Cleopatra and Frankenstein

by Coco Mellors

What is a wedding, Cleo wondered, if not a private dream made public, a fantasy suspended between two worlds like a cat’s cradle?

“Eighty percent of relationship,” she said, “is tolerating difference.” “What’s the other twenty percent?” asked Frank. The woman shrugged. “Fucking.”

Fun was fine when you were young, but as you got older it was kindness that counted, kindness that showed up.

“I get the sense you might still be a little confused about what we do here, so I was wondering if I could tell you a quick story?” Zoe nodded unwillingly. “Great! One day, out of the blue, a guy falls into a deep hole. ‘Help, help!’ he yells, but no one comes. Eventually a rabbi walks by. He lowers a Torah down and tells him to pray to find a way out.” Zoe looked toward Tali in the hopes that she would help her find a way out, but she was talking animatedly with a woman Zoe had earlier heard claim to have given birth in silence. “Next, a priest walks past and gives him a Bible. Again, no result. A psychiatrist tells him he’s stuck because he’s depressed and throws down some pills. No dice. A nihilist tells him to imagine the hole doesn’t exist, but that doesn’t work either. A politician, an intellectual, and a bunch of others try, but nothing works. Then a spiritualist, a wise man really, comes to the edge of the hole. He looks down at the man at the bottom and jumps right in with him. And that’s what this meditation is about, Zoe—someone getting in the hole with you.”

In my psych class we read this study that said what men feared most was pity, and what women feared most was envy. And it resonated with me. For a guy envy can be empowering, but for a girl it just means you’re going to get attacked or excluded.”

“The hole is loneliness,” said Cleo quietly. “Why’s that?” said Audrey. “You can’t stand above someone and tell them to get out of it,” she said. “Or teach or preach it out of them. You have to be in it with them.”

“Is that how you feel with Frank?” asked Zoe. “Like someone’s in the hole with you?” Cleo looked out over the unlit buildings. The street below them was quiet and empty. It felt as if they were the only people still awake in the whole city. “Sometimes,” she said. She paused to think some more. “And sometimes … Frank is the hole.”

What a thing it must be to be indifferent to indifference.