The Reluctant Trophy Wife

by Judith Petres Balogh

  “Yes, I can see it now,” and then added irrelevantly, “Sometimes I wake up at night and look at the stars, and feel something like a strange yearning to be at another place. I wish for a place, where the future is not all muddled up, where doubts are not part of the indigenous landscape. At times I feel that this planet is not my permanent home.”

  “It is not.”

  “You really believe this?”

  He laughed at her question. “What did you suppose, Helena? Did you think I am faking my belief? Yes, I do believe in God, in the afterlife and in the Teaching. And so do you, even if you are fighting it.”

  “Perhaps I doubt, because it is too good to be true.” She longed very much to believe that death does not end it all. There was nothing that frightened her more than the prospect of a total wipe-out. But she had a hard time accepting anything so abstract, so strange, so unknown. “I keep wishing that the consistent rumor of life after death is true. Is that a prayer? But I get terribly scared. What if there is indeed an afterlife as promised, but I won’t pass the finals and will end up being condemned forever to the other place.”

  “Does the name John Newton mean anything to you?”

  “Of course! Amazing Grace…”

  “Yes, he is most remembered for the song, but he also formulated the thought that heaven will be different from what we imagine it to be. In effect Newton’s words are “If I ever reach heaven, I expect to find three wonders there: First to meet some I had not thought to see there; second to miss some I had thought to meet there; and third, the greatest wonder of all, to find myself there.”’

  “In other words, we humans do not understand the criterion for admittance.” “Or perhaps we just don’t see our fellows and ourselves as we really are and as they are. It is a common human error.”

  “So who gets to be admitted?”

  “That I surely don’t know, but I can guess that someone, who does not believe in heaven, resurrection, redemption, life everlasting or in what Jesus taught, probably won’t be admitted. Such a man has been negating these truths in his life and has no plans after his vital signs cease. He never wished for more than what the world offers during the few decades he resides here; therefore, he is not going to get any of what is after it. God is not forcing anything on unwilling souls. Life after death is a gift. You can take it, or refuse it, because even in that you have the free choice.” He stopped speaking and contemplated the lake at the foot of the hill. The silence between them was comfortable. After a while he added, “I do however believe, that sooner or later most people discover and accept the obvious, namely that there is a part in us that is not made of material and that in a mysterious way it is connected to God. There are some useless scientific terms for it, but most of us just call it simply the soul. Through thousands of years, through different cultures, through different religions Man expressed this in different terms, but the central truth did not change much. Accepting this obvious fact even after a life of negation could be that person’s salvation.”

  “But man is afraid of this soul, or of his responsibility for it.”

  “This is true. This thing he named soul can be difficult and painful. It is easier to mobilize all his intellectual reserves for its denial.”

  “What are you saying?” Of course, she knew what he tried to convey, but wanted to hear the reassuring words.

  “Just what Jesus repeated so many times: ‘Fear not. Don’t be afraid.’ When you stop being afraid, things fall into place and you can accept the mystery with grace.”

  “But isn’t reasoning, the entire complex of thought process of which he is so inordinately proud, just as abstract as the soul?” Her question came unbidden, surprising even her. It also occurred to her that Man is quite selective about which abstractions he would accept.

  “Gut gebrüllt, Löwin,” and he looked at her with a smile that made her lightheaded. “You are finally arguing on my side, Helena. In a way, both abstractions are poorly understood, even though both are part of our complete and complex humanity. To keep our emotional balance, we should not tinker with the unity God created, just accept that both are part of us. Truly, you roared well, Lioness.”

  “But perhaps the roar of this lioness is not really authentic. Remember the ambiguities I confessed to you earlier?”

  “Be a bit forgiving to yourself and also to mankind. Try to believe that Man is not a bad sort and that he is not really in total denial of transcendental experiences. There is always a part in him that recognizes the truth, even though his sober logic wants to reject it. He is not an atheist or a nihilist at heart. He is just somewhat lost and is desperately looking for reassurances. He always did. Even Thomas, who saw Jesus every day, had his doubts. Man is a helpless slave to his tribal, ideological, financial and social imperatives and is crushed under a general existential Angst. He does the best he can; or at least he does most of the time. It is just terribly difficult for him to accept something that cannot be proven. He was given the gift of intelligence, but this very gift gets in his way. He deserves some credit for just getting through and trying his level best.”

  She again realized that he was not talking in generalities, not about mankind, but about her. He was guiding her, throwing her a rope without embarrassing her by being too personal. She was grateful for his delicate approach, but wished to change the conversation back from personal to general.

