BlueSilkenSky
Rock n' Roll Doggie VIP PASS
Finally, we're at the end of the road. I've written one bonus chapter after this from Bono's POV, but for the most part I am done with Bono and Marieke.
Lina doesn’t know it yet, but I attend U2’s show in Tokyo- the last act of Zoo TV that the world will ever see- on December 10th. I’m sure she’ll find out when the bills start pouring in from all the money we've squandered this year. Under the premise that I’m going to visit my parents in Njimegen, I take the money for airline fees and hop on the next plane leaving for Tokyo, determined to get to the concert in time.
It’s a fabulous performance, despite seeming a little less impressive on account of being crammed indoors. Bono is on fire. For understandable reasons, I can’t watch him for very long, but the rest of the band takes up just as good space in my eyes. None of them seem to notice me, or at least they don’t recognize me. It could easily be the latter- I’ve stopped curling my hair since I left the tour, and my eyes have a sort of hardness to them that wasn’t present before. It startles me a bit when I look in a mirror.
At the climax of Where The Streets Have No Name, Bono launches himself off the end of the stage into the audience and madly dashes towards the other side, flying through people as if carried by wings. I scream as he pushes his way past me. The energy is infectious. Bono is boosted back onstage with a huge smile.
I wait for the encore, the finale of the show- and MacPhisto’s last stand. Who will he be calling tonight? How will it go?
Daddy’s Gonna Pay for Your Crashed Car begins, and it’s like welcoming back a dear old friend. Of course, the Devil starts out his speech by giving a word of thanks. It surprises me how easily how well I know his line delivery, how familiar I am with him- after all these days of staying home from the tour, it turns out I was just itching to return. But that can never be, after what has happened between Bono and I…
“Oh, Daddy always pays,” MacPhisto sighs. He both looks and sounds a bit worn out. “Look what you’ve done to me. Tokyo, look what you’ve done to me! You’ve made me very famous and I thank you…” Blah, blah.
“I know you like your pop stars to be glamorous, so I bought these.” MacPhisto displays his shoes with less than the pride I’ve seen on his face many times before. “Do you like them?” he murmurs. “You should, you know. Don’t you think rock and roll has come a long way? Yes?” We scream our assent, and a lump grows in my throat. “I do,” MacPhisto agrees. “And it’s taken its toll, let me tell you. On this very tour we’ve had four marriages, fourteen divorces, fifteen babies born; twelve people got arrested, we’ve sacked five people, and one crew member left the entourage to become a Franciscan monk. THANK YOU!”
Hearing that final countdown and the swells of cheers that break over the Tokyo Dome, I find myself getting very emotional. I wonder where I’m included in that list? Is Eric one of the people they’ve sacked? And are they including Larry’s engagement as a marriage?
“We’ve met some fine people along the way,” MacPhisto states, looking as nostalgic as I feel, “and… where would we be without our closest friends…” He gestures weakly to the audience to indicate us as his friends. “Uh… before I make a telephone to my closest friend, I’d like to introduce you to my band! On the right here we have Reggie the Dog- The Edge! On the left we have the cat who got the cream, Adam Clayton… and standing behind me, Boy George’s wet dream, Larry Mullen Jr.!”
The rest of the band smiles. Adam looks pleased and proud to be onstage one last time, and not in a drunken coma. Edge’s grin conveys such warmth. I can tell he’ll have a hard time leaving this place. Larry’s eyes sweep the crowd as if looking for someone. We all hush to let the ringleader, Mr. MacPhisto, speak.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, as… I’m rather tired, I’d like to call… someone I’ve gotten very close with since I came to Tokyo.” Who could it be?
The handsome Devil punches in the numbers without the usual air of coolness. Now he only radiates a sad, stricken finality. This is the last we will ever see of him, I realize.
“Hello? I’d like to speak to Madonna.”
A cheer rises up.
A recorded message plays. MacPhisto tries again. “Hello? I’d like to speak to Madonna.” The message babbles in Japanese. The Devil grows indignant. “This is Mr. MacPhisto here!... hello?... Hello?... HELLO?!”
The sirens go off. MacPhisto replaces the telephone with a sigh, but quickly cheers up.
“Off with the horns, on with the show!” And the horns land backstage, for the last time. MacPhisto turns on his heel and showcases his dancing.
