is totally and absolutely dedicated to his calling, but does not force you to believe as he does. Yet,
I believe that in the end he does accomplish just that.”
She read what she wrote and was satisfied .Every word was true and she
remained honest but discreet. She sealed the envelope, addressed it to the rehab
center, and then returned to writing her novel.
Having completed fifteen pages of her novel, she had a light evening snack,
a shower and finally decided to retire. As was her habit she stood for a while at
the open window. In the velvet sky the silent stars spoke of eternity and she tried
to imagine the immense distances between them, but had to give up the
calculations. She could not think of spaces or numbers of such magnitude, or
imagine the absolute darkness and the freezing cold through which the feeble
light traveled to reach this planet. She tried to imagine what message might come
from the edge of forever, but knew that what she saw was just the distant past of
the star, and the message could be millions of years old. Sent such a long time
ago it had no longer any meaning for those living now on this planet, save
perhaps a few dedicated scientists, who speak a language not understood by all.. They are solitary, these brilliant stars, just like humans, she thought. We too
are far from each other, and perceive correctly or incorrectly only a faint glimmer
traveling from one soul to the other. Too often, we cannot accurately decipher
the message sent to us; it stays hidden, unrevealed and mysterious. After all the
searching, after all the reaching out, we think we arrived, we think we know, we
understand the other, and then a few words, a gesture, an unexpected kindness,
or a display of sudden callousness can change our confidences or convictions.
We spend years of our life with people and then it turns out we do not know
who they are. What mysterious roads the soul has to travel!
FOURTEEN
She could not account for the time, it just slipped away unnoticed. It was Sunday again and the three friends sat in the arbor at Sarah’s cottage.
“I was in town yesterday,” Lena said as they finished the cold cherry soup.
“Generously spending your husband’s money and giving the local economy a kick-start?” teased Sarah.
“You are quite wrong! I just wanted to explore the shore area. I found an interesting statue in the little park at the water’s edge. A man is rowing a boat in an apparently stormy sea, and a young maid is with him. They seem to be in love, but are quite frightened. Below in the waves there is another woman, and she is obviously drowning, but the two in the boat pay no attention to the drama in the waves. What is it all about? Did he dump one woman in order to be free for the other? Why would anyone want to carve a memorial for such wickedness?”
“Let me pick up the plates before the wasps arrive, but wait for me. I feel a story is coming and I don’t want to miss it,” Sarah said as she started to collect the soup bowls.
“You must have met the legendary lovers, Helka and Kelén,” he explained. “It is a story of greed and of love. Of course, like in all good stories and legends, love wins in the end. The sculptor took some liberties though, because the two events, the lovers in the boat fighting against the storm, and the woman drowning, did not happen simultaneously. No wonder it gave the wrong impression about this otherwise irreproachable couple.”
“I am now ready for the story,” Sarah said coming back and sitting down comfortably. “The lamb can wait. Kitchen cognoscenti advise that the roast must rest before carving. so be it, let it have its recommended nap while I listen to the tale.
“Because all stories start with ’once upon a time’ let me also start with that well tried formula,” he started as the two women settled back to listen. “Once upon a time there lived an old prince at the shores of this very lake. He had two daughters, Helka, the blond, loving and gentle one; and Horka, whose heart was as dark as her hair. I am sorry about this crude example of ancient stereotyping, believe me it is not my invention. From ancient times light is by definition good, and anything dark is, of course evil. I cannot help it, that is the way the ancients, who feared anything dark, told their stories.
“Who knows why the girls turned out so differently, but there it was. Their mother died a long time ago, but the father took good care of the two girls. As year followed year, Helka grew sweeter and Horka meaner, the old father older and ever blinder, until he could not see at all. Helka was his watchful and loving caretaker, his seeing eye, and she never left his side. Horka married in due time, moved to the other side of the lake, and became very rich. The Prince, feeling that his life is almost over, decided to write his will. He wanted Helka to inherit all he had.”
“Always a bad idea to leave one child out of the will,” interrupted Sarah. “Even when there is a watertight testament left behind, the grieving family members are ready to kill each other for the scraps. The bitter fights start even before the dearly beloved had a fair chance to expire properly. But when one member is so completely left out, a Greek tragedy is in the making while the attorneys celebrate, because their fortunes are established due to the endless lawsuits which will follow.”
Father Paul made no comment and continued his story unperturbed.
“The old Prince of course was ignorant about the ugly emotions his will would cause. Being a loving and blind father, he did not see Horka for what she was and naively could not imagine that one of his girls would be greedy, or harbor jealousy in her heart. It is a common mistake parents make. And don’t forget, this was the first time he was about to die, and had no experience how to do it properly. Had he known what he set in motion he would have been horrified and his old heart would have broken even before the appointed time.
“It so happened that as soon as Horka found out about the testament, she exploded in such a spectacular rage, that her husband, in the interest of self-preservation, was obliged to leave for a week to hunt in the deep forests, far from her wrath. When she calmed down enough and was able to hiss less and to think more, she started to consider actions on behalf of her own interests.”
