The Reluctant Trophy Wife

by Judith Petres Balogh

  Al fresco eating has a charm, a special mood, which no dining room can offer. The wine and the silverware have a particular gleam when bathed in sunshine and the food has an added flavor. The open air and the limitless sky above absorb the sounds; words fall gently. The tiring noise of closed spaces is absent; in the silence and the limitless sky the soul is suspended and it becomes light, carefree and filled with peace.

  “Sarah, the lunch was perfect,” complimented Lena. ”The familiar foods tasted, well… better, different. I don’t know how you accomplished this kitchen magic, but I never tasted better chicken or salad. I humbly appreciate your culinary expertise.”

  “No secrets involved, my dear. It is just, that the basic ingredients of every dish I put in front you, were local, fresh and natural. I picked the salad greens this morning from my garden. Until last evening, this chicken was running around happily and freely in the orchard. A kind neighbor churned the butter I used. We do not eat factory-made food around here. These are not foodstuffs from unhappy, tortured animals. What you enjoyed in this lunch was not the result of my cooking skill, but the almost forgotten taste of real food.” She was, despite her modesty, obviously pleased with the compliment and added with an impish grin, “Of course there must be love. If you want to cook well, you must love to do it, and you must love your guests. And you must love to eat as much as I do,” she concluded and her laugh was contagious.

  Conversation flowed easily, as if the three had been friends for a long time. They talked about art and literature, education and the need for general literacy. However, since they were in perfect agreement on the subjects, there was not a trace of passionate argument in their discourse; all they did was talk about ideas they shared.

  “Young people, including my grandchildren, keep mouthing about globalization, but have no clear idea about the globe, let alone about the people, who inhabit it. No wonder that they are also somewhat confused about the concept of globalization,” Sarah remarked. “How in the name of all that is holy do they expect to work in harmony with people from different cultures, when they don’t have the faintest familiarity with those cultures? But then how could we expect our kids to know about the culture of others, when they hardly know their own? Our starry-eyed kids, who are out to conquer the world and establish a new and better order, do not know who they are, where they are and do not have a clue where they are heading.”

  “You are surely not suggesting that in the interest of global harmony children learn the history and culture, of every civilization of the world?” Lena, well fed and content was not truly concerned about the issue at that moment and she did not expect an answer to her idle remark. She was watching Sarah with amusement, who obviously enjoyed talking about this subject. Her eyes were shining and she used her entire body to convey her message. Father Paul in contrast sat relaxed and listened with earnest attention and did not interrupt Sarah, who continued with increasing vigor.

  “Of course not. Man’s capacity to store information is far too limited to absorb all that. My point is that because of this deficiency, a shared global culture is impossible, unless we learn to implant microchips into the brain of every newborn baby. This obviously belongs into the world of science fiction.”

  “I see the problem, but not the solution,” said Lena.

  “Perhaps there is none, or at least I know of none. Those, who promote globalization mean to accomplish it by erasing the past, doing away with national memories, including history, customs, literature, art and so on and start with a totally clean slate, a tabula rasa, as the ancients called it.”

  “Horror of horrors, are we really destined to face the Brave New World? I would prefer a more compassionate and less sterile solution for general global understanding.”

  “Wouldn’t we all? But my problem is not the grandiose plan of globalization. My problem is that our youngsters are really not familiar with their very own world. We should demand that youngsters have more than a nodding acquaintance with their own culture,” Sarah argued. “This request is not unreasonable and can be accomplished by most. When I attended school several ice ages ago it was not just possible, but expected. Everyone, who completed high school many years ago, had a body of basic knowledge that was shared by all in that given culture. If a man made a chance reference in his conversation to Waterloo, the Renaissance, the door at Wittenberg, or a host of names, events, trends and expressions, people living in the same culture understood it whether they lived in Paris, London, Madrid, Rome, Sidney, or New York. A certain body of shared information is part of our culture and we all need to know these stories, because these make up the fabric that holds us together.”

