Truth, by Omission Read online

  I usually studied in the library because there was a free internet connection there for students. In those days no students could afford internet at home, and it wasn’t all that common even for those with money. But with the connection at the library I was able to send Anna an email every day and retrieve the ones that she sent to me. Neither of us really seemed to have a lot of news to share, those emails were just the babble of lovers in love. Everything about Anna seemed exciting to me. She could tell me that she went to the dry cleaners for her mother that day and I thought it was just the nicest thing and wished I could have gone to the dry cleaners with her. I’m sure my news was even less exciting than hers because my routine was more mundane and predictable.

  Toward the end of July I began worrying again. I started to doubt myself and our relationship. What did Anna see in me? What did I have to offer her? I had no money, no family. Most of all, I had no past that I could share with Anna. I literally had nothing to offer her in return for all that she had to give me. I was alone in Paris. It was stinking hot and humid during late July in our apartment with only one window. Many nights I couldn’t sleep because of the stifling lack of fresh air, and while I lay there awake these doubts came alive within me. These demons got me to thinking that maybe I was experiencing some kind of cruel joke and that Anna had no intention of coming back.

  Even as I waited outside the customs arrival area in De Gaulle on the morning of August 14, some of these thoughts passed through my mind. It wasn’t until I saw her emerge from the tinted automated doors, drop her bags right there in the midst of all the human traffic, and come running toward me, that I fully believed she would be back. Five feet seven inches of glowing joy hugged me tightly, and I hugged it all back, squeezing hard, not wanting to let go.

  We settled into our own cozy little domestic situation. This was something totally new to me since I had never lived with a girl before. The adjustments were a pleasant adventure. I learned about smells in a home—keeping down the bad ones, burning a little incense, scented candles now and then. Apparently, what I thought was clean really wasn’t. I had my first experiences with monthly hormone invasions and adding tampons to the grocery list. But all these minor inconveniences were insignificant compared to the happiness that being with Anna brought me.

  Six weeks after Anna landed back in Paris, a piece of mail arrived at our apartment from Newtown, Pennsylvania. Anna spotted the letter and the LSAT logo on it.

  “Oh my god, Freddie. I’m afraid to open it.”

  I sank back onto the sofa, and she plunked down beside me with the envelope in hand.

  “You open it,” she said and handed it to me.

  I tore open the envelope and pulled out the folded insert. I was just about to unfold it when she snatched it from me. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

  “Woo-hoo,” she screamed. “I made it!” She paused for a minute and then made a funny little face by scrunching her upper lip. “I was hoping to do a little better. But this should get me in … somewhere.”

  Her 150 LSAT score wasn’t stellar, and it wouldn’t get her into the top schools, but it would get her into a decent school, and she was plenty happy with that. Anna was always content with good enough and never pressured herself for perfection the way I always burdened myself.

  “Let’s celebrate tonight,” I said.

  Later that evening, over a bottle of wine and packages of takeout, Anna mused about where she might apply to get into a law program.

  “Why not just hit them all up and see where you get accepted? Make a decision after that,” I said. I was trying not to think about the reality that she would be going away again in less than a year, and this time she wouldn’t be coming back.

  That was when she caught me off guard by saying, “I don’t want to go to any of them.”

  “That’s crazy. This is your dream. This is what you have worked so hard for. What are you talking about?”

  “No, Freddie. I don’t want to go to any of them. I don’t want to leave you. I wasn’t happy the last two months away from you. I don’t want to go again.”

  “Nonsense. You have to go, Anna.”

  “I don’t want to leave you. I won’t go.”

  I was honored that she would consider foregoing law school to be with me and realized right then that she was as much in love with me as I was with her. But to make a sacrifice like that just didn’t make sense. I called the hospital the next day and left a message for Vincent, asking him to call me when he had a moment. After trading phone messages for two days we finally arranged to meet in the hospital cafeteria the following day. Neither of us had had much time to get together recently and he greeted me warmly with a tight hug.

  “Alfred, you’re looking great. Between that lovely American girl and fattening French food you look … healthy.”

  No one comes to France from a refugee camp in Africa and doesn’t put on some weight. But not many would get to meet someone like Anna. Between the two, Vincent had hit it on the nose: I was very healthy and incredibly happy.

  “I need some advice, Vincent. About Anna. She got her LSAT results back, and they’re not too bad.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Yes, but now she’s threatening to not even go to law school. She wants to stay here … because of me. I can’t let her do that.”

  He thought about this for barely a moment and then said, “Have you thought of going with her?”

  “Go with her? To America? I can’t. I could never get into the US. You know how much work it was for you to get me in here. I wouldn’t want to leave you. I’ve just about got my applications all set to send out for school next fall.”

  “There are medical schools in America … a lot of them. Good ones. It’s a bit of a different process but your marks are good.” Vincent looked at me.

  I had thought of this before, but I’d always quickly dismissed the idea. It seemed futile to even dream it.

