwise would be grossly unfair to her. If he told her how he felt, then he would be putting the burden on her to choose.
In the end he'd decided to make the choice for her. Marisa was young, brilliant, and beautiful. She deserved the best the world had to offer. A husband who could love and support her every day of her long and happy life. Not him, who in all likelihood wouldn't live to their tenth anniversary. She deserved children whom she could raise without fear of disease or greedy extended family. He'd left while she'd slumbered, knowing if he waited his resolve would fail him.
Marisa had sent him letters for three years after his departure. Whether she'd been cursing him or trying to change his mind, he didn't know. He'd left them all unopened, hidden in a box underneath his cigars. Nights when he felt a desire for self flagellation, he took them out and stared at them. He'd run his fingers over the scrawled return address, wondering if this was the moment he'd give into temptation. He never had. Whether that was a testament to Boris' self-discipline or masochism, he couldn't say.
Boris checked his watch, acutely aware of each passing second. He'd sent a note requesting a 10 am meeting. When he'd received no reply, he'd begun to worry. What if Marisa refused to come?
Despite everything Boris had done, he didn't doubt she'd admit him into the trial, presuming he was eligible. What Marisa could do, and indeed was well within her rights to do, was to refuse to meet with him in person. She could send an intermediary instead. This seemed more and more likely with each passing second.
Marisa's habit had always been to arrive early to their meetings. With only a minute to the turn of the hour, early was no longer an option.
He was sweating as much as he had the day he'd first met Marisa, and this time it had nothing to do with his clothing. How was he supposed to endure being in her presence again? He'd been afraid her written words would break his will power. How much more difficult would it be to hear her voice? Maybe it would be better if Marisa did send an underling.
He'd barely finished his thought when a breathtakingly familiar sight appeared at the bottom of the brick path. Dear God it was as if the last five years had never occurred. Hair swept up off her graceful neck. Red sheath dress and low heels. The only difference was the medical bag she carried. Did she remember that this was the same outfit she'd worn on their first night together? Was it meant to be a message of some kind? Or merely coincidence?
"Marisa."
"Boris." Marisa's tone was professional, and that was disappointing. He'd preferred her anger to her indifference. Still she hadn't addressed him by his surname and she was here. That was something at least.
"I wasn't certain you would come."
"Did you really think I would refuse to meet with my facility's most generous benefactor?" The corner of Boris' mouth quirked at the hint of sarcasm. That sounded much more like the woman he knew.
"Please, have a seat." She obeyed, her eyes flicking to the wooden chess set on the table between them. The board had been her gift to him on the one Christmas they'd belatedly celebrated. He wondered if she'd comment on it.
"I understand you are interested in participating in my clinical trial." It seemed she was not interested in reminiscing. He could hardly blame her. He coached his own features into what he hoped was a businesslike expression.
"Possibly. My personal physician has convinced me to retrace my steps in seeking a cure for my ailment." Hank's optimism was infectious and when the good doctor had, without prompting, pulled Marisa's name from the large pile, it had felt like fate.
"Have you become symptomatic?" Boris looked at Marisa sharply. Fear. He'd seen it there for a split second before she'd smoothed it away. Boris felt warmth blossom in his chest. She still cared if he lived or died.
"As of yet, no, but there has been a slight rise in my CPK levels, which has preceded the onset in other members of my family." Marisa nodded once, a familiar look of determination on her face.
"I see. My first step would be to draw your blood and attempt to identify the irregularity in your DNA. I would've had this done five years ago, but my sample went missing the same day that you did. Con su permiso?" Boris began to roll up his sleeve, fighting the urge to smile at the barely concealed annoyance in her voice.
"Si, claro." He was silent as she performed the blood draw, taking the moment to admire her lovely dark eyes, narrowed in concentration. When she finished she looked up she seemed almost surprised to find him staring unabashedly at her. A blush bloomed in her cheeks and she looked away, busying herself packing up her bag.
"I will run the tests under a pseudonym. I know how concerned you are about your anonymity and I will do everything I can to protect it."
"I've never doubted your willingness to help me." She turned back towards him again, the blush all but gone.
"Just my ability to do so." There was more than just anger in the look she gave him, there was also hurt. Was that truly why she thought he'd left, that he'd lost confidence in her ability as a scientist?
"Marisa-"
"Your new American physician, this Doctor Lawson, is quite persistent." Marisa's interjection told him she was not willing to hear him out, at least not at this juncture. Best not to test a weak spot until he knew how solid a foundation he was standing on. He'd would oblige her by accepting the subject change.
"Yes, Hank's tenacity is one of his dominant traits." It was stubbornness rivaled only by Marisa's own. It would be interesting to see how they interacted, once Hank arrived.
"You call your doctor by his first name?" Boris shrugged. He'd gotten so used to the informality he hardly thought about it anymore. It had amused Boris how willing the doctor was to cast off his hard won title, when most of his peers flaunted theirs like the honorific was an expensive accessory.
"He prefers it." At first Boris thought it might be akin to his own choice to drop his surname. As leaders in their respective fields, neither he nor Hank needed their full titles to command respect. As he'd come to know Hank however, he'd begun to suspect a different motive. Hank did not like to set himself above his fellow man. He wanted to meet his patients on an even playing field, not lord over them from on high.
"I'm curious, since you know I can't make outgoing calls to the United States, why did you bother giving him my number?"
"I wanted to alert you that I was coming to Cuba as respectfully as I could."
Technically he'd never stopped coming. Every winter he returned to his home here for at least a month. He was careful never to go into town while Marisa was there, though he had caught sight of Hector and Roberto. The former had nodded politely in acknowledgement. The latter had sent him a look of such loathing Boris had briefly wondered if Marisa's brother would challenge him to fisticuffs.
He'd secretly hoped on these occasions that the men would alert Marisa to his presence and that she would storm over to his house and upbraid him. It had never happened. Either Marisa's father and brother had stayed silent or Marisa had chosen not to come.
"And, I assume, quell any expectations that you were here for personal reasons. You needn't have worried, Boris. After years of unanswered letters, I received that message loud and clear."
There was no mistaking the bitterness in that tone. He had hurt her deeply. That fact he'd intended it for the best didn't make up for that.
"I regret any discomfort my presence causes you. In recompense, I brought an apology gift." He nodded to the box of cefixime, doxycycline, and azithromycin he'd placed on the brick walkway. Boris' contact at Marisa's lab kept him up to date on Marisa informal Cristobal's square clinic. He'd made regular donations to the cause for years, on the condition Marisa never found out. In preparation for this visit he asked about the items they needed the most. Ironically it was the same gift he'd supplied as Marisa's replacement Christmas present all those years ago.
"I'm sure the medicine will be greatly appreciated." Not quite the enthusiasm he would have hoped for, but he couldn't wasn't completely surprised. He was trying to buy her forgiveness and Marisa had never been susceptible to bribery. Perhaps his secondary offering would have more success.
"I also purchased this. Orchids are still your favorite, no?" Boris reached down to the ground and lifted up the potted plant in question. A multitude of expressions passed rapidly over Marisa's face before she reached for the gift. She studied the flower for a moment, then smiled at him for the first time since she arrived.
"Yes, they're still my favorite, difficult though they may be to care for. Thank you."
Boris smiled back. A promising beginning.
