Unbearable Lightness of Scones

75. Bruce Discovers His Feminine Side

It was now a few days since Bruce had experienced his moment of insight in Leith. Thanks to the supportive presence of Nick McNair, the following day had been a productive one, in which he had further examined where things were going wrong – everywhere, it was decided – and who was to blame for this – nobody except him. Of course the defects in a personality are rarely entirely remedied by a bout of self-evaluation, but in some cases they may be; there are at least roads to Damascus on which astonishing moral progress may be made.

“Do you want me to go ahead with the project?” asked Nick, as they sat together in the kitchen of the flat. “The Face of Scotland business?”

Bruce looked down at the floor. Did he want to see his face on billboards? The old Bruce would have said “Yes” to that without hesitation; the new Bruce was not so sure.

Sensing his hesitation, Nick gave a nudge. “I think you’re unhappy about it,” he said gently. “Not everybody likes that sort of exposure. It takes a certain sort of personality.”

Bruce looked up. “And you think I have it?”

Nick thought for a moment. “I did. When I met you in the Bailie, I did. And then when we had the session in the studio, I still did. But now… well, now I’m not so certain. Now I think that you’re not like that at all. And frankly, I’m rather glad.”

Bruce wondered what to make of this. Was this Nick’s way of letting him down gently? The photographer himself provided the answer to that. “No,” he said. “It’s not that I don’t think it would work. I think it would. It’s just that if you went ahead with it, you’d make yourself more and more unhappy.”

“And you don’t want that?”

Nick laughed and put an arm around Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce stiffened, drew away, then stopped himself. Why should he reject this gesture of comfort?

“Sorry,” said Nick, and made to remove his arm.

“No,” said Bruce. “Leave it there. I find it… comforting.”

“We don’t like to touch one another,” said Nick. “Or men don’t. Women are much more tactile, aren’t they? They embrace their friends. They reach out to one another. They cry together. We don’t. We don’t allow ourselves.”

“We’re so busy being strong,” Bruce said.

Nick nodded. “Exactly.”

“And all the time we’re weak.”

Nick smiled. “Yes. Being human is being weak. Same thing.” He paused. “Do you remember the last time you cried?”

It was not an easy question to answer. For many women, the answer will be found by remembering the last time they saw a moving film; for men there is no such easy landmark. Few men allow themselves to cry in films, even if they want to; they swallow hard, fight the tears, smile indulgently at the woman crying beside them. And Bruce had not cried for a long time.

“No. I can’t remember. Years ago, I suppose.”

Nick shook his head. “Bad. Really bad. Do you want to cry now?”

Bruce said nothing for a while. Did he? If he did cry, what would he be crying for? He asked Nick that, and got an answer.

“You might want to cry out of sheer regret,” said Nick. “You might want to cry over the time you’ve wasted; over the hurt you’ve caused to others. Things like that. These are all good reasons for crying. Or you might want to cry simply because it’s emotionally cathartic to do so.”

Bruce digested this. “What about you? Do you cry?”

“Sure. Quite a lot. I sometimes cry from sheer frustration. When things go badly wrong with a set of photographs. Or sometimes when I get back to the flat and I realise that I’m on my own and I shouldn’t have broken up with Colleen in the first place and it’s too late to go back. When I realise that I really love her and that the way I speak about the bust-up is sheer bravado and nonsense and that if she appeared in the doorway over there and asked me whether we could try again I’d say, ‘Yes, oh yes, of course you can.’” He stopped.

“But this isn’t about me, Bruce. It’s about you. What do you want to do?”

Bruce now knew what he wanted to say. “No, I don’t want to go ahead with it. I don’t want to be the Face of Scotland. I don’t want to carry on looking at myself in every available mirror. And anyway…” He paused. “You can’t carry on looking good forever, can you? You get lines, don’t you? The years catch up on you.”

Nick was looking at him intently. “Yes, sure. But… you do use moisturiser, don’t you?”

Bruce’s hand went up to his face. “I do. Not every day, though. Just when I remember.”

Nick shook his head in disapproval. “You should use it every day, Bruce. Morning and evening. I’ve got some fantastic stuff. It’s really good. Do you want to see it? I’ll show it to you, if you like.”

“Please,” said Bruce.

And it was while Nick was out of the room fetching the jar of moisturiser from the bathroom that Bruce made his decision. He would go back to being a surveyor. He would forget about all his schemes and get back to some basic hard work. He would go back to Mr. Todd, his former boss, and make a clean breast of it. He would ask for a job, and then he would do it well.

Nick came back with a jar. “This is it,” he said. “You can get it either in tubes or in jars. I prefer jars.”

Bruce opened the lid and sniffed at the oily cream. “Nice smell,” he said.

“Yes,” said Nick. “Try some. Look, I’ll show you.”

Nick took the jar from Bruce and dipped his fingers into the cream. Then he smeared a thin layer across Bruce’s forehead and began to rub it in. Next, he applied some to the cheeks. Bruce closed his eyes. He began to cry. Small sobs at first, and then louder.

“That’s the spirit,” said Nick quietly. “That’s it, Bruce. Have a good cry. Let the tears come.” He replaced the lid on the jar of moisturiser and put it down on the table. Moisturiser and a good cry: two things for modern men to think about.