Where Tomatoes are Sweeter

The Wednesday morning waters were choppier than I remembered, normal for this time of year, said one of the vessel’s crewmen who looked remarkably like a young Hollywood actor. The salt smelled unlike the New England beaches we had grown accustomed to back home - it was sharper, full-bodied, and unsurprisingly reflective of another time.

The same sailor must’ve noticed my angst, I’ve never been good at hiding my feelings. Either that or he had grown increasingly bored of the same short trek from the Vieux Port to the island and felt the urge to make small talk. I assumed it was the latter.

“Have you been to Marseille before,” asked the man.

“My wife and I lived here for a year when she was a student.”

“Did you like it, the two of you?”

“It’s her favorite place,” I said glancing back towards the stern and the city we had recently departed which was quickly shrinking in the distance.

“Most Americans only think of Paris when they visit France. Marseille being too, too…” He struggled to translate. 

“Pauvre?,”  I gawked back, cracking a grin that could only mean you know I’m kidding right?

He smiled, which then made me smile as he reached for a cigarette tucked behind his ear, bringing the parcel to his mouth and meeting it with a lit match. There was no offense to be taken by my brazen reduction and he appeared to want to join in on the game. He waved his match dead in the air and tossed it behind him.

“Monsieur,” he said with an editorial, almost lecture-like tonality. “Where there are pauvres, we also find riches, in one way or another.” He let out another puff and gestured towards me, as if to make certain that I understood my lesson. I smiled back and assured him that this was precisely why my wife and I fell in love with the city. Why I had returned.

He nodded approvingly and excused himself below deck. We were approaching the island and he needed to prepare for the unloading of cattle that was to ensue. As we docked, passengers made their way off the vessel and back onto land, one by one, the same Hollywood actor carefully ushering each of them over the slight gap between ship and shore to prevent anyone from falling into the slightly less blue waters below. I stayed put, for I was in no rush. I looked up at Chateau d’If, something I hadn’t been able to admire for years. When we first visited, Emily viewed the former fortress-turned-prison as a palatial being, grander than anything she had ever seen. Now, it gave me the feeling of returning to a childhood home - the memories stored in every crevice and every step of a timeless structure that once held my entire world in its hands.

I was the last to exit as I grabbed my backpack and swung it around my shoulder. I found myself moving slower than normal. The last time we were here was right before our flight home to the states and she wanted to ‘take it all in one last time.’ This time, I was holding in the moment again, accepting it like a breath of air I hadn’t had since a dive below the jewel-toned waters we just passed through.

I walked my way up the cobblestone steps and found myself at the base of the fort. The greenery that once inhabited this enclave seemed to have faded away, as did the color of the chateau. Perhaps the sun had been too generous for the past few years and stripped the isle of all its fruit. Or maybe I was just remembering something more lush, more vibrant than it actually was. 

The dispersed tourists looked like the usual flock not uncommon to the Chateau, cameras, visors and sunglasses to protect from a typical sunny day in the Mediterranean, all of them documenting the sights. I paved through one of the cavernous halls and found a staircase - the same staircase that Emily had once jokingly hid behind to scare me upon my realizing that we were separated. I traced the stone walls with my hand as I followed up the dark spiral. They were cold to the touch, an area the sun never knew.

Landing on the roof, I was greeted once more by that anchoring light and the blue-green oasis that surrounded us in the foreground. It felt just as I had remembered, a courtyard that was open and unending. It was hard to imagine that something so freeing and borderless once harbored some of the nation’s worst criminals, though I was certain they never got to admire the view from up here. There were a few people up at the top with me but most had not made it that far yet. It was quieter and I enjoyed it. 

I walked over to the wall that faced the city and looked back at the metropolis - nothing’s changed. The cityscape was painted in ivory and speckled with shrubs of green just like I knew it. Between us, a lighthouse - the lighthouse - with its brick red tower top that she adored. 

“It’s like we never left,” I said to myself, resting my elbows against the wall, the world suddenly taking me back to the beginning.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Emily pondered with an innocence only comparable to a child’s. We were completely alone, the only ones at the chateau that day.

“It’s like the polar opposite of Paris,” I responded. “Paris has its charm, don’t get me wrong. But nothing like this.”

“No, Paris definitely has something, but this - this is breathtaking.” She was beginning to choke up but caught herself as she often did. She lifted her forearms and pushed back off the wall, approaching me with a poise and eagerness that I knew well. 

“Do you know what I love about the south of France?” she asked. I shrugged as if to say, I don’t, but I know you’re about to give me the full disquisition no matter what I might answer back.

“There’s a triviality about it all,” she paused. “People here don’t worry like we do back at home. They’re just grateful because God gave them the sea and the sun and they have enough to make ends meet. And the music - it floods these streets. People walk through life barefoot like as long as they have air in their lungs and wine in their glasses, they can go on forever and ever unhindered, unchanged. The sky is wider and the tomatoes are sweeter. How lucky are they to go lifetimes knowing nothing other than this? How lucky are we to be here right now?”

I realized she had been thinking about all of this. She started meandering down the face of the wall, her hand tracing the outline as though she might lift off the rooftop at any moment and needed to stay grounded.

“This is the way I always want to live, grateful for the gifts of this life and totally unfazed by any so-called norms we meet back at home. Let me never forget how this day feels with the wind in my hair and you by my side. I don’t ever want to grow bored or complacent or anything other than content with our place in this world, otherwise I’d wish for nothing more than to die. These people don’t know how lucky they are to live like this, or they do and it’s their best kept secret. Promise you won’t let me grow uneasy or wish for things we don’t have. This is my true happiness where I have you and this viewpoint and this place where - where…”

“The tomatoes are sweeter?” I interjected with a playfulness to save her from exasperation.

