Agnes: Love of My Life -

To fully understand this part of the story, we recommend reading Parts I, II, and III of 'Agnes: Love of My Life' first.

Part IV - House on the Coast

1. The Strangers

The residents of the fishing village on the Normandy coast know little about the strange couple who moved here about six months ago after purchasing an old house that had been for sale for a long time without finding a buyer. Although this house is one of the smaller ones, its great advantage is that it is close to the beach and stands apart from the other houses. Its walls are painted white, which is why it is called

La Maison Blanche

- white house; this name is inscribed on the façade in black, Gothic letters. The entrance door and window frames are painted navy blue, and the roof is covered with terracotta tiles. At one end of the house, a wide fireplace chimney rises along the wall to the roof; in autumn, the wind whistles softly through it. The house is surrounded by two gardens, with some thuja and Japanese maple trees in the back garden and red and blue barberry bushes in the front garden. From the terrace one can see down to the wide beach, where the constant roar of the waves mingling with the cries of seagulls.

The newcomers do not seek close contact with the locals, while the locals are discreet enough not to inquire about them. However, they have observed a few things:

The couple are seemingly in their late thirties. It is unknown how they earn their living. In the mornings, they walk along the beach wearing long, burgundy, or orange colored, kaftan-like garments. They also occasionally walk to the lighthouse, which is nearly two miles away. The woman's brown, shoulder-length hair dances in the coastal breeze as she walks; at other times, she ties it into a ponytail as a high school girl. Their Collie dog named

Saxon

accompanies them on their strolls, joyfully splashing around in the shallow water. In the afternoons, they often relax on the terrace of the house, enjoying a cup of tea. They have an old, but well-maintained Citroën 'Duck' car, and they often take trips around the area in it on Sundays. Sometimes they go as far as Le Havre, but the lemon-yellow vehicle has also been seen in the more distant Yport. They appear to live in perfect harmony and love; they have no children, or if they do, they are not living with them. They usually go shopping at the local market, where they mainly acquire fish, cheese, bread, milk, vegetables and fruit. The woman speaks French fluently; however, her slight, unfamiliar accent and her consistent use of

français standard

imply that it is not her native language. The man doesn't speak French very well, but he can make himself understood. There are evenings when the attic room is lit by colorful lanterns while soft Indian music is heard through the open window. They are kind and polite to everyone, but at the same time aloof, as if they have a secret --but that, after all, is their own affair...

Still, one evening in the old bistro next to the fishing harbor, the men gathered around the card table--mostly local fishermen--find themselves talking about the mysterious couple once again. The yellow light of the old wrought-iron lamp hanging from the wooden-beamed ceiling tries to penetrate the thick pipe smoke, while the aroma of wine and fish soup fills the room.

"I wonder where they came from," one of them says, skillfully shuffling the cards.

"And why are they wearing those strange clothes on the shore, anyway?" he adds.

"It's called

shalwar kameez

; a similar style is worn in India," replies a man named Shizé, an Arab, the owner of a grocery store in the village. He knows a thing or two about different cultures.

"India? Then perhaps they are followers of Krishna," muses Jules, the bartender.

"Whose?"

"It's not important; based on that, they could also be Buddhist monks," one fisherman quipped.

"Tut-Tut! Do you think the monks live in pairs?" shot back Jules. "After all, they only wear those robes at the beach. Besides, Buddhists have taken a vow of celibacy. I ask you; can you imagine that next to a woman like that?" he adds, and winks confidentially.

"Me? Certainly not--just don't let my wife find out."

Laughter erupts around the table.

"I really don't know which religious denomination they belong to, if they belong to any at all. In any case, I haven't seen them at Sunday mass."

"So what? If they don't go to church, that's their choice. At least they're not going to the pub either. Maybe you can take a lesson from them."

"Come on, a man can have such a problem that he gets thirsty."

"Then you must have a lot of problems. Don't get it wrong; I'm just kidding."

"Well, I'm

not

kidding.

Belote!

"

"Oh, really?

Rebelote!

"

They all take a sip of their wine than continue chatting.

"Where did we leave off? Well, yes. I'm sure they're not Indian, but they don't look Western or Northern European to me either."