“A man builds a city…”
“A man builds a city!”
“With banks and cathedrals…”
“With banks and karaoke!”
He never, ever needed my help, I think suddenly. He had it made that entire time. He knew what he wanted to say onstage and how. He was just indulging me.
The song slows down. MacPhisto sings softly.
“Midnight is where the day begins… midnight is where the day begins… midnight…”
My transition, the one I invented, comes thunking out of Adam’s bass. With or Without You has begun. I hold my breath. Tonight is a performance like no other.
MacPhisto blows it out of the water. He emits pure pain and anguish from every pore. Strangely enough, the song moves me to the depths of my soul, but I don’t cry. Not even when MacPhisto begins the lyrical outro-
“And you give. And you give… and you give. And you give. And you give… and you give… and you give… and you give…”
This goes on for several more phrases, dragging the song out, leading me to believe that there’s a huge surprise coming at the end of this. Will it be the “shine like stars” coda that I enjoy? Or maybe it’s…
MacPhisto bends over the mic, clutching it in both hands, and wails.
“Loooove… love will tear us apart, again… loooove… love will tear us apart, again… Looove, love will tear us apart, again… Again.”
The breath fails me, and I nearly drown surrounded by air as the Japanese fans around me clap. It takes me a moment to come back to myself. My still-dry eyes latch onto MacPhisto.
Throughout the entirety of Love Is Blindness, I’m amazed at every ounce of emotion put into the performance. This is real. This is MacPhisto at his very best, and it’s taken him till the last show to get to it. When the solo begins, the Devil turns away and scans the audience with cold blue eyes. My hands reach up automatically, breath slowing- my body is moving of its own accord. MacPhisto doesn’t bother to beckon me up- he reaches down into the sea of fans and practically yanks me onstage, jamming me against his body. I pillow my head on his shoulder, my chin fitting there as if he is made for me.
The dance isn’t very intricate. As MacPhisto turns me around in a slow circle, he touches my hand and places it on his face, scraping the makeup off his cheek with it. I sigh, breathing in the sweet scent of him. MacPhisto closes his eyes, face bunching up, and whispers, “I don’t want to go,” in that old British accent of his. This is shortly followed by “No…” and finally, “Look what you’ve done to me.”
We pull away. Edge is just finishing the solo. It takes me a while to realize our faces are both streaked with wetness- whether it’s tears or sweat, I can’t say. MacPhisto won’t let go of my hands. Slowly, he brings them upwards, extending the dance for a while longer. We stare into each other’s eyes and sway gently from side to side.
“Love is blindness,” MacPhisto murmurs in tune. “I don’t want to see. Won’t you wrap the night around me. Take my heart…” We breathe simultaneously.
“It’s blindness…”
Without another word, MacPhisto pulls my hands all the way up to the sides of my face and, shielding us from the outside view, presses his red lips ever so gently to mine. They taste of makeup and skin. His right hand falls and lets go of mine, but the left remains locked in an iron grip.
“Wise men say,” MacPhisto breathes. I haven’t even noticed the guitar playing softly in the background.
“Only fools rush in… But I can’t help falling in love with you.”
Suddenly, the microphone is at my lips. I take it without thinking.
“Shall I stay?” I sing- my man-voice is finally good for something. “Would it be a sin? If I can’t help falling in love with you…”
I make to sing the next lines, but MacPhisto moves in, and we end up singing together.
“Like a river flows to the sea… so it goes, some things were meant to be.”
He grabs our joined left hands and raises them up. I drop out to let the falsetto take over.
“Take my hand… take my whole life too… But I can’t help falling in love with you.”
The Devil looks at me, and at once I see both of the men that I continue to love in the expression, one inside the other.
“I can’t help falling in love with you…”
Just when I’m beginning to spy something hidden behind those blue eyes, MacPhisto turns his face away from me.
“I can’t help falling in love with you.” He lets go of my hand, waves it to the crowd. As the applause grows, MacPhisto- or Bono- sends me back to my spot. A beautiful smile lights up his face. “Thank you, Tokyo. Goodnight.” And the Devil is gone, forever.