“His lawyers should have warned the Prince to rethink his will,” Sarah argued still dissatisfied by the legal aspect.
“True, but they didn’t. One cannot expect lawyers to think of everything. Besides, even a well-written testament inspires arguments and because it is lucrative to the representatives of the law, lawyers would dawdle before enlightening their clients. Very likely it is different now, but in those times the representatives of the law were less noble than they are today,” he remarked. Sarah merely snorted in obvious disagreement, but interrupted no more.
“The Prince in his bottomless innocence figured that Horka was already far richer than was good for her. On the other hand, Helka was the one, who took care of him and supported him. She even refused to marry the man she loved, in order to stay with the father and to serve him in his helplessness. The Prince felt it was fair to reward the one, who was sacrificing her future and her happiness for him. Since she chose not to marry on account of him, he wanted to provide generously for the rest of her life. Well, as Sarah just remarked, it was a bad idea. Horka’s black heart grew even blacker, as she counted all the gold that would go to Helka.
“Now you must know that Horka was the grand dame of society; she was invited everywhere and heard everything, There was not a great ball or fete, where she was not present and in this way she picked up all the news and gossips which were worth of picking up. On the other hand, Helka never moved out of her father’s castle because she would not leave him alone for even a short time, so she had not a clue what went on in the world.
“One afternoon at a tea on board of a cruise ship around the northern end of the lake, the Countes
s Blathery de Gossipmongress, also known to her friends by her maiden name of Mademoiselle Alleswisser, informed Horka of a great secret. Apparently, there lived a small fish in the Lake, whose tiny body contained a magic medication that could cure every known illness of mankind. This little fish was extremely precious and Sio the spirit of the lake watched over it personally. Any mortal going even near this little fish had to die a horrible death. You can well imagine that the countess now had Horka’s full attention. In no time she hatched a black and evil plan in her black and evil heart.
“She hurried to her father’s castle and told the story to Helka, because she knew that Helka would try to catch the fish in order to cure the blind eyes of her father. Naturally, she neglected to inform her sister that trying to catch the fish meant certain death for her. Horka could barely hide her glee. This simple plan meant that she could eliminate Helka, while she, Horka, would be free of even the shadow of a doubt concerning her sister’s death. Speak of a perfectly executed murder! This would certainly be it. She was already planning how to spend the gold she would inherit as the only daughter.
“Kelén, the stalwart youth, who loved Helka with all of his romantic and chivalrous heart, would not let her go alone on this fatal fishing trip. He was better informed than his ladylove, and knew that this would be one journey from which she would not return. If he could not share her life, he would share her death. With considerable courage, both got into the boat to accomplish their secret errand.
“Ever-watchful Sio noticed their plan immediately; nothing ever escaped her attention. When the little fish was in danger, her wrath knoweth no limits. She sent the most horrible killing waves to drown the lovers. They knew that the end has come, hugged each other, professed their love, which would end in a few minutes in their watery grave. They shed many bitter tears. This is the scene the artist immortalized in that statue.
“When Sio, the powerful and temperamental water spirit witnessed such great love, she also cried great many tears and thereby increased the water level of the lake considerably. So affected was she by their devotion to each other and by Helka’s love for her father that not only did she forgive and spare their life, but in a rare wave of magnanimity she gave the fish as a present to them. Tears were still rolling down Sio’s lovely cheeks as she assured the lovers that such a noble and altruistic cause deserves her full support; therefore, she was happy to part with the little fish.
“This however is not the end of the story. As you know, a decent story cannot go from point A to point B in a straight line. There must be at least one major complication. The snake must enter the Garden. And it did. Horka was furious that Helka escaped the carefully planned snare. This destroyed Horka’s chance of gaining all her father’s riches as the only surviving daughter. Her black heart cried out for vengeance. Before the good daughter Helka had a chance to make the fish into a medication for her blind father, Horka, out of venomous spite, stole the little fish from Helka. It is really too terrible to relate, but she went ahead and fried it in butter with garlic and a small sprig of fresh rosemary.
“Gone was the fish and Papa Prince was still blind. Hope was wiped out, but once again Sio stepped into the scene to straighten out things. First, as a punishment, she caused Horka to drown in the lake when she least expected it. In fact, Horka was enjoying herself on a lavishly decorated boat celebrating one thing or another, and drinking far too many glasses of imported champagne. Sio sent a mighty wind to make the boat sway most dreadfully and it made all the passengers quite sick. In the sudden storm Horka was trying to hold on to the rail for her life, but tripped on her ridiculously high heels, and fell over the railing. With a big splash she disappeared in the churning waves. It was a horrible death. Several days passed, and then one night some fishermen found her body, all wrapped up in seaweeds. She had a fish in her mouth. You do know, don’t you, what water does to a body during that length of time. Her floating hair turned green from a heavy coating of alga and she was quite bloated. I shall spare you the rest of the details. She got what she deserved, but do not overdo the gloating over her demise; a little goes a long way. Rejoicing would be very unchristian of you; although, I do realize that we are genetically programmed to wish the good ones rewarded and the evil ones punished.