"So, they're not from around here, then? Maybe they're running from something?"

"I say they probably came from somewhere in East Europe. I think they are Polish," one of them claims, laying their cards on the table.

"Or maybe Czechs; as far as I know, the Czech Republic is also somewhere there," says another fisherman, gulping down the rest of his wine.

The restaurant owner's son, who is a truck driver, has a different opinion:

"Neither this nor that. They are Hungarians. I used to drive to Hungary; I can recognize their accent."

"Seriously? And such beautiful women live there?"

"I've seen a few already..."

The game was over, and before the cards were dealt again, they looked thoughtfully at their empty glasses for a moment. Then one of them spoke up:

"Did you say Hungary? The capital of which is Bucharest?"

"No, that's Budapest. Bucharest is a little bit farther, in Romania. Hey Jules, mind bringing us another carafe of red? I'll pay for this round."

2. Oneness

"Do you remember? We were together for the first time in Paris three years ago."

"Yeah sure. That's when I told you that I always want to live with you."

"And I said that we shouldn't force it; everything has its time when it's meant to happen."

We are sitting on the terrace under the sunshade in the afternoon sunlight, savoring the dozen oysters we bought at the market in the morning. We sip white wine with it. The coastal breeze is playing with Agnes's hair, in which one or two gray strands are already mixed. As I lean closer to her, it's as if I can smell the salty scent of the sea in it.

"And how right you were. Of course, we had to do a few things for it, such as liquidating our old lives, choosing the right place where no one knows us, buying a house, and moving abroad. You know this, too, as we did it together."

"Fortunately, not everything was so difficult. For example, I can work as a literary translator from anywhere, and it's great that your job gives the same flexibility."

For a while, only the roar of the waves and the sharp cries of the seagulls can be heard. She continues thoughtfully:

"I have thought a lot about the two of us and why this became our destiny. Was everything that happened on that crazy night when we first made love predestined, or did it begin then?"

"I don't know. But now that you mention that first evening, suddenly I really desire you," I responded, taking a sip of my wine.

"Do you still desire an elderly woman like me?" she asks with a feigned bitter smile. "Of course, I know that oysters are an aphrodisiac; it's probably just because of that."

"I've always appreciated your self-irony, but you don't need to underestimate yourself. As for the oysters, there is a part of your body that tastes like one; that, too, must be opened and slurped."

"Oh, what an old lecher you are, my dear brother. But... at least you have imagination."

"Let's go inside, and I'll prove that I don't live in my imagination."

We emptied our glasses and stood up. Although the sun was setting, it still shone brightly over the sea, reflecting like a bridge of light on the now-gray waves.

Inside, in the curtained bedroom, she stands before me and asks with a seductive smile:

"One more oyster,

Monsieur

?"

I unfasten the belt of her long Indian dress, gently removing it to reveal her in a bra and panties. Is she old? Well, not exactly; I would describe her as enticingly mature. Of course, the passage of time gradually leaves its mark on both of us, but that doesn't matter; these are merely outward appearances that try to conceal the soul, but the soul shines through.

We kneel on the bed; I pull her bra down beneath her breasts and take her nipples into my mouth. I'm licking and kissing them, then I grasp her breasts. I unclip her bra from the back and remove it. Her breasts are still firm, perhaps because she hasn't nursed a child. For the first time in my life, I find myself thinking that if we weren't siblings, even a slightly saggy breast wouldn't have mattered in exchange for a child together...

She leans back on the bed, lifts her hips, and I pull down her panties. She always enjoyed it when I freed her from her underwear.

Much like her hair, her pubic hair is threaded with a few gray strands, but as I bury my face in it, I feel as though I can also catch a hint of the sea's scent there. She spreads her thighs and lets me move closer to her labia. I discover the moistening gap with my tongue and gently penetrate her expanding vagina with my finger. She tilts her head back, her eyes closed, and as she moans softly, she moves her hips in gentle circles, guiding my face closer and closer between her trembling thighs. She spreads her legs even wider, now I kiss her directly between her labia minor penetrating her vagina with the tip of my tongue. Her hips undulate. "Come on!" she pants. I position myself above her, and as usual, she wraps one leg around my waist while resting the other on my shoulder, so I can penetrate her deeply.