Something small, hard, and cold is clenched in my fist. I force my hand to open, staring down at it. The M-shaped charm from my bracelet blinks back at me. MACPHISTO, it seems to say. The Devil’s last gift to me, given originally by Bono. As the people reluctantly empty from the arena, I remain where I am, gazing after the stage where MacPhisto has disappeared, taking with him those blue eyes filled with meaning and clarity, if only I had thought to look hard enough. I know immediately the answer to my question of did either of them ever love me or not. I know the answer, but I refuse to believe it. When the crewmen come out to dismantle the stage, I bolt. They will recognize me and ask me to stay, and I can’t bear to see another old friend gone.
***
“Okay, if I don’t come back before dinnertime, you know what to do, right?”
I nod. I’ve been making dinner for myself for months now- why wouldn’t I know what to do? A smile- a rare one, an expression that hardly ever touches Lina’s face nowadays- is shot my way. “Have fun being home alone! See you later!” And with that, she makes for the door.
“Wait,” I say.
She stops. “Yes, Marieke, what is it?”
I start to speak, but shake my head and turn my attention back to the television. Lina sighs. “If you make me ‘wait’ any longer I’ll have gray hair, and will have missed my job interview. So please, Marieke, let me go.” She turns the doorknob.
At once I sit up straighter on the sofa, making Lina cast her eyes back onto me. My own are glued to the TV, so Lina looks too, and heaves another sigh. U2’s video for Lemon is on the screen.
“It’s been a month,” she reminds me. “A month of watching MTV and eating chocolate on your part. Get over him, Marieke! Get over the whole damn deal. We can’t stay in this flat for very longer, and you have to help me look for a new job with both eyes and ears wide open.”
She leaves what has already been said unsaid- Go get a job yourself. Truly, I didn't mean to make us insolvent, but Ican’t take my eyes from the screen. MacPhisto is in all his glory, living out the peak of his life captured on film.
Lina watches the opening shot with me, but at last opens the door. “Get a life, Marieke. I mean, I love you and all, but please forget about Bono and Zoo TV.” With that she’s gone, and I am left utterly alone, but not quite, for MacPhisto is onscreen for me.
I barely look up when Lina’s voice carries through a corridor- “Oh, forgot to mention. Here’s a letter for you.” Really? From who? My ears perk up. Lina slides it through the letter box. “I don’t know this Paul Hewson, but-“
Paul Hewson?! How does she not recognize Bono’s real name? I am off the couch and onto the floor in seconds, holding the envelope in my hands. I have to read the return address thrice to be sure. Yep, that’s really Bono- and he’s really sent it to me.
Ripping open the envelope, I unfold the contents with trembling hands.
Dear Marieke,
I just got your letter. Thank you for writing to me. It meant a lot. I know our last conversation was not the best one out there, so let’s try again. Let’s have the talk we failed to have that night in Sydney.
Ever since you joined the tour, you were under my nose, a constant person to take care of. That was what you were to me- just another child like my daughters, a fan whom I needed to keep tabs on. But you evolved quickly into a young woman, proving yourself worthy with the speeches. Well, okay, it wasn’t only the speeches. Those were good, mind you, but honestly, I could have done it myself. But what other job could you have held? I guess you did it well and I’m proud.
It wasn’t until Italy that I began feeling an attraction to you. Thank you for telling me what happened in Bologna. It’s coming back to me in bits and pieces, each day. At least now I know why I feel uneasy every time I see a taxi or a phone booth. I was struggling consciously to remind myself of Ali, and I missed her. Maybe I took it out on you. I can’t be held accountable for what I’ve done under the influence.
I’ve heard what happened to you in London with Eric. I have to say I’m sorry for not noticing his advances. I could have told him off earlier if you wanted. For the most part, I really was oblivious to your interactions with men on tour who weren’t me. Like Larry, for instance. He let it slip that the two of you had sex. Please tell me it’s not true. I could do without knowing that piece of information.
Now it’s time for my little secret- only fair, as it seems you’ve been keeping a lot of them. Every night onstage, as I performed the encore of the show in MacPhisto persona, I was engulfed by this wanting. It grew stronger every night as I moved deeper into the mind of my character. Marieke, there’s no doubting this- I felt that I wanted you, I felt attracted to you, and when you were onstage it was unbearable. I lost my mind in Sydney. There’s no doubting that in that dressing room, at that moment, I really did love you.
