Love at First Sight - Part VI
In the late sixties, a photographer showed up at our family home to photograph my parents’ art collection. From the balcony of our living room, I saw a slim, graceful man dancing around an art piece, his thick hair winged out from his head in chaotic waves. I hadn’t yet seen the man’s face, but already I was in love.
THIS IS PART 6 of a SIX-PART STORY
We hadn’t discussed Werner’s plans. I had no idea what his intentions were. For the past year, he’d been a handsome, mysterious, older man I’d been having a secret affair with who happened to live behind the Iron Curtain. Up to till now, in a way, it had all been nothing but a gigantic adventure.
But this was real life. We headed for passport control where an official took Werner’s passport, studied it closely, looked at Werner and said, “What do you want to do, Sir?” To my surprise, Werner indicated that he was seeking asylum. “Right, then,” the official said. He waggled Werner’s Czech passport. “I’ll be keeping this, and you stand over there.” He pointed to a spot where we should wait. He’d already looked at my passport and handed it back to me.
We were kept waiting for about fifteen minutes and then led to an empty room somewhere behind the scenes at Heathrow airport where, basically, both of us were interrogated. Who was I? What was I doing in the UK? How much money was in my bank account? Where would Werner be living? Who were his publishers? The whole thing took about two hours and we weren’t released till they’d spoken to each of Werner’s many editors. It was a little too official for me.
I was a young girl with a taste for drama, but backroom interrogations with an official squinting at me and asking personal questions was more than I had counted on.
My parents still knew nothing about my affair with Werner. I had been living a stop-and-go life this past year in London, going to art school while I waited for phone calls and visits from my forbidden lover in Prague.
Werner Forman
And now, suddenly, I felt the bite of reality. Part of the excitement of being with Werner was the fact that our affair could never be permanent, that he was always about to leave and go someplace else. But after surrendering his passport to the authorities, he wouldn’t be going anywhere for awhile -- his home would now be in London. With me. When they had finished interrogating us, we found a cab and drove to the flat in silence. It was a drab day. Looking back all these years, the image I retain is of Werner ceremonially carrying me up the front steps and over the threshold -- but that’s not what happened. We got out of the cab. I was behind Werner and watched him climb the steps. And as I did, I suddenly had a feeling of boredom and reluctance. This was my future and I wasn’t sure I wanted it. I quickly pushed the feeling down and followed Werner into the flat. For the next eight years, my life would be tied to his.
Cover photo: Martin Lopez