We make love slowly at first, then at an accelerating pace, she screams lustfully with each stronger thrust. When she reaches the climax, she wraps her legs around my waist, digs her nails into my back and pulls me tightly to her.

Afterward, in our usual way, we lie together for a while, still connected. I kiss her face, her lips, her sweaty forehead, and gently stroke her hair. I think to myself that while it's said a man is polygamous and may have needs for multiple women in his life, I feel that true joy comes from experiencing that pleasure through a harmonious relationship with a single woman. In a relationship where there is no more bickering, arguing, or jealousy, and the focus shifts to mutual understanding. Where the question of who takes the lead becomes irrelevant.

3. A Wish

The radio announced that the Earth would passing through the trail of an asteroid that day, so we went to the shore in the evening to watch for shooting stars. The retreating tide's gentle waves lapped against the flat, sandy beach, creating a phosphorescent froth. There must have been a storm far over the English Channel, as we occasionally saw blurred flashes of lightning in the far distance, without the sound of thunder. The summer constellations of the northern hemisphere were clearly visible above us, and as promised, numerous shooting stars appeared in the cloudless sky.

We walked slowly along the shore. Agnes bent down, picked up a large white seashell, and rinsed the sand off it in the water. We arrived at the pier beside the dock, where fishing boats were moored and swaying gently on the waves, filling the air with the scents of fish and tar. We walked all the way to the end of the pier, where we stood in silence for a while, leaning against the railing. The light from the nearby lighthouse flashed steadily, scanning the surface of the dark sea. Further along the coast, colorful light bursts from a firework could be seen in the night sky, their sounds reaching us faintly and with a delay due to the distance. In the far distance, the blurred lights of Le Havre twinkled. An indefinable yet palpable electricity buzzed in the air, and as I draped my arm over Agnes's shoulder, in that moment, I felt as if I could see the energy field that connected us. It was more of a vision than a tangible sight, as a faint emerald-hued mist swirled around us, its edges intertwined. The vision lasted only a few seconds, and then, as suddenly as it had appeared, it vanished. I wasn't sure if I had truly seen anything at all, but still, it didn't feel like mere imagination. An unsettling question surfaced within me.

"Agnes... Something is troubling me."

"Oh, no! Don't tell me you're still fixated on whether we're siblings."

"Not exactly. It's about how a higher power has placed us beside each other. You can call it whatever you like--Liskov's theory, quantum psychology, or even the will of the Universe; it's our fate. I know it may sound selfish, but it's the only way we can keep our secrets, whether we are siblings or not. But tell me, what will become of all this? Where will we end up when we, too, pass away? Will our life together forever lose its meaning, whatever meaning it had?

She gazed thoughtfully at the shell in her hands before responding.

"I don't know, and no one can know... Let's take this shell... Once, it enclosed a living creature whose home was the sea. The creature is no longer inside; it has died, but the shell has preserved the shape of its former inhabitant, and perhaps even its memory. Meanwhile, the waves have washed it ashore, where the relentless surf will gradually crush it into grains of sand. Yet, it will never completely disappear; it will remain in fragments, scattered across the shore, remnants of what once was."

"And perhaps this is the case with us too," she continued. "According to Helena Liskov we leave behind parts of our life in memories in the 'crystal space'. Let's trust in her theory that this metaphysical space preserves our feelings and everything that characterizes us, and that we will find each other there as well."

I looked at her doubtfully. "You really believe that?" I asked. "That we can transcend the end of our physical selves and meet again in some kind of... crystal space?"

"Yes, absolutely", she nodded. "Just because our physical forms may die doesn't mean that everything we ever were will disappear. Our echoes in this space will be waiting for us to reunite--whoever of us leaves this life before the other."

"I couldn't live without you..."

"You don't get to decide this. But let me say something: as I mentioned, sometimes I have strange dreams too. You know I don't pay much attention to them, but recently, I dreamed that I was talking to an angel--some sort of guardian angel of mine. This is a rare but recurring dream for me. Well, she told me that the two of us will leave this world together."