  “Let’s think about this for a while,” Vincent said. “Nothing’s impossible. And don’t ever think about staying around here for me. I’ll be leaving again soon to go back to Africa, anyhow. I’ll be gone for at least two years this time.”

  Later that night I mentioned to Anna that I had seen Vincent.

  “Oh, how is he?”

  “He’s getting ready to go back to Africa with Médecins Sans Frontières.”

  “Back to Tanzania?” she asked.

  “No, eastern Nigeria this time.”

  “Oh, Freddie, why would he go there of all places? It’s the most dangerous spot on the continent. The terrorists are running rampant there and a Western doctor will be a prime target.” She was quite concerned.

  “He says that’s where he’s needed the most.” Anna looked worried. She was well versed in the geopolitical situation of this part of the world. It was the focus of her schooling. To distract her I said, “I went to see him about us. About your wanting to stay here rather than do law in America.”

  Anna didn’t respond. She just looked at me, waiting for me to continue.

  “He thinks you can’t miss an opportunity like this—that you should go back.”

  “Of course he’d take your side, Freddie.”

  “He didn’t take my side. It’s not about taking sides. I just asked him for his advice. He said you have to go to law school.” I waited for her to react but again she wouldn’t respond. She looked down in thought. I ventured a little further. “He did have a suggestion, though. He said that I should go with you. To America.”

  Her gaze shot back up quickly, and I could see the wheels turning in her eyes.

  I spent the next several days researching the logistics of me doing med school in the United States, but Anna was working on her own plan which she popped on me quite unexpectedly.

  “I can get you into the US, Freddie.”

  “How’s that?” I asked
.

  “Well, we’d have to be married for at least twelve months, but then you can come.”

  “You would marry me, just to do that? To get me into the US?” She never ceased to amaze me.

  But then with deadpan seriousness she said, “No, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t marry you to get you into the US.”

  This popped my bubble. And she could see the disappointment on my face.

  “I’d marry you because I love you, stupid.”

  We both stood up at the same time, grabbing for the other. I squeezed her tight and kissed the top of her head. She seemed content just to be held for a long while, but then stepped back.

  “Would you marry me, Freddie?”

  “Now who’s being stupid, Anna?”

  By the end of the second bottle of wine we had our futures totally mapped out. We knew where we’d be going to school, working, living, and how many gorgeous little American children we’d have. The next morning at breakfast, in the light of sobriety, we got down to the more realistic details. We carefully went over the paperwork that Anna had collected from the American embassy. As the spouse of an American citizen it would be much easier for me to get a student visa, and once we were married for twelve months I would qualify for a green card. That would allow me to get a job.

  Vincent was thrilled to hear that we had a plan for both school and marriage, and he gladly helped us make both a reality. As my sponsor, he filled out the necessary forms, and once we had them notarized, he even went with us back to city hall. He also found the Paris MCAT schedule for me. I could either take it in October or January. But it had to be October, only four weeks away, because January wouldn’t allow me enough time to get med school applications in for the next school year. In a huge gift of generosity, Vincent rearranged his shifts so that he could help me cram for my MCAT. We met each afternoon in his office at the hospital and studied until midnight. A few days after starting this routine Anna began to bring dinner in to us, after she finished her own studies.

  This went on every single day for four weeks until Thursday, October 26, when I took the exam. I was completely exhausted after the test and there was no celebration. We saved that for the next day.

  On Friday, October 27, 2000, Anna and I were married, less than ten months after we first met. Yet it all felt so perfect, seemed so natural. The only person we told about it was Vincent, and he insisted on going back with us to city hall once more. No new clothes, no flowers, no party. No money for any of that. We saved everything we could in the hopes that we would soon be going to America. I did buy Anna a ring, a plain gold band, and promised her that, when we could afford it, I would buy her a diamond. I bought my own wedding ring, a stainless steel key ring that fit my finger perfectly. It cost me forty-nine cents, and I’ve never taken it off in all these years. Vincent, generous as always, took us out for lunch and then handed us the keys to his car.

  “Use it for the weekend. And here’s your reservation.” He gave us a piece of paper with the name of a hotel in Auxerre. “It’s beautiful there this time of year. They’re bringing in the grapes.”

  We went, and we loved it. The rolling hills, miles on miles of vineyards, the musty sweet smell of harvest, an enchanted weekend for two kids. And we loved each other. We were high on each other, high on our dreams of going to America together, starting careers, starting a family. It was the beginning of an enthralling adventure together.

  Opportunities for foreign scholarships were limited, and as it turned out, the University of Pittsburgh was the one place that did offer them where Anna and I could both do our studies, hers in law and mine in medicine. I traveled there for my interview and two days after returning got an invite from Vincent for a small get-together at his apartment.

