Page 4 - Connecting Obsessions.indd

The cuttings and posters were something else. Those were the

result of his hobby—or, perhaps he should admit it, his obsession.
He stumbled upon the posters three years previously. All but

one depicted a number of movies starring the same actress. He also
possessed recordings of most of those.

The exception, his favourite poster, took centre stage on the main
wall; a glorious photograph of that same actress wearing a stunning

gown, twirling her skirts as she danced. But her haunted smile bore
witness to the cuttings on either side, and even as he looked at those,

he felt the familiar surge of anger at her fate.
Ridiculous of course. There was nothing he could possibly do

about it—at least, that is what he thought at the time.
However, he mused, coming back to the present, that was over

fifty years ago.
He glanced down at the woman, now sleeping peacefully at his

side, and watched her face for a while. Perhaps she was dreaming.
Certainly her expressions were changing—for the most part sublime

contentment, sometimes fleeting looks of apprehension interspersed
with brief touches of irritation.

Then, just the once, that oh-so-familiar signal: her turned-up nose.
She gave yet another of her glorious smiles, although he may

have been imagining that, and he couldn’t help smiling himself. God,
she was beautiful without the smile. Simply radiant with it! On this

occasion, he had to close his eyes, fearful that his feelings would erupt
into some audible expression that might awaken her. There was no way

of knowing, of course, but he was as certain as he could be that her
dreams were, to some extent, a parallel of his own recent reminiscences.

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