But after that, I came to myself. I realized what I had done. I see that you thought I was in love with you. Why wouldn’t you think that? But it wasn’t me, Marieke. That man was not me. You might say MacPhisto. I’ll agree to that, since I have no other name for him. But hear me out here- that man is dead. I’m alive. You’ll find no romantic love for you in this body.
I don’t regret your time on tour and was very pleased- and shocked- to see you in the audience in Tokyo. Didn’t you realize you were the rowdiest fan out there? It couldn’t have been anyone but you. But if you ever want to come back, you must sort out your emotions first. I’ve sorted mine out already. Marieke, I don’t and never will love you. As I have no way of knowing how you feel anymore, I hope you agree to this. If you’re still in love, please try to move on. If you’re over me, take this as a word of confirmation.
I hope this letter brings some relief to you. I really would like to see you next tour.
Yours truly, Angel of Holland,
Paul D. Hewson
“Bono”
Stillness overtakes me as I finish reading the letter. My hands bring it up to my lips, and I touch it softly, only once. A vision swells in my head. We could have been so beautiful together… We could have gotten married and had children and grown old, all in the name of love.
At once I stand and rush to the music shelf below the TV. My copy of Zooropa, the first one ever printed, is on the top of the pile. I slide it out and fold Bono’s letter up, tucking it deep inside the album cover.
I walk to my bed and open the bedside table drawer. Inside, right there on top, is my silver bracelet with the M charm attached. I haven’t been able to wear it since the show in Tokyo. I drop it inside the album as well, and it makes a lump. Kneeling down, I lift my mattress up and conceal the record beneath it.
My eyes turn back to the television. The camera is panning out, ending the Lemon video with a shot of MacPhisto, standing and smiling. No matter what anyone says, MacPhisto will always be mine. Bono was right in saying there was no romantic love for me in his body- it was all in the Devil’s. And maybe, just maybe, there was no romantic love for Bono in mine, either. I turn the TV off.
THE END
Thanks to everyone who commented (Grace, Katie, Tara, Gynoid, Sipsi, Ali, L&L, the real Lina, Jorinde, Acrobat Angel, and ali26) and thanks to everyone who gave me those huge views of the threads- I know you're out there!
Lina doesn’t know it yet, but I attend U2’s show in Tokyo- the last act of Zoo TV that the world will ever see- on December 10th. I’m sure she’ll find out when the bills start pouring in from all the money we've squandered this year. Under the premise that I’m going to visit my parents in Njimegen, I take the money for airline fees and hop on the next plane leaving for Tokyo, determined to get to the concert in time.
It’s a fabulous performance, despite seeming a little less impressive on account of being crammed indoors. Bono is on fire. For understandable reasons, I can’t watch him for very long, but the rest of the band takes up just as good space in my eyes. None of them seem to notice me, or at least they don’t recognize me. It could easily be the latter- I’ve stopped curling my hair since I left the tour, and my eyes have a sort of hardness to them that wasn’t present before. It startles me a bit when I look in a mirror.
At the climax of Where The Streets Have No Name, Bono launches himself off the end of the stage into the audience and madly dashes towards the other side, flying through people as if carried by wings. I scream as he pushes his way past me. The energy is infectious. Bono is boosted back onstage with a huge smile.
I wait for the encore, the finale of the show- and MacPhisto’s last stand. Who will he be calling tonight? How will it go?
Daddy’s Gonna Pay for Your Crashed Car begins, and it’s like welcoming back a dear old friend. Of course, the Devil starts out his speech by giving a word of thanks. It surprises me how easily how well I know his line delivery, how familiar I am with him- after all these days of staying home from the tour, it turns out I was just itching to return. But that can never be, after what has happened between Bono and I…
“Oh, Daddy always pays,” MacPhisto sighs. He both looks and sounds a bit worn out. “Look what you’ve done to me. Tokyo, look what you’ve done to me! You’ve made me very famous and I thank you…” Blah, blah.
“I know you like your pop stars to be glamorous, so I bought these.” MacPhisto displays his shoes with less than the pride I’ve seen on his face many times before. “Do you like them?” he murmurs. “You should, you know. Don’t you think rock and roll has come a long way? Yes?” We scream our assent, and a lump grows in my throat. “I do,” MacPhisto agrees. “And it’s taken its toll, let me tell you. On this very tour we’ve had four marriages, fourteen divorces, fifteen babies born; twelve people got arrested, we’ve sacked five people, and one crew member left the entourage to become a Franciscan monk. THANK YOU!”