  He was leaving the next week for his commitment with Médecins Sans Frontières and had invited a few doctors and friends over. Some of his colleagues were also involved in the MSF program, all good people. They’d have to be to give up substantial portions of their comfortable lives in France to go and work for free in some of the most impoverished and dangerous places in the world. Some of them left families behind, usually for shorter commitments than Vincent made, but he wasn’t married and had no children. He planned to be gone for two years this time, and I’d spent much of my overnight return flight from America thinking about what it would be like not to have Vincent around. If I were successful in getting into Pitt med school it might be a lot longer than two years before I would see him again.

  True, I now had Anna, but Vincent was a stalwart surrogate father to me. Like Anna he saw things in me that I wasn’t able to see in myself. For some reason, right from our first meeting in the camp in Tanzania, he took me in as a part-apprentice, part-friend, part-son, and part-project. And, also like Anna, he did this totally devoid of judgment, never prying into my past, never poking my wounds.

  Vincent was the one who insisted that I continue my education during my years living in the squalor of the Nkwenda camp. And then he sponsored me through the French government’s refugee program, acting as my surety. Without him I wouldn’t have had this chance at a better life in Europe. He encouraged my interest in studying and made me want to go further into medicine. It was his model of generosity and basic human kindness and compassion to which I aspired. And, if it wasn’t for him, I’d have never met Anna. I wanted to tell him how much he meant to me, but this little party wasn’t the right forum; there were too many others saying their goodbyes.

  A few days later I rode the train to the airport, sitting beside Vincent. I lugged one of his two suitcases for him. He had done these trips before and knew that not only was there no room for a lot of personal items, there was no need for them. Where he was going the accommodations wouldn’t permit excess, and he was the type of person who thought he could mesh with the locals better if he lived like them. Most of the MSF doctors understood this concept, not many of the United Nations doctors did. They still made good salaries even amid the destitution of the third world.

  I suppose both of us had the same thoughts about parting because neither of us seemed ready to address it in conversation. Instead, Vincent said, “You can try to send me an email as soon as you hear back from Pittsburgh, but you’ll have to send me a letter right away too, since I have no idea when I’ll get close to internet access.”

  “Of course,” I replied. “I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t get accepted.”

  “Sure you do. You’ll fall back on UPMC here in France. If Pittsburgh doesn’t work out, you commit right away to Curie. Most people would die to be in your position with an acceptance there.” He sounded firm and fatherly.

  UPMC was one of the top med schools in France, but my attendance there meant that either Anna didn’t go to law school, or she would have to go in the US while I studied in France. I refused to face this possibility until I heard back from Pitt. “At least if I stay here in France I’ll see you when you get back,” I said. “If I go to the US, I don’t know when I’ll get to see you next.”

  I had finally broached the subject. I was starting to feel despondent as the train approached the airport, and I wanted him to say something firm and fatherly about this. I was hopeful that his practical wisdom would buttress me against my clear weakness. Instead he put an arm over my shoulders and looked right at me, not saying anything for a moment. His eyes pooled with water that spilled over his cheeks. Pulling me close, he wrapped his other hand around the back of my neck in an intimate cradle and pressed the side of his face tight to mine. “Alfred, I love you. I love you. I’m going to miss you,” he whispered in my ear.

  It dawned on me that this was the first time since my early childhood that anyone other than Anna had said that they loved me. Through the lump in my throat, all I could muster was, “Thank you. Thank you, Vincent … for everything. Thank you. You know I’ll always love you.”

  We clung to each other, two grown men sobbi
ng together in public, neither of us caring what anyone around us thought. And neither of us said another word until the train pulled into the platform. I waited at the check-in and then accompanied Vincent to the security line. We made promises to write and stay in touch and then, as the line reached the security point, we hugged one last time and kissed each other on both cheeks with meaning.

  * * *

  A few months after Vincent’s departure everything was going our way. Anna and I were both accepted into our programs at the University of Pittsburgh, I with a scholarship. Anna was soon going home to America; I was soon going to America. We had each other and we had everything to look forward to—our whole lives ahead of us.

  Floating in confidence, we dreamed great plans. Once we finished our studies at Pittsburgh we would go overseas together and work someplace in the developing world. We both spoke French and English. Anna was good in Spanish, and I in Swahili and other less important languages. There would be lots of places we could work to help people. We could start our own practices anywhere in the US. Anna would do legal aid work, and I’d treat the poor there, although I couldn’t imagine poor people in the US. No one coming from Africa, as I did, can fathom that there might be poverty in the richest place on earth.

  For weeks, we sailed along in our reverie. And there was no reason for it to be interrupted. No one could be more grateful than I for my circumstances. An orphan from darkest Africa, not even a road to our village upriver in the jungle, was graduating from a university with a degree in biochemistry, about to fly to America to become a doctor, in love with the most beautiful, caring person in the world. I fully knew how fortunate I was.

  Why then did I suddenly begin to throw a blanket over it all, drape it in darkness, drag Anna down with me? In a matter of days I went from peak to pit.

  “What’s going on, Freddie?” Anna sat back down on the bed beside me. She was dressed and ready for classes. I was still lying in the dimness of our windowless bedroom.