Dr. Lant passed away April 16, 2023
From the Writers Secrets Series www.writerssecrets.com
by Dr. Jeffrey Lant
J’attendrai, A Tale of Jo.
For everyone who has ever wondered what might have been.
Author’s Note.
To get the most out of this story, go to any search engine. Find
the original 1938 version of “J’attendrai” by Rina Kelly. It was a
tune that swept the world, especially after the fall of France to
Nazi Germany in 1940 when it became a statement of adamant
commitment and fierce determination.
“J’attendrai,” “I will wait”, for better times, for happier times, for love,
for you. And nothing will keep us apart… absolutely nothing.
Tormented by a dream, a dream one must have and will do anything,
everything to achieve.
When does love begin?
Is it when you gaze for an incautious moment into eyes specially created
to destroy your peace of mind, eyes laughing at your acute discomfort, for
this is how conquests are made… and savored for a lifetime and beyond.
You could, as you did so often in the past, laugh back… and forget. But now
you cannot forget those eyes… and the fact you cannot forget them is a
certain sign you are no longer in control… that an unknown influence is nigh
and beyond your trifling powers.
Yet you want more. Want it all. Want it here. Want it now , and are willing to
gamble the very foundation of your life to get.
Thus you enter the lists at Castle Dangereuse prepared for absolutely nothing —
and not caring. That is the power of those eyes… and this is just the beginning,
while a sensible voice inside cants of caution, responsibility, patience…
but in these matters caution never wins, never, except with those who will risk
nothing, ask for everything, and live on year by year wondering what the fuss is
all about, “Mother.” What indeed. “Love indeed. Who needs it anyway?”
You move closer. You are in pursuit of, what? You cannot say , but you must
have the je ne sais quoi, though the caution machine has stepped up its
no-chance admonitions… “You can’t…”, “It’s risky…”; “You have to work tomorrow”
“Slow down…” “Think of what the neighbors would say,” “Listen, she looks like the
very picture of what you shouldn’t want and must never have.”
I am a sensible fellow. I eat broccoli for God’s sake, and always stand up when
a lady enters the room. I put the toilet seat down and never am without a
handkerchief, as my mother taught whilst on her very knee. These irrefutable
jeremiads should therefor matter… but they most assuredly don’t.
Then luck. And how often does that happen, there when you need it, and
never look back? There was a gust of wind. She grabbed her hat (cloche, dark
blue, red cherries, adorable) and a letter was blown out of her pocket. It was the
timely instrument destined to deliver life changes at their most potent.
“I say, Miss…” You were going to do the boy scout thing and hand over the letter.
But fate, it had to be fate, intervened and changed everything,
“I say, Miss…”She jumped into a taxi. Probably heard nothing. Little did they know they were moving separately in the same direction.
“Only cads read other people’s mail without permission”.
The Governor’s principles were as ram-rod straight as his back. He was a
gentleman, through and through, dependable, “God Save The Queen”, pip pip,
cheerio. Such people always know what to do, and despite any inconvenience
will do it. “Don’t mention it…
But I am not my father (a point dear Mama finds it necessary to reiterate over and
over again). Moreover, I was a man on a mission, my ends (honorable) surely
justifying any means (dishonorable) justifying any means, yes, ANY.
A plan began to formulate itself, the plan of a lifetime. Coffee and cogitation were
necessary. “Kaffee mit slagroom.” Awaiting the brain elixir, he set about his task
with the thorough calculation and systematic care of Sherlock Holmes.
“Dear Jo”. His goddess had a name, and it was Jo, and it was good. Within
moments he had a plethora of useful Jo-centered facts, each more significant
and attractive than the last.
She was just 23, on a course in Capetown designed to take her from her
“metier challenged” farm to a secretary’s position, what women did in the
man’s universe. It was unfair, unequal, but it was better than mucking pigs
and dreaming.
She wanted to write poems, she wanted to read books, “every book in the
world”, she said… she wanted to feel the soothing winds unique to this
portion of the globe. And most of all she wanted to walk along the glorious
beaches of South Africa with a man she could respect and look up… no
bullies shouting “Me Tarzan, you wife” need apply.