Hearing that final countdown and the swells of cheers that break over the Tokyo Dome, I find myself getting very emotional. I wonder where I’m included in that list? Is Eric one of the people they’ve sacked? And are they including Larry’s engagement as a marriage?
“We’ve met some fine people along the way,” MacPhisto states, looking as nostalgic as I feel, “and… where would we be without our closest friends…” He gestures weakly to the audience to indicate us as his friends. “Uh… before I make a telephone to my closest friend, I’d like to introduce you to my band! On the right here we have Reggie the Dog- The Edge! On the left we have the cat who got the cream, Adam Clayton… and standing behind me, Boy George’s wet dream, Larry Mullen Jr.!”
The rest of the band smiles. Adam looks pleased and proud to be onstage one last time, and not in a drunken coma. Edge’s grin conveys such warmth. I can tell he’ll have a hard time leaving this place. Larry’s eyes sweep the crowd as if looking for someone. We all hush to let the ringleader, Mr. MacPhisto, speak.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, as… I’m rather tired, I’d like to call… someone I’ve gotten very close with since I came to Tokyo.” Who could it be?
The handsome Devil punches in the numbers without the usual air of coolness. Now he only radiates a sad, stricken finality. This is the last we will ever see of him, I realize.
“Hello? I’d like to speak to Madonna.”
A cheer rises up.
A recorded message plays. MacPhisto tries again. “Hello? I’d like to speak to Madonna.” The message babbles in Japanese. The Devil grows indignant. “This is Mr. MacPhisto here!... hello?... Hello?... HELLO?!”
The sirens go off. MacPhisto replaces the telephone with a sigh, but quickly cheers up.
“Off with the horns, on with the show!” And the horns land backstage, for the last time. MacPhisto turns on his heel and showcases his dancing.
“A man builds a city…”
“A man builds a city!”
“With banks and cathedrals…”
“With banks and karaoke!”
He never, ever needed my help, I think suddenly. He had it made that entire time. He knew what he wanted to say onstage and how. He was just indulging me.
The song slows down. MacPhisto sings softly.
“Midnight is where the day begins… midnight is where the day begins… midnight…”
My transition, the one I invented, comes thunking out of Adam’s bass. With or Without You has begun. I hold my breath. Tonight is a performance like no other.
MacPhisto blows it out of the water. He emits pure pain and anguish from every pore. Strangely enough, the song moves me to the depths of my soul, but I don’t cry. Not even when MacPhisto begins the lyrical outro-
“And you give. And you give… and you give. And you give. And you give… and you give… and you give… and you give…”
This goes on for several more phrases, dragging the song out, leading me to believe that there’s a huge surprise coming at the end of this. Will it be the “shine like stars” coda that I enjoy? Or maybe it’s…
MacPhisto bends over the mic, clutching it in both hands, and wails.
“Loooove… love will tear us apart, again… loooove… love will tear us apart, again… Looove, love will tear us apart, again… Again.”
The breath fails me, and I nearly drown surrounded by air as the Japanese fans around me clap. It takes me a moment to come back to myself. My still-dry eyes latch onto MacPhisto.
Throughout the entirety of Love Is Blindness, I’m amazed at every ounce of emotion put into the performance. This is real. This is MacPhisto at his very best, and it’s taken him till the last show to get to it. When the solo begins, the Devil turns away and scans the audience with cold blue eyes. My hands reach up automatically, breath slowing- my body is moving of its own accord. MacPhisto doesn’t bother to beckon me up- he reaches down into the sea of fans and practically yanks me onstage, jamming me against his body. I pillow my head on his shoulder, my chin fitting there as if he is made for me.
The dance isn’t very intricate. As MacPhisto turns me around in a slow circle, he touches my hand and places it on his face, scraping the makeup off his cheek with it. I sigh, breathing in the sweet scent of him. MacPhisto closes his eyes, face bunching up, and whispers, “I don’t want to go,” in that old British accent of his. This is shortly followed by “No…” and finally, “Look what you’ve done to me.”