She closed her eyes and took in a breath, then smiled and looked back at me. “And where life has given me all I could ever ask for,” she added, grinning like the day we met. I took her in my arms and kissed her like time had frozen and was waiting on us to resume. The world seemed to circle us at the top of that roof like a secret conversation had been had by the sky and the sea to let these kids enjoy their moment, we can wait. I promised I would never let her lose this.

Within minutes, more people found their way up to the rooftop. There was a raucous among one group, someone had lost a child before finding them only moments later. I retreated from the wall and made my way down the back staircase. I knew this led to the east side of the island where Emily and I once found ourselves stranded for two hours after we missed our boat back to the mainland. We didn’t mind. More time to stretch out under the sun and listen to the waves crash soft peaks into the barricade.

This time, I was alone with nothing but me, the sea, the clothes on my back and my bag, still resting on my shoulders. I found a patch where grass still grew and sat, gazing out into the endless tide. I enjoyed the quiet. I was by myself but not once did I feel alone. 

I sat there for a bit breathing in the briny, cooling scent of the French Riviera. I was nervous but comforted by my history with the isle, with Emily and our time in Marseille.

In another few minutes, I stood up and carefully ambled towards the edge of the cliff. They installed some new wires for safety purposes it appeared. Back then, life didn’t feel as shielded from harm or happiness and that’s partly what Emily loved, the ability to feel like we were one step away from life or death and that living as such would be the only way to continue after we left this small world. I held onto the chord and lowered myself down, resting my legs over the side and setting my bag next to me.

I closed my eyes and spoke to nothing, to no one, but to everything and everyone and began to let myself feel all of the pain again. 

Again, some more breaths. I started to speak.

“So long as I remain on this earth, away from you, I will never forget the way you made me feel all those years ago. The way I still feel today. We were young, but we had each other. We had our dreams and enough books to last us and you had your guitar that filled my world. I miss hearing you play. We had our love, an honest, irreplicable love that moved mountains and parted the sea all the way back to Boston. Remember how much you loved it here?”

I stopped, partially because the words were growing harder and harder to leave my mouth.

I unzipped the main pocket and removed the brightly colored case, a hand painted “E” inscribed on its lid. The colors, her favorite ruby tones, reminded her of our house back home. I looked back into the sea.

“My love, I wish I could hold you now, and kiss you. What I would give just to squeeze your hand once again. I swear to God, Emee, I remember that day like it was yesterday.” I caught myself mid-breath, all of the wind vacating my body like birds from the trees. I was latching on as tears streamed, like bullets, down my cheeks. 

I opened the top and revealed the ashes I seldom chose to look at. It never got easier.

“I pray that I showed you how much you meant to me when I was given the chance.”

I sat up on both of my knees and, with a tremor pacing through my body, my heart pounding, carefully tilted the capsule over, emptying my love’s soul into the foamy sea below. A breeze came by and carried her beyond what I could have before she faded into nothing more than a distant sparkle. I sat back into the grassless ground and covered my face. A few moments later another gust came, pressing so hard that I opened my eyes.

I knew it was her.

I know how you feel - I see it every day. But my love, remember what I said to you all those years ago in this exact spot. Life is meant to be lived, no matter what we are given nor what is stripped from us. I will wait for you but you, you must continue to live. Neither God, nor myself can continue looking down and seeing you like this. Just look out into the sea and know that I am there. In every crashing wave, in every sip of wine, in the faces of our two boys, in every cooling breeze and in every sweet fruit, I am there. Our love will never die, just as you kept your promise to me, this, I promise to keep to you.

I flattened my back against the ground. Without looking, I saw the sun, and the sea, and Emily’s face, as beautiful as I had always known it. Without listening, I heard the waves, and the birds, and the wind, and her voice, angelic and demanding. She was beside me and she would never leave my side. I hadn't felt peace like this in a long time.

The last taxi back was a little before dusk and I watched the sun gracefully return to its place beyond the horizon. What was once so bright and blue had now been painted by bright flashes of orange and copper. I loved every second of it, the colors dancing off the waves.

The crewman from earlier - the actor - had taken charge of the wheel this time back, smoking casually as he did, like today was just another beautiful day in his beautiful home. A young couple sat near me, both reflecting on their day and the photos they captured. There was a preciousness about them that made me smile. I recognized it.

“First time visiting the chateau?” I asked.

“First time ever! We just loved it - my husband read The Count of Monte Cristo in college and wanted to see it all himself.” 

I lifted my brows in feigned surprise, knowing this was one of Emily’s favorite works and the entire reason we spent a year in Marseille. “My wife did as well, even wrote her dissertation on it.”

We talked more about the island, the city and the southern French way of life. I admired their interest and realized that it had been months since I held such an honest connection. We began approaching the Vieux Port where hundreds of boats lined the marina like white gems, palpated by blackened waters. The night time air was crisp and we all felt the need to continue the conversation somewhere warmer.

“Do you have plans for dinner,” asked the young gentleman. “Please join us! I’m interested in how you and your wife spent your days here.” I agreed to the offer with a jovial response. 

“I know just the place, a restaurant my wife and I used to call ours.”

I began leading them through the streets I used to know so well. I smiled thinking about the message Emily would cover me with at the top of the Chateau. How it’s guided me these past few months when I thought I had nothing left. I thought of how I would bring this up - if at all - at dinner. Or maybe, for the first time in a while, I would listen to my wife’s voice. I would take her advice and open my heart back up to the world we still shared. I would let myself go back to a younger time where I could just sit back and enjoy the wine and companionship. I’d revel in the delicacies of this place where no future was predetermined, no past was all-knowing, and no present could ever be fulfilled without first acknowledging a life that bore the richest tomatoes.