  “And you, a pastor, a care-taker of souls, you are excusing Man’s shortcomings?”

  “Yes I do, mostly because of who I am, and because of what I do. Don’t forget, my role is not that of the judge. I never judge.”

  “Then what is your role?”

  “To love, to guide, to help, to heal, if I can. I cannot always accomplish even that, you know. I speak the healing words at funerals, but the distraught mother, the devastated spouse, the sobbing children are not even hearing the words.”

  “Death is so depressingly, so frighteningly final.”

  “It should not be. A wasted life is depressing.”

  “Tell me about life.”

  “I am not a sage and do not have all the answers. But I know that a welllived life is one of constant becoming, or I you prefer that new and loaded term, then call it an ongoing personal evolution. There is not a single moment in our life when we can say with assurance: ‘This is it. I accomplished all the labors on my soul and there is nothing I can add, nothing I should erase.’ Until we take our final breath, our mission is that of becoming, of emerging.”

  They did not pursue the thought, but looked at the water. Its surface was calm and it was a perfect match to the tranquility she felt. The sunlight broke on the surface of the water and glittered as if someone had thrown tiny diamonds over it, which then disappeared below and probably ended up in Sio’s jewelry box. The breeze coming up from the water was gentle and pleasant; it tamed the summer heat.

  Lena did not try to analyze what he told her; instead she drank fully and gratefully from the mysterious offering. Life was now uncomplicated, free of doubts and guilt. At this stage all she wanted was to hang on to the reassuring thought of no longer being lost and needy, and cling to the knowledge that her life finally acquired a rich content it did not have before. Her faith, which a few months ago was nothing more than the ember of a dying fire, was getting stronger and the novel experience of having found some answers made her feel content and happy.

  In the past religion seemed to her devoid of God; it was nothing more than an uncomfortable state of mind, a constant sense of guilt and the conviction that she could never possibly deliver all that was demanded of her. Now she stopped worrying, accepted the guidance, understood that religion is not an empty form, but the presence of God, and watched in wordless wonder all the changes in her developing spiritual life. With the same artlessness and gratitude she also accepted his friendship, just as she accepted and enjoyed a landscape, the sunset or the stars. These were beautiful and enjoyable, something to see, to admire, to be drawn to it, to be e
nriched by it, but nothing more. It was perfect as it was, and did not demand any sort of fulfillment, because it was already complete. Only a fool would want to possess a star.

  “I was about to become poetic and say that the sun is on the last stretch of its diurnal voyage, but that would have been a frightfully outdated geocentric statement, and of course, I am not a poet either,” he said. “What I really mean to say is that we ought to start our homeward trek while the kids still have the energy to walk. This was a very active day for them and exhaustion hits them unexpectedly.”

  Once again, the old cliché that time is relative was true. The days at the convent passed so rapidly that when the brief vacation ended it came as a mild shock. Could it be that the end has come? There was one more night in the inhospitable bed, a breakfast, packing, cleaning, a swim in the lake, lunch, a thanksgiving prayer in the chapel, farewells and already parents were coming up to the entrance gate to collect the children. It was all over.

  EIGHTEEN

  Late Tuesday afternoon Sarah and George, carrying their “cocktail basket” appeared at Lena’s house. “I missed you girls, both of you, even Sarah,” he boomed as soon as they entered and before they unloaded the drinks and snacks. “Funny how one can get used to dictatorship and of course all dictators of the world know this. People will eventually love, or pretend to love their oppressor and his yoke. It takes time, but eventually the unacceptable will be accepted, even cherished. I am no exception. Without Sarah the unusual tranquility was unbearable.”

  “I pretend I did not hear that,” protested Sarah as she gave a few vigorous shakes to the pitcher. “I am not a Xanthippé imitation.”

  “Woman, you are never an imitation, but always the original. Fortunately, without the chamber pot.”

  “George Isenburg, stop talking gibberish. And most of all don’t be ridiculous mentioning that chamber pot. You know well that unlike what Xanthippé spilled over Socrates, if she ever did, the only thing that was ever poured over your head was holy water when you were about one month old, and were baptized. And even that was done by the pastor and not by me.”

  “Let us not make an issue of it. I would not want you any other way.” He reached for her hand and then gallantly kissed it. Her smile at him showed that she was at peace with the world and happy at the side of the man she loved for so many years. “However, let us talk of the essentials. I am not just a tag-along today. I came over to