We pull away. Edge is just finishing the solo. It takes me a while to realize our faces are both streaked with wetness- whether it’s tears or sweat, I can’t say. MacPhisto won’t let go of my hands. Slowly, he brings them upwards, extending the dance for a while longer. We stare into each other’s eyes and sway gently from side to side.
“Love is blindness,” MacPhisto murmurs in tune. “I don’t want to see. Won’t you wrap the night around me. Take my heart…” We breathe simultaneously.
“It’s blindness…”
Without another word, MacPhisto pulls my hands all the way up to the sides of my face and, shielding us from the outside view, presses his red lips ever so gently to mine. They taste of makeup and skin. His right hand falls and lets go of mine, but the left remains locked in an iron grip.
“Wise men say,” MacPhisto breathes. I haven’t even noticed the guitar playing softly in the background.
“Only fools rush in… But I can’t help falling in love with you.”
Suddenly, the microphone is at my lips. I take it without thinking.
“Shall I stay?” I sing- my man-voice is finally good for something. “Would it be a sin? If I can’t help falling in love with you…”
I make to sing the next lines, but MacPhisto moves in, and we end up singing together.
“Like a river flows to the sea… so it goes, some things were meant to be.”
He grabs our joined left hands and raises them up. I drop out to let the falsetto take over.
“Take my hand… take my whole life too… But I can’t help falling in love with you.”
The Devil looks at me, and at once I see both of the men that I continue to love in the expression, one inside the other.
“I can’t help falling in love with you…”
Just when I’m beginning to spy something hidden behind those blue eyes, MacPhisto turns his face away from me.
“I can’t help falling in love with you.” He lets go of my hand, waves it to the crowd. As the applause grows, MacPhisto- or Bono- sends me back to my spot. A beautiful smile lights up his face. “Thank you, Tokyo. Goodnight.” And the Devil is gone, forever.
Something small, hard, and cold is clenched in my fist. I force my hand to open, staring down at it. The M-shaped charm from my bracelet blinks back at me. MACPHISTO, it seems to say. The Devil’s last gift to me, given originally by Bono. As the people reluctantly empty from the arena, I remain where I am, gazing after the stage where MacPhisto has disappeared, taking with him those blue eyes filled with meaning and clarity, if only I had thought to look hard enough. I know immediately the answer to my question of did either of them ever love me or not. I know the answer, but I refuse to believe it. When the crewmen come out to dismantle the stage, I bolt. They will recognize me and ask me to stay, and I can’t bear to see another old friend gone.
***
“Okay, if I don’t come back before dinnertime, you know what to do, right?”
I nod. I’ve been making dinner for myself for months now- why wouldn’t I know what to do? A smile- a rare one, an expression that hardly ever touches Lina’s face nowadays- is shot my way. “Have fun being home alone! See you later!” And with that, she makes for the door.
“Wait,” I say.
She stops. “Yes, Marieke, what is it?”
I start to speak, but shake my head and turn my attention back to the television. Lina sighs. “If you make me ‘wait’ any longer I’ll have gray hair, and will have missed my job interview. So please, Marieke, let me go.” She turns the doorknob.
At once I sit up straighter on the sofa, making Lina cast her eyes back onto me. My own are glued to the TV, so Lina looks too, and heaves another sigh. U2’s video for Lemon is on the screen.
“It’s been a month,” she reminds me. “A month of watching MTV and eating chocolate on your part. Get over him, Marieke! Get over the whole damn deal. We can’t stay in this flat for very longer, and you have to help me look for a new job with both eyes and ears wide open.”
She leaves what has already been said unsaid- Go get a job yourself. Truly, I didn't mean to make us insolvent, but Ican’t take my eyes from the screen. MacPhisto is in all his glory, living out the peak of his life captured on film.
Lina watches the opening shot with me, but at last opens the door. “Get a life, Marieke. I mean, I love you and all, but please forget about Bono and Zoo TV.” With that she’s gone, and I am left utterly alone, but not quite, for MacPhisto is onscreen for me.
I barely look up when Lina’s voice carries through a corridor- “Oh, forgot to mention. Here’s a letter for you.” Really? From who? My ears perk up. Lina slides it through the letter box. “I don’t know this Paul Hewson, but-“
Paul Hewson?! How does she not recognize Bono’s real name? I am off the couch and onto the floor in seconds, holding the envelope in my hands. I have to read the return address thrice to be sure. Yep, that’s really Bono- and he’s really sent it to me.