I couldn't find the words; I just stared ahead, not even knowing how seriously she took her own words. Suddenly, she burst into laughter.

"Don't worry, this won't happen tomorrow. She also said that many others are ahead of us yet."

My afternoon thoughts came to mind.

"Would that we could have had a child... There would have been something left behind us..."

Agnes turned to me in surprise.

"You wanted to have a child with me? But you never said... Oh boy, everything would have turned out differently if..."

At that moment, an extremely bright meteorite streaked overhead toward the sea, cutting through the lower layers of the atmosphere and disappearing into the distance, leaving a shimmering trail of light behind.

Agnes squeezed my hand.

"Make a wish! Something for the two of us."

At home, we discussed many things that evening.

4. The Elderly Lady

The elderly lady was their neighbor, living a bit farther away--just a stone's throw from their home. Agnes often visited her after they had met one day on Agnes's way home from the market. The lady, now eighty-two years old, had beautiful gray hair and always dressed elegantly. In her younger days, she had been a high school English teacher in Le Havre. Born in Belgium, she had moved here fifty years ago with her French husband, who had passed away a decade earlier.

The locals referred to her as Madame Jossier, but she allowed Agnes to call her Tante Eliz--Aunt Eliz. She called Agnes Inez, which is the French equivalent of her name. Her only daughter, who married an American soldier that had served in Europe, now lives in California and has a daughter of her own. She used to visit them every year, but the long flight and jet lag became increasingly taxing, so she doesn't like to travel anymore. Instead, her daughter and granddaughter occasionally come over from America to visit her. Tante Eliz and Agnes often sat together in the afternoons, chatting over a cup of tea in the elderly lady's garden. She had a beautiful cat that was usually reserved around strangers. However, it would happily nestle in Agnes's lap, purring in exchange for a gentle petting, as if it sensed some appealing energy radiating from her. Agnes promised that if anything were to happen to the elderly lady, she would take the cat into care.

Madame Jossier was very fond of Agnes; for some reason, she saw her younger self in her. "It couldn't have been easy for you either, my dear," she thought. "Although you present yourself as cheerful, you must have surely had your share of life's challenges."

As much as Agnes could, she avoided topics concerning her past and her relationships; still, her conversation partner learned more about her than Agnes had thought. Nonetheless, the elderly lady demonstrated tact by refraining from further questions and kept her insights to herself, not discussing them with others.

When she was invited to the

Maison Blanche

, her good sense of people suggested to her that there was something unusual about the relationship between Agnes and her partner. She had a faint suspicion of what it might be, but she never brought it up. Although she was not an energy clairvoyant, she sensed a strange, magnetic aura between the two of them.

Her keen observation skills did not overlook the fact that Agnes had recently begun wearing baggy clothes and refused some of the cakes she used to enjoy. When Agnes asked her to take care of their dog while she and her partner returned to Hungary for a few months, Madame Jossier already had an inkling of the purpose of their trip. "My dear girl, I have seen so much in my life; I can sense such things in a woman," she thought to herself.

But she didn't say anything now either.

5. Homecoming

The residents of the fishing village had not seen the strange couple for quite some time. They had departed in the spring, but Madame Jossier had been informed that they would return later that year.

It was already the end of August, with the sunlight shimmering on the green foliage and a gentle breeze blowing in from the sea, making the heat more bearable. The scent of Normandy cider, fermented at this time of year and the base for Calvados, would occasionally waft through the air.

In the elderly lady's kitchen, a plum pie was baking, its sweet aroma mingling with the scent of cider. Somewhere along the street, the rhythmic sound of a saw slicing wood periodically shattered the sleepy silence. The swallows readied themselves for their imminent migration, gathering in flocks on the power lines, while steel-blue wasps buzzed around the still-blooming bushes.

The elderly lady sat in her garden on a rattan chair, reading in the afternoon sun, her feet comfortably propped up on another chair.

Saxon, Agnes's dog, with whom she had become quite friendly over time, lay beside her in the shade as he usually did. Yet today, the dog was strangely restless. Every so often, he raised his head, as if listening intently, whining softly.