Her Boat on the River
Marianna, loved the river. I used to take her out rowing, even when the cold would have dictated differently. Yet, the pleasure it gave her…
She was the light of my life, so very vivacious when I met her. We’d walked all over the country-side that first day, and then came upon the “imbarcadero“. From that day forward, each Sunday morning we dedicated to a row along the river Seine.
We’d been together for 15 years, when life decided to separate us. The first symptoms began in Spring. That gentle cough, that over time, deepened. She followed, to the letter, all the cures the doctors gave her, but slowly she became weaker, her breath shorter. In Autumn, we knew that her battle would soon be over, but she insisted on rowing every Sunday.
“I love the river, our boat, please, Marcel…” she’d say with her gentle smile. How could I refuse to grant this small pleasure?
I’d take a warm blanket along and her big pillow, and propped up thus, well covered, I rowed her along the Seine.
It was during our last outing that she closed her eyes and fell asleep. Or so I thought.
Written for The Mag whilst listening to the music of Fauré and Debussy.