Ripping open the envelope, I unfold the contents with trembling hands.
Dear Marieke,
I just got your letter. Thank you for writing to me. It meant a lot. I know our last conversation was not the best one out there, so let’s try again. Let’s have the talk we failed to have that night in Sydney.
Ever since you joined the tour, you were under my nose, a constant person to take care of. That was what you were to me- just another child like my daughters, a fan whom I needed to keep tabs on. But you evolved quickly into a young woman, proving yourself worthy with the speeches. Well, okay, it wasn’t only the speeches. Those were good, mind you, but honestly, I could have done it myself. But what other job could you have held? I guess you did it well and I’m proud.
It wasn’t until Italy that I began feeling an attraction to you. Thank you for telling me what happened in Bologna. It’s coming back to me in bits and pieces, each day. At least now I know why I feel uneasy every time I see a taxi or a phone booth. I was struggling consciously to remind myself of Ali, and I missed her. Maybe I took it out on you. I can’t be held accountable for what I’ve done under the influence.
I’ve heard what happened to you in London with Eric. I have to say I’m sorry for not noticing his advances. I could have told him off earlier if you wanted. For the most part, I really was oblivious to your interactions with men on tour who weren’t me. Like Larry, for instance. He let it slip that the two of you had sex. Please tell me it’s not true. I could do without knowing that piece of information.
Now it’s time for my little secret- only fair, as it seems you’ve been keeping a lot of them. Every night onstage, as I performed the encore of the show in MacPhisto persona, I was engulfed by this wanting. It grew stronger every night as I moved deeper into the mind of my character. Marieke, there’s no doubting this- I felt that I wanted you, I felt attracted to you, and when you were onstage it was unbearable. I lost my mind in Sydney. There’s no doubting that in that dressing room, at that moment, I really did love you.
But after that, I came to myself. I realized what I had done. I see that you thought I was in love with you. Why wouldn’t you think that? But it wasn’t me, Marieke. That man was not me. You might say MacPhisto. I’ll agree to that, since I have no other name for him. But hear me out here- that man is dead. I’m alive. You’ll find no romantic love for you in this body.
I don’t regret your time on tour and was very pleased- and shocked- to see you in the audience in Tokyo. Didn’t you realize you were the rowdiest fan out there? It couldn’t have been anyone but you. But if you ever want to come back, you must sort out your emotions first. I’ve sorted mine out already. Marieke, I don’t and never will love you. As I have no way of knowing how you feel anymore, I hope you agree to this. If you’re still in love, please try to move on. If you’re over me, take this as a word of confirmation.
I hope this letter brings some relief to you. I really would like to see you next tour.
Yours truly, Angel of Holland,
Paul D. Hewson
“Bono”
Stillness overtakes me as I finish reading the letter. My hands bring it up to my lips, and I touch it softly, only once. A vision swells in my head. We could have been so beautiful together… We could have gotten married and had children and grown old, all in the name of love.
At once I stand and rush to the music shelf below the TV. My copy of Zooropa, the first one ever printed, is on the top of the pile. I slide it out and fold Bono’s letter up, tucking it deep inside the album cover.
I walk to my bed and open the bedside table drawer. Inside, right there on top, is my silver bracelet with the M charm attached. I haven’t been able to wear it since the show in Tokyo. I drop it inside the album as well, and it makes a lump. Kneeling down, I lift my mattress up and conceal the record beneath it.
My eyes turn back to the television. The camera is panning out, ending the Lemon video with a shot of MacPhisto, standing and smiling. No matter what anyone says, MacPhisto will always be mine. Bono was right in saying there was no romantic love for me in his body- it was all in the Devil’s. And maybe, just maybe, there was no romantic love for Bono in mine, either. I turn the TV off.
THE END
(I love that song. Love that song. Love when Bono sings it, too. They don't talk about it much after their early phase, but in the early years U2 were kind of obsessed with Joy Division, and Bono tried to say that A Day Without Me was about Ian Curtis even though it was written before he died...etc.)
(hehe, U2)
Blue...
Yay!