  Sarah offered second helpings, but Lena and Father Paul regretfully refused. She stacked the plates, but apparently could not end the topic just yet, and continued to talk. “The problem is that these references might not be understood by a person in Tokyo, Seoul, or Bombay. Can you see my point? Those cultures, of course, also have their own references, but we do not know them. We do not know their holy days, their historical landmarks, and their written or painted memories. Because of this lack of common knowledge, there is no common ground on which to build mutual understanding, although in a commonly shared civilization this would be essential. Without it we cannot feel that we belong together, culturally, emotionally or intellectually. And this is precisely why I think that globalization, although possible, is not the Utopia some hope it would be. It is just a beautiful dream. Or perhaps not so beautiful.”

  “Don’t you believe that understanding could be achieved on a purely humanitarian level? I mean, let us forget for a moment culture and the possibility of an extensive cross-cultural lexical knowledge, and let us try to imagine a simple people-to-people connection,” said Lena.

  “Perhaps it would be possible, but I doubt it. Any relation that lacks shared thoughts, memories, ideals and customs is doomed, because it has no common content and no common roots. We need the common denominator.” Oh yes, Lena thought. I know all about this, and can testify that it is true. It is how it operates in a marriage or in a friendship, so why should it be different on the national let alone international level? Sarah warmed to her topic and continued, “We could work out an acceptable understanding worldwide economically and politically, but globalization in the cultural sense, at least as I see it, is not a reality. To avoid mental sloppiness, we should really define what we mean when we speak of globalization. Are we talking about the flow of goods, or the flow of thoughts? I think that global Man can only be a homo economicus, perhaps even a homo politicus but not much more. Of course select men and women can and do conduct business, politics and scientific dialog successfully with each other all over the world regardless of their national identity, but the average person is not capable of meaningful interaction. Because of this grave handicap the masses are and always will be left out not just of meaningful communication, but ultimately also of common decision making. Do you see how that would be the end of democracy and of freedom? New oligarchies would arise and rule the world without restraints and people would be totally left out of all decision making, just as they were left out in the past, but for different reasons. The new rulers would be the top bankers the privileged leaders of great concerns, whose global interactions with each other would be closed to the masses and whose goals might not necessarily be in harmony with the wishes of the masses. We know that even now a large segment of these barely known individuals lives in a world different from the place we inhabit. What exactly are they doing and is it truly for our benefit? We lack the knowledge, the information to make a cultural and social tie viable. Besides, can you see any reason for it?”

  “Indeed I can,” Father Paul said quietly. “If globalization, or an even imperfect brotherhood, would prevent another World War, than I am all for it. If globalization would teach us how to love and respect our fellow men it would be a step toward the solution we all desire. Living in peace is the only noble and civilized way to live. We have
but this one planet and we need to protect our life on it. The planet can take care of itself and has the power to renew itself . It survived its dramatic birth. its youth was no less dramatic with earthquakes, worldwide volcanic activities, bombardments by meteorites, the movements of the continents, floods and ice ages. I am sure it would survive Man’s efforts to destroy it. However, mankind could not survive destruction he caused.”

  “I capitulate. As always, you put a stop to my motor-mouth just in time.”

  “Are you concerned about our youngsters growing up uneducated?” asked Father Paul, in an attempt to guide the conversation into a safer channel.

  “Yes. A frightening number of the kids leave school ignorant. I am not talking gobbledygook, and you know it. In my time when we left school we were educated, but meanwhile something went very wrong and the sea of ignorance is ever deeper and wider. Never before did we spend so much energy and money on education, never before did we have such well-prepared and talented teachers nationwide, and never before did so many youngsters leave school with marginal knowledge. If the trend continues, their ignorance about our culture will almost matches the ignorance of people in the Dark Ages. There is an inviolable interdependence we must accept and respect: progress depends on educated people; civilization depends on progress. Educated people are the motor behind progress, the keepers as well as the developers of a given civilization. Forms of government chosen, the definition of freedom, per capita income, the handling of our enormous amount of waste products, the fate of endangered animals, or gr genetically manipulated wheat, using wisely the national resources, and God only knows what else, are all just end results. We are failing big time in our responsibility in educating kids. They have no real education and no manners, and few will be able to solve the problems the future holds. As a matter of fact only few have learned how to think. If you doubt my statement, just follow an election carnival.”

