Chilli

The chilli was almost ready. It was time to add what Carl jokingly called his “secret ingredient:” a teaspoonful of chocolate.

He was proud of his chilli. He had cooked it for Mary, on one of their first dates; she had been very impressed with his cooking, although he was sure she was suspicious that it was the only thing he could make. Which wasn’t far from the truth.

Anyway, tonight was a special occasion; their anniversary, five years of married life.

Although a lot of that time had been spent apart, Carl still thought himself very lucky. When she was at home, and when she had the time, Mary had also been an enthusiastic cook. It was one of her many talents, she approached each meal like an artist creating a new work of art; or a physics professor, with a particularly difficult theorem to deal with.

Indeed, in most things Carl had long suspected he had married someone head and shoulders above him in cleverness, in intellect. Although he had a master’s degree in English, he still often asked Mary what had made her fall for a dummy like him.

“Your blue eyes” she would say, putting aside her incomprehensible physics books for a moment.

“And your patience.” 

She worked very unsociable hours, sometimes late into the night, other times spending days, even weeks away from home. And even when she was present, Carl could sense that a lot of the time she was partly there with him, and partly in her other world, able to talk to him about his own work with one part of her brain while working out theorems with the other.

“You know who you remind me of” Carl had said once.

“Mr Spock. You know, Star Trek; he’d be playing chess while working out algorithms in his head.”

Mary had smiled.

“Are you saying I have no emotions?” she had said, before spending the rest of the evening trying to prove him otherwise.

Carl grinned to himself. Spock indeed; perhaps it had been her profession that had made him think of a spaceman. Mary was certainly one of a very special breed; he was quite happy to be on the side lines while her career took off, happy to support her wherever necessary.

It had been no surprise to him when she had been chosen, out of the thousands of applicants for the mission. She had become something of a poster girl for the agency, appearing on news feeds and magazine covers across the world. Although Carl was of course aware of Mary’s photogenic qualities, it was a bonus to see that she was mainly being interviewed for her intelligence rather than just her good looks, or the fact that she was a woman in a field once dominated by men.

Thoughts of any danger, of her perhaps not coming back, he had long ago learned to push to the back of his mind. Along with the thought of having children, at least until her mission was completed.

Besides, he had his own career, as a teacher and a writer; he was playing his own part in society, on a smaller scale perhaps inspiring others in a similar way to his wife. Perhaps, he thought, he would end up being his wife’s biographer.

The chilli was bubbling nicely now. Carl left it to simmer and went into the dining room.

Everything was looking great. He had made a special effort for this evening. He’d set two places for dinner, red tablecloth, wine glasses, plates and cutlery arranged as if they were on a cruise ship or in a fancy hotel. Pride of place was a bottle of her favourite Merlot, next to a bunch of bright red roses. The faint smell of chilli wafted in the air, making Carl’s mouth begin to water.

He checked his watch. Five minutes to go. 

He poured himself a glass of wine and sat at the table. He clicked the remote and the TV screen on the wall came to life.

There was a sudden burst of static; followed by his wife’s voice.

“Hi my darling!” she said, as her image appeared on the screen. She looked very fetching, he thought. As usual, he was struck by the darkness of her skin, almost jet black, and flawless: it was this that had first caught his eye, the first time he had seen her. Her coal coloured hair was, as usual, immaculately plaited and piled high.

Her in-flight jumpsuit gave her an air of purpose, of authority; on her lapel Carl could see her mission badge. Above an embroidered red planet were the words: Commander Mars 2040.

For a second this brought back an awareness of the sheer distance between them; Carl was overwhelmed by the emptiness and void that they were separated by.

“Happy anniversary” he said, although he knew she could not hear him. Her pre-recorded message would have been sent on its way to him twenty minutes earlier.

”Happy anniversary” Mary echoed.

“I hope you are having a nice meal and a glass of wine! I wish I was there with you!”

She held up something that looked like a plastic sachet.

“Spaghetti Bolognese is on our menu tonight” she frowned.

“At least, that’s what it says on the packet…”

“We’re nearly half-way now, as you know, and everything’s fine so far. I can’t show you, but if I look out of the window I can see a red star, getting bigger and brighter by the day. The Red Planet-imagine that! Your wife’s going to be one of the first to leave their footprint in that famous red sand!

“So anyway, my time’s almost up;” she grinned.

“It’s costing the World Space Agency a fortune just to send this! I’ll send you another message soon and see you in a few months. And I look forward to you cooking me your special chilli!”

She blew him a kiss.

“All my love to you Carl” she whispered.

“And to you” he said, raising his glass. Mary’s image froze on the screen, then disappeared.

Carl stood and went to the mantelpiece, picking up an old-fashioned, framed photograph. It was from their last trip, their last time together before the mission. They had flown down to Rio, somewhere they would hopefully be left to themselves, although Mary’s face was now recognisable across the world.

The two of them were pictured there, arm in arm, with the Sugar Loaf Mountain in the background; he could remember the warmth of her next to him, could feel her physical presence. For a while he stood, staring at the picture; and as he held her image in his hand, with the memories flooding back, the distance between them somehow no longer seemed to matter.