“The second problem for Sio was the question of the fried fish, resting on a platter. A sprig of rosemary decorated it, but nobody would eat it. Obviously, in that fried condition it no longer could serve as a medical potion. Unfortunately even Sio could not make a dead fish live again, especially not one that was fried in butter with garlic and a sprig of rosemary. At this sad state of affairs, all concerned shed many more tears. But just in time, Sio rose from her bottomless grief, overcame her anger about the loss of the little fish and was able to think clearly once again. As you know, a mind that is angry or grief-devastated is not a very good counselor when calamity visits.
“Fortunately for all concerned Sio remembered that she still possessed a remarkably powerful magic. She went to work as soon as the time was ripe for it and carefully chose the proper morning for the sorcery. Just at the moment when the bells of the local church struck seven to remind the good people to say their morning prayers, and the mists over the lake were about to rise, and the swans were preparing to leave their nest to glide across the water, Sio came up from her watery bower. She gathered the morning dew that collected on the pale yellow petals of every seventh sea rose ,added a little this and a little that from the lake, combined it with a generous amount of love, as well as with her own tears. (She was still affected by the beauty of the love story). After all was well mixed she told Helka to apply this poultice to her father’s blind eyes at exactly seven o’clock in the evening, and wash it off at seven o’clock next morning.
“And behold, the old Prince could see again and later could admire Helka in her beautiful bridal finery when she married her stalwart Kelén. Once again, love triumphed, at least within the boundaries of a fairy tale. They lived happily until late twentieth century technology and the masses of tourists destroyed their peaceful, contemplative way of life, as well as the quality of the lake water. These circumstances forced them to immigrate to a cleaner, gentler spot on the globe. Sio, of course stayed in the lake and she still watches over fish and over lovers. End of story.”
“A good ending is worth gold, or an award of some sort,” Sarah said rising. “I hate it when the storyteller does not finish his yarn, but just stops at some point, and leaves his invented people in some dire, hopeless situation, never rescuing them. A very long time ago, when I used to be young a professor advised us in a creative writing class, ‘If you take your hero down into a horrible, black, dangerous cave, for heaven’s sake have the decency to bring him back up again’. He was so right. My little American heart demands that everything should have a closure and that it should be a happy one. Now I’ll remove myself to commune with the lamb, which by now had its siesta. Please do not talk about anything interesting while I am gone.”
She gently pushed Lena back into her chair as she was rising to help with the serving. “I am old and almost feeble, but I like to do it all alone,” Sarah said. “Some jokers self-actualize when they paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, or compose a Fifth Symphony. I actualize myself in my kitchen. Alone.” She disappeared into the house.
“Your fairy tale was delightful,” remarked Lena. “So is your sense of humor. No wonder you appeal to youngsters, even without the supply of candy you carry about.”
“I would be happier if not I, but what I tell them, would have the appeal.”
“The two cannot be separated, one would think. Your story also accurately mirrors Man’s insatiable hunger for money. It seems that next to power, it is his most cherished desire.”
“And you don’t care for these?”
“Would it surprise you if I admitted that I am ambiguous about that too? I live a pampered, sheltered life, because my husband has power and also lots of money. I confess that I rath
er enjoy it; I accept it because it is given to me. I appreciate it, but I would never sacrifice myself for it. As I said, I live in the luxurious lap of affluence, so it is easy for me to say that it is unimportant, because I have it all. But there must be a nobler goal, something that gives a deeper meaning to life “
“Indeed, there is one,” he responded quietly.
“Yes, of course. You said that before.” She was silent then, her back erect, but her fingers were restlessly twisting the corner of the napkin.
“You are agitated, aren’t you,” he asked gently.
“No, I am not,” but she stopped twisting the napkin.
Sarah called from the house asking father Paul to uncork the bottle and let the wine breathe. While he was busy pouring the content from the bottle into the decanter they were silent. He sniffed at the cork. “Another excellent bottle of wine, but then Sarah always has the best.”
“She does, doesn’t she? She has the best and she gives the best.” He placed the cork on the table and carefully wound a paper napkin around the lip of the carafe to prevent the red wine from dripping on the tablecloth.
“Sarah mentioned that you are an author.”
“I guess, anybody who writes is a writer, but not necessarily an author .Whether I am an author depends not on writing, but on being published. And of that I am not at all sure.”
“Do I hear self-doubt?”
“Your hearing is excellent. I had a discouraging experience with my first attempt, which by the way was about an ancient fairy tale. I fear I haven’t what it takes to be a good writer. In all likelihood I would never have attempted a second run after my first shattering failure, but one day there was rain, there was time, and I had to fill the hours, so I sat down and started to write. To tell the truth, since that day I am truly enjoying it, and it has now become a passion. I am restless when I am away from my laptop.”
“Even if you don’t get published?”
The Reluctant Trophy Wife Page 22