  “The situation is not all that bleak,” Father Paul argued soothingly.“ I work with youngsters and although this is a small village, still, they are not fugitives from the Dark Ages. They are bright and prepared to enter high schools in any city or town, where they apply.”

  “Because you taught them well.”

  “Because their parents taught them well. Could it be, dear Sarah, that you are seeing ghosts?”

  “No, my dear Reverend, no ghost, believe me. You are just an incurable optimist, and refuse to see the world in its true colors. Do you want examples? When I mentioned to my neighbor’s daughter that we are returning to the US on an ocean liner in early winter, she said, ’Gee, good timing, the ocean won’t be frozen yet. ’I am not kidding. She is half way through high school. This should not happen. And if you read any of the research on the subject, you will be duly shocked, because ignorance is no longer isolated, but frighteningly widespread. In a few years stupidity will be a status symbol.”

  “Don’t be too hard on the girl, Sarah,” Lena teased. “At least she knew that there is an ocean between the continents. I met somebody, older than your neighbor’s daughter, who could not distinguish between Austria and Australia. This is not a blond joke, and I am not inventing this.”

  “Serves those countries right,” said Father Paul cheerfully in an effort to steer away from the depressing topic. “They shouldn’t have chosen such similar names. Dear Sarah, are you perhaps a bit world-weary?”

  “You know that I am not, but I do feel somehow defeated. I don’t even know whether economic, political or cultural globalization could prevent a new and horrible war, as you seem to hope. I also do not know whether such a world would be good, bad, or indifferent. However, look at my garden. It is beautiful, because it is rich in its variety of color, texture, shape, fragrance and purpose. I like it this way. In the same way, I also happen to love a multicultural world, rich with a colorful, exciting variety of lifestyles. It would sadden me if in the name of global brotherhood the great variety of cultures would gradually disappear and be replaced by a less interesting, sterile and soulless uniformity. The multitude of different ideas, memories, traditions, beliefs and histories makes this Blue Planet so incredibly beautiful. Despite the many depravities and immense pain around us, I still believe it is a good place to spend the few decades granted us, ”Sarah concluded. She started to collect the plates and closed the subject. She could be very passionate, but never permitted herself to be engulfed by her convictions and was skilled at concluding a topic when the conversation was getting too close to an exposed nerve. A summer Sunday lunch was hardly the time or the place to discuss the sorry state of the world, or the depth of shared ignorance.

  Sarah disappeared with the dishes into her cottage and her guests could hear the whirring of the eggbeater.

  “At one time in my life I must have been very good and Sarah with her husband were given to me as rewards,” he remarked. “In this village, so far away from the mainstream, they provide the intellectual stimulation and the friendship.”

  “I too feel blessed by her friendship. But are you really cut off from the world? The nearest town is only eighteen miles from here, isn’t it? And the capital is only about two hours by car. This is hardly considered a distance worth mentioning where I live,” Lena hoped that she did not sound patronizing.

  “In a few weeks you too will feel the sense of isolation in this place and will get the impression that the world is receding. Eighteen miles will then appear truly long, both in time and in space and you will sense a sort of detachment from the world. This is not bad in itself, but there are times when the walls seem to move closer with the intent to crush. Solitude of course is enjoyable, at least to a certain point, but Man was created to be part of a group, a clan, family, or society. Solitary confinement is still the severest form of punishment in prisons, and when space flights were initiated, they did not send up astronauts alone. At regular intervals I too crave spirited company. When the Sunday lunch at the Isenberg cottage arrives, it always recharges me. She is wonderful, and so is her husband. He will soon arrive and you will close him into your heart the minute you see him.”

