The Meaning of Life and Other Vegetables

1991?

The phone rings. I wake up. It’s that kind of old telephone bell, an actual bell. That really rings. It can raise the dead.

What time is it? 1:24am. I sit up in the fold-up bed. The light is, of course, on. It’s always on – we’re not allowed to turn it off. I only set up the bed and went to sleep about an hour earlier, around half past midnight. The port base activity for the day was finally over, and not much was expected overnight. My superior officer went to bed in the next room a bit earlier. Of course, he took off his shoes and turned off the light. I’m not entirely sure that’s in line with the rules, but obviously he doesn’t care.

I pick up the phone.

“Operations. How can I help?”

Silence. Or maybe a deep sigh…?

“You’ve reached Operations. I’m the officer on duty. Can I help?”

Another sigh. Then “No… I think I got the number wrong. Where did I get to, again?”

“I’m not supposed to go into details. No problem, you have a good night.” I’m thinking: Just what I needed. Finally got to fall asleep, with my shoes on, in this nasty fold-up bed, with the light on… then she had to call the wrong number. At 1:24am.

“Hang on…”

“Yes…?”

“Don’t go.”

“Excuse me…?”

“I’m lonely. And sad.”

“Oh…? But you said it was a wrong number. And I’m just the officer on duty for the weekend. And I just went to sleep.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up. But it’s so hard…”

“That’s okay. I can talk with you a little. Where are you calling from?”

“I’m in the city on the mountain, above the port. Are you in the navy base?”

“How did you know? I’m actually not supposed to talk to civilians like that.”

“Oh, I figured it out from what you said. You know, the base is part of the city. It’s not exactly a secret that you guys are down there. And I’ve lived here all my life.”

She sounds a little older than me. Late 20s…? Deep voice. Mysterious. And so sad…

“Hey, what’s your name, mystery lady?”

“Gil.”

More mystery.

“Gil? That’s an unusual name for a girl. Is that short for something?”

“No, that’s my name.”

I need to finish this call, but she sounds so sad, hopeless. Like a dark, dark sea.

“Listen, Gil, I’m not allowed to use this line for anything but operations, and I’m on duty here the whole weekend and then next week I’m back on my usual post. But if you’d like to give me your number, I can call you next weekend, and we can talk.” I’m expecting a polite refusal.

“I would like that.”

Oh. That’s unexpected. I scribble her number on a piece of paper, then say good night, hang up, and go back to my terrible fold-up bed. With the light on. I hate those weekend shifts.

The weekend goes by, no special events. So does the following week. Finally, I get to go home for my weekend off. Saturday afternoon, I call Gil. She picks up. We talk. Lots of quiet pauses. Lots of deep sighs. But she also opens up a little, slowly, guarded. Who is this girl?… Why did she call me at the base? She insists it was a misdialed number. But there is certainly a connection. I give her my home number. I do like talking to her, and I have no girl in my life. She’s definitely older than me, and she sounds experienced. There is something about her that is irresistible for me.

Over the following weeks we talk again. And again. Sometimes she calls me, sometimes I call her. I do learn some things about her life, but not a lot. She graduated law, but what she does now is unclear. Most of the time we talk about how we feel, about the world, about life… Surreal.

Then, after a while, I ask “Hey, can we meet sometime?”

Long silence. I think a deep sigh, too.

“We can’t meet.”

“Really? Why?”

“We just can’t.”

“Are you married or something?”

“No. But we can’t meet. Ever. And I can’t tell you why.”

“Okay.”

We continue to talk on the phone occasionally. It’s still enjoyable, but there’s a strange pain in me that won’t let go. Gradually, our calls become more and more spaced apart. Eventually, she slips away into the mist, and is no more.

Gil, the girl I never met, from the city above the port.