i guess in 1986 i was a young man living in paris, trapped in an older mans body, i don't know, it was a different time, a different me, but in that point of time i was sleeping during the day and wandering around during the night, it was a strange way to live but it suited me and i liked the nocturnal paris, the bars, the clubs, the lights, the people. my favourite place was a small bar in pigalle, it was a seedy little joint, dark and smoke filled, strange jazz piano music played all night and the crowd who frequented it were all sons and daughters of the french aristocracy looking for a cheap thrill. there was some regular proletariat, some dealers, a few musicians and struggling painters, writers and the place was filled with rich women hoping to be muse to some poor guy but the guys were not interested in rich women, they were into one, the bargirl anya.
anya was a fucking jewel, let me tell you she broke all the rules of beauty, a singularity, a shooting star, a bright nova and every man woman and dog was drawn into her light, like a gravitational pull, sucking us all in, a moth to the flame, every night. sucking us all back night after night as we got closer and closer, a girl like this was inspiration to everything, art, war, death and life, so there's no boundary to stop, no self restraint, no friction.
being something of a man of the world i knew this but it makes no difference, esoteric knowledge is defenceless in situations like this, ask any sex magickian, ask any spiritual fucking leader or man with an honest passion and the spark of life. ask yourself.
one night i watched the men all viewing for her attention, it was like an animal mating ritual, the cosmic dance of vishnu, the primal force disguised with words and body language. every technique in the book was being applied over the months and none seemed to work, they were all useless as anya refused every date, every bunch of flowers and every proposal, and believe me she was proposed to on a regular basis, not just marriage but money, travel, gifts, homes, seven different types of love and sex, it was endless. she would smile and offer a friendly stroke to soften the impact, but she would always decline any offers. she was gentle and feminine and strong and had good humour, she had eyes that were fierce and intelligent, she had a mind that was perceptive and disciplined and yet she was generous. men would walk out from that bar sighing, knowing they had seen something in their life that they would always love.
eventually i pulled myself away from that bar, it was difficult but i did it, a friend of mine said, 'anya will never have a relationship because she is a lesbian.'
and despite that making me desire her more, i also knew that i should cold turkey myself away. so one night i went to a coffee shop instead, to meet a girl i had met on the metro, it was a date, a kinda date i guess although i was half hearted and somewhat disenchanted, for if i couldn't have anya what else is there.
the coffee shop was beautiful, an old opium den, i felt as if i had been there before in another life, i was very comfortable and conversation flowed, i was witty and serious in all the right places and proportions, i was a true gentleman and i think my date was very impressed. but internally i was aching, my ribs were pounding, blood rushed through me and my hair was standing on end, it was like withdrawals from heroin. the turmoil inside me was growing and i would not be able to sustain my casual romantic illusion much longer. fortunately my date had an early appointment so we kissed and she jumped into a taxi, promising me she will cook me dinner at the weekend. i watched the taxi drive off then ran down the street towards the bar, it was very late, anya only worked until 3am then she left, i ran along the street and turned to where the bridge was. can you believe this, yeah i'm running about to cross the street that takes me to the bridge when a car veers towards me. it clips me and i fall over unhurt but very shocked. suddenly i realise what a fool i am, jesus i think what am i doing. i should just go back to the hotel have a shower and sleep. my leg is beginning to ache, maybe a drink is a good idea, take away the pain, besides i am close now, just across the bridge and a short walk, besides anya has probably left for the night now. i can blend in with all the other disappointed males drowning in alcohol. I'm shuffling along the bridge, when i see her. she's walking towards me.
we are the only people on the bridge.
it's like a dream or a movie, it's almost better than life, it's fate man, fate is working, the hand of fucking fate.
my mind is going crazy, i start checking myself, do i look presentable, is my suit crumpled, is my hat wonky, does my face look friendly, the permutations race through my mind like a computer program but everything seizes when i try to think of words.
what the hell am i going to say to a girl that has heard it all before. i fumbled there at one end of the bridge as she walked from the other end towards me, but then suddenly she climbed up on the ledge of the bridge.
it was a difficult climb, she sort of had to clamber and push herself upwards, during this time i was frozen not sure what she was doing. then an awful thought dawned upon me.
i called out her name and ran towards her, 'anya, anya, don't jump, wait.' i yelled, she looked around to see who was calling, her face lit by ambient soft light, her face looking peaceful and calm, almost serene, how i imagine angels to look when they sleep. i ran up under her and my arm reached out to grab her but her body just fell away, she was looking so peaceful, i could only stand there and watch her body hit the water. a moment passed and i found myself climbing up onto the ledge, i'd managed to strip down to my shorts and throw everything into a pile on the street. i jumped after her. the water was freezing, i mean it was very cold, i gasped for air and looked around me, already the current had taken me down river, i yelled out, 'anya' but there was nothing, i could barely see in front of me. i swam with the current, doing my best to stay above the water and keep myself warm. eventually after about twenty minites a barge passed and heard my calls. a man with a russian navel shirt reached out with a pole and i grabbed it, allowing myself to be pulled in. i smoked a cigarette and had a warm drink, coffee i think, the crew attempted to speak but i must have gone into a deep shock. i was wrapped in blankets and must have blacked out.
i came to in the police station, they had an english speaking detective who asked me about anya, i told him the story. they said she had been reported missing and several people had phoned in concerned but no body knew where she was. they said that the water police had searched the current flow and found no trace of her, nothing.
i sometimes dream of her, that peaceful look as her pale arms reach for mine, the center of her pupils fixated upon mine, the strange pull of the river seine, the mysterious circumstances of her life, her beauty and her death. anya my muse.