Why do we want something? What is our motive?
According to Mr. Levy, there is only one answer:
“Our motivation is to remove pain.”
There you have it. So simple, yet so profound.
Our motivation is always pain.
It’s obvious, really. All of us are trying to escape the pain and be happy. And all the actions we take to achieve this goal—our intentions—that’s the stuff of story.
That’s storytelling. That’s how it works.
So if we consider that moment Lana turned up at my flat, you can see how my motivation was pain. Lana was in so much pain that night—it caused me distress just to witness it. And my misguided attempt to alleviate her suffering—and my own—was my intention. And my goal? To help Lana, of course. Did I succeed? Well, that’s where theater diverges from reality, sadly.
In real life, things don’t work out quite as you planned.
* * *
Lana was a mess when she got to my place. She was barely holding it together; and it didn’t take much—just a couple of drinks—to unlock the floodgates, and then she completely fell apart.
I’d never seen anything like this before. I’d never once seen Lana lose control. I won’t say it wasn’t frightening; but then, uncontained emotion is always distressing to be around, isn’t it? Particularly when it’s from someone you love.
We went into my living room—a small room, crammed mainly with books; a large bookcase covering the entirety of one wall. We sat on the two armchairs by the window. We started off with martinis, but soon Lana was knocking back straight vodka from a glass.
Her story was confused and incoherent—coming out in pieces, in disjointed bits, occasionally unintelligible through her tears. When she had got it all out, she demanded my opinion—whether I believed it was possible that Kate and Jason were having an affair.
I hesitated, reluctant to reply. My hesitation spoke more eloquently than any words.
“I don’t know.” I avoided Lana’s eyes.
Lana gave me a look of dismay. “Jesus, Elliot. You’re such a bad actor. You knew?” She sank back in the armchair, drained by this confirmation of her worst fears. “How long have you known? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I don’t know for sure. It’s just a feeling.… And, Lana—it’s not my place to say anything.”
“Why not? You’re my friend, aren’t you? My only friend.” She wiped the tears from her eyes. “You don’t think Kate planted it, do you? The earring? So I’d find it?”
“What? Are you joking? Of course not.”
“Why not? It’s just the kind of thing she would do.”
“I don’t think she has the brains, quite frankly. I don’t think either of them is particularly bright. Or kind.”
Lana shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I do.” Warming to my theme, I opened another bottle of vodka, refilling our glasses. “‘Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds.’ Love isn’t affairs and lying and sneaking around.”
Lana didn’t reply. I tried again, because it was important.
“Listen to me. Love is mutual respect, and constancy—and friendship. Like you and me.” I took her hand and held it. “These two nitwits are too shallow and selfish to know what love is. Whatever they have, or think they have, it will not last. That’s not love. It will crack under the slightest pressure. It will fall apart.”
Lana didn’t say anything. She stared into space, desolate. I felt like I couldn’t reach her. Seeing her like this was unbearable. I suddenly felt angry.
“How about I take a baseball bat and beat the crap out of him for you?” I was only half joking.
Lana managed the ghost of a smile. “Yes, please.”
“Tell me what you want—anything—and I will do it.”
Lana looked up and stared at me with bloodshot eyes. “I want my life back.”
“Okay. Then you must confront them. I will help you. But you must do this. For the sake of your sanity. Not to mention your self-respect.”
“Confront them? How do I do that?”
“Invite them to the island.”
“What?” Lana looked surprised. “To Greece? Why?”
“They won’t be able to run away on Aura. They’ll be trapped. Where better for a conversation? A confrontation?”
Lana thought about this for a second. She nodded. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
“You’ll confront them?”