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Becoming a Philosopher 12
Carlo, the son of a diplomat had been my flatmate in Cape Town. He was strangled by his lover Wynand. There was a lot of press interest in the case generated by the investigating officer who was trying to raise his own profile. I received a call from Marisa, Wynand's wife whom I had met on the wine farm. We had prepared salads and other side dishes together for a barbeque. I was hesitant to answer, and I had a knot in my stomach.
"Hullo, it's Tom speaking. How are you doing Marisa?"
"I'm surviving Tom. It has been extremely difficult after Wynand was arrested. I am still in the same house, but I have been harassed by the press. I really would like to get together to talk through some things."
"That would be fine Marisa, just tell me where and when."
"Could we meet tomorrow? Maybe somewhere in Cape Town?"
We arranged to meet at Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens. I arrived thirty minutes early and was reading Nel Noddings' book on the philosophy of care. I thought of my own life and the trauma I had been through. Matt's stabbing was horrific, and then the beating Nicolas endured in Sweden and now the death of Carlo. It was all just too much.
I stood up when Marisa arrived, and we hugged for a second. She looked good, despite the trauma she was going through. She thanked me for meeting her and we ordered tea and scones before settling down to talk.
Marisa wanted to explain the context: "Wynand and I had been together since school days. We both came from small Free State towns and met in Bloemfontein in High School. We dated at school and throughout our time at university in Stellenbosch. I had studied to be a music teacher and Wynand viticulture. Everything seemed fine between us. I think things changed once we got married and went to live on the wine estate. He became more distant, and we had sex less often."
I asked her what brought about the change, but she was unsure. All that she knew was that their relationship had changed. When he left to stay with Carlo, he had said nothing, except that he needed time out. Marisa didn't even know where he had gone, and she only found out because of the police investigation. His arrest came as a complete shock to her.
"On the day Carlo and I came for the barbeque on the wine farm I noticed Carlo and Wynand making passes to each other. There was a connection, and something was going on. I subsequently told Carlo that it wasn't a good idea to get involved with a married man."
Marisa said that she hadn't noticed anything on that day. I told her about the message I got from Carlo when I was in Sweden, and that Carlo had told me that Wynand had moved in with him for a while. I told her that no one else seemed to know that he was staying at the apartment. Marisa was trying to make sense of things. She was embarrassed that her husband had been involved with another man and had then murdered him. She still couldn't bring herself to believe that her life partner was capable of murder. Neither Marisa's nor Wynand's parents believed this was possible, and Wynand's parents engaged a private detective to establish what had happened.
Marisa added: "I haven't gone to see Wynand in prison because I don't know what to say to him. I'm so glad that I'm able to talk to you and make sense of all of this. This is what I understand and correct me if I'm wrong: Wynand is tired of our marriage. He meets an attractive Italian man and flirts with him. They continue communicating. Wynand packs a small kit bag, leaves me, and goes to stay with Carlo in his apartment. They argue and Wynand strangles him to death. He packs his stuff, leaves the apartment, and returns to our home in Stellenbosch."
I reply: "I think that's exactly how it must have happened. I don't know who else could have come into the apartment and strangled Carlo."
Marisa wanted to know how Carlo's family was. I told her that they were struggling, that the funeral was in Italy, and that they wouldn't return to South Africa. She said that that was understandable. I suggested that she speak to Matt's (my late partner whom I had met in Scouts and who had been stabbed) mom, she was a psychologist and had helped me in the grieving process.
Marisa didn't want to return to the Free State, and she didn't think that the wine farmer would allow her to stay in the house indefinitely. She said that he was quite antagonistic towards her and was keen to get the house for a new winemaker.
After about two hours we went for a walk in the gardens heading up the side of Table Mountain. The gardens were spectacular, and the movement helped to release the tension that had built up. She was smiling and was glad to show some of the different types of fynbos. Her botanical knowledge was good, and she was an excellent teacher. We agreed to meet again at the end of the afternoon, and I suggested that she meet my partner Martin too. We agreed to meet in the gardens again and to have a picnic.
We met for lunch in the gardens on Saturday, it was a lovely afternoon and Marisa had come on her own. Martin had joined me. We found a spot under a large tree, spread out our picnic blanket, and unpacked our lunch. The atmosphere was relaxed, and Marisa asked a few more questions about Carlo and Wynand's relationship. I told her that I didn't know too much, except that Carlo was besotted with him. She still couldn't understand what would have driven Wynand to strangle him. That is when I suggested that she go and see Wynand in prison and ask him. I offered to accompany her when she went.
Marisa told us that she had been given notice and that she needed to find a place to live. She didn't have many friends in Cape Town, and she was reluctant to return home. She had already secured a position at a prestigious school as a music teacher. Martin looked at me, and I knew what he was thinking.
"Marisa, you would be welcome to join us in the apartment. We could move into Carlo's room, and you could take our room. We have the apartment until the end of next year, and it's very close to the school you will be teaching at."
I stopped for a moment and thought about this arrangement. It was a little crazy. The wife of a murderer coming to stay in the victim's apartment! And I then hoped that she wouldn't take up the offer.
Marisa accepted the offer and asked if she could move in at the end of the month. She would bring a few personal items and put the furniture in storage until she found her own place.
On the way home from the picnic Martin and I discussed the implications of having a woman staying with us, and what it might mean. Both of us were open to the idea and hoped that we would get along with Marisa in a living situation.
Martin asked: "What if she was a difficult person to live with? Maybe that's why Wynand moved out. What if she's a psychopath? We don't know her."
I gripped the steering wheel more tightly: "You're right Martin, we don't really know her. What if she was the murderer, and she framed Wynand? Oh no, I'm running away with myself. I think I'm a good enough judge of character. She was a wonderful host the night I first met her, and she's been delightful to engage with these last few days. I think she'll be fine. She knows we are partners and is happy with that."
Once we were back in the apartment, we did a little walk around to see what it would be like to have someone else in the space. It was a huge apartment in an old building, big enough for the three of us.
"I wonder if she'll be Okay with nudity, or whether we'll have to walk around with towels. I haven't seen a naked woman in ages, and I won't mind her being naked around me," said Martin.
"Well let's give it a month and see how it works out."
We were sitting on the couch admiring the sunset. I had my arm around Martin and leaned in to kiss him. He had his hand on my leg and then moved it to run my hard dick. I tightened my grip around him and was grateful to have someone like Martin around. We lay on the couch and kissed. It was a delicate balance, as he could fall off with one wrong move.
We got up and went to the shower. We stripped and once the water was just right stepped in and soaped each other up. Both of us were hard. I pushed Martin up against the wall. He lifted his arms above his head as I pushed him. I stuck my dick between his legs below his arse, like he did with me once before, and thrust in and out. I wrapped my arms around his muscular chest, and I shot cum between his legs. He turned around and I went on my knees and took his dick into my mouth, and he shot his load within seconds.
The next morning I found a note from Marisa in the mailbox.