This point of view was adjudged eccentric and “difficult.” It wasn’t that, it
was she understood what would make her happy enough to make others
happy too. She was not “difficult”; she was exquisite in everything, a
connoisseur right down to the gentle fingertips that produced the delicate
watercolors she was mastering, a perfect indication of who she was and
what she wanted, no compromises, no, excuses, no explanations. She
was the Goddess Tenacity…
Mrs. Pemberton-Mainwaring’s Bombshell.
Mrs. P-M as she was universally known around Knysna was an opinion
maker of unmatched dexterity and energy. She also was Jo’s Aunt, thus an
object for the most exhaustive review and improvement.
On this occasion Mrs. P-M had included one of her famous lists. This
one pertained to a young man Mrs. P-M had vetted, her conclusions
enclosed in this letter with the single word URGENT! in red letters at the
top of the enclosure. One ignored this message with the greatest possible
risk. One laughed at Mrs P-M behind her back but never to her face. These
lists were a substantial reason why.
The Young Man in Question.
“Dearest Niece, I am tireless in your service. You may think your ancient aunt
overbearing and demanding. The truth is I love you… and that’s the way it is.
All of Knysna (of the female ilk) is agog over the arrival of a new young man.
I have, I may say, the most detailed intelligence on the matter. Suitable
young men are but infrequently found in life. This one sounds a gem. Consider…
H he comes of “good family”. Young people do not care for such things,
but some day you’ll be as pernecketty as I am about them!
He rides with a good seat.
He is a ‘varsity man working in the Exchequer. Such positions go only to the
sensible and acceptably ambitious.
He has an independent income. Small but useful. and, mirabile dictu, only the
usual level of debt by such paragons.
And so it went through 16 more categories. The lady was indefatigable.. ending
only with “teeth. The usual number suitable for a smile that is warm but does not
over promise.”’ In short, he could be trusted.
Oh, yes, his name: Stan Davis.
And in years to come whilst the protagonists were telling their incredible tale
the not quite as young man would leap up, guests present or not, and yell “I
still can’t believe it, my incredible luck. Then everyone present was glad to
agree about God and His mysterious ways.
And he finished up his part by recalling he had phoned Mrs. P-M saying he’d be
a bit late but was on his way, whereupon he had a choice… taxi for himself or
ebullient box of candy suitable for a gal named Jo, his Jo, the girl he now knew
he’d be dining with..
Did she like nougats? Well, he aimed to ensure he had a long lifetime to find out.
And so he sang “I have often been on this street before…” Arriving at the door
step flustered, hair electrified, a man nervous with a goofy smile, signs any
woman could read with scientific accuracy… and they liked him the better for
his crumbling sang froid.
He had been prepared to spend intellect, time and money finding her.
He expected to wear out “J’attendrai” “I will wait night and day/ I wait forever.”
But when he saw Jo, his Jo he knew different…
In the drawing room, he tried to make chipper small talk with his hostess.
Impossible because of Jo, bending over the table to place a white candle and
the first white rose of the season. “I think you have something of mine,” she said
and reached out her hand. “My heart,” he said, and it seemed perfectly natural
to say so; just as it seemed perfectly natural to kiss her when she pinned the
white rose on his lapel, and, as evening came, to light the candle in his honor.
As the scent filled the room it mixed with the strong currents of the Indian Ocean,
a place known to so few beyond its coast, it might be Shangri La, a place of harmony,
goodness, beauty, and love, a place we all want to be.
And there was music. Music by Billy Joel (1977) that made clear what we all want. Stan
and Jo sang it to each other that day of so many might-have-beens, “I love you just the
way you are. I want you just the way you are.” And so they became the luckiest
people on Earth and live grateful for it . “I could not love you any better…and that’s
forever.”
—
Dr. Jeffrey Lant
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======================
It was a great honor to work with Dr. Jeffrey Lant during his tenure as CEO of Worldprofit. This
article was given to Daniel Fischer while Dr. Jeffrey Lant was at Worldprofit.
Yours In Success,
Daniel Fischer Dano Enterprises
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