  “When I arrived here I thought I would have to live like a Carthusian nun, at least as far as being silent. And then I found her, also living in isolation. I was the best thing that could happen to me.”

  “Sarah and you as Carthusians? Not likely!” His eyes twinkled. It was obviously difficult to imagine Sarah in the severe habit of a nun. “She cooks such meals as were never served in any charterhouse, and of course stopping her flow of ideas would be as impossible as stopping the flow of a mountain waterfall. By the way, even during the absence of George, she is far from being a hermit; as a matter of fact she is the most outgoing person I know. You will soon discover how many friends she has.”

  Sarah indeed was a high-voltage personality, and could recharge everyone near her with her energy, warmth and with her down-to-earth attitude.

  “Mrs. Cambray, are you happy here?” He looked at her as one, who is truly interested in the answer, yet she did not detect any annoying curiosity, or pushy indiscretion in his gaze. She was as surprised at the unexpected question, as she was in the cemetery when he posed that question about her belief. She collected her thoughts and answered with conviction. “Yes. Yes, very much so. It took some time, but I am finding my peace.”

  ELEVEN

  Sarah reappeared again and brought the dessert, which for some odd reason she called “Spanish winds”. It was made of two layers of meringue, enriched with nuts, crisp through and through, light as air, with a seductive whiff of an exotic fragrance, perhaps of anise. Between the two layers she stacked fresh strawberries, and then covered all of it with mounds of whipping cream, probably courtesy of a neighboring cow. It was a very simple, but very showy and exciting concoction. They praised the hostess generously, and nobody dared to mention calories. The conversation turned to the benign topic of food. Favorite dishes were mentioned, methods of preparation and various customs and trends discussed, all about the good tab
le.

  “Our conversation amuses me, because it reminds me of the remark a welltraveled wit once made,” Sarah said as she sliced generous portions of the Spanish Wind for her guests. “He said that the French are the true gourmets of the world, because they take food seriously. This is evident in their habit of talking about food before, during and after the meals. Here we are, two Americans and one Hungarian with a suspicious British accent, and we too are talking about food as if it were the central interest in our life.”

  The early afternoon sun slanted into the arbor spreading pleasant warmth. Father Paul raised his glass of wine and let the sunray do its magic as it turned the pale liquid into molten gold.

  “I don’t know how you Americans feel about wine, but people here deeply respect it,” he said. His sincerity and obvious conviction eliminated even the shadow of sentimentality or triteness. “It is their livelihood. It provides the heat for their houses, the winter coats for the kids, the money for taxes. They paint prayers and blessings on the walls of their wine cellars, pamper the barrels in which they store the wine. In the same way people give many pet names to those they love, they too give loving names to the grapes, to the hills on which they grow and to the wines they produce. They speak with humility of the grape, and tell how it captures the heat of the sun and the minerals of extinct volcanoes. Their favorite greeting is ’God grant us wheat, wine and peace’… They watch the grapes grow, and worry about selecting the best day for the harvesting. While the grape-juice is fermenting, they stay out of the cellar on account of the gas produced, but hover around it half scared and half impatient, much like fathers, who are pacing in the hallway while the wives are laboring in the next room to deliver the child. On the 27th of December, which is the feast day of St. John the Evangelist, every wine-maker carries a bottle of the new wine to the church to have it blessed. This then becomes a most special wine, called St. John’s wine. Some save it to use as medication, others pour some of it into the wine barrels in the cellar, or even into the well in the garden, or sprinkle it on the ground at the four corners of their vineyard and some save it for weddings of christenings…It is their life. “ For a moment he stopped and no doubt would have continued, but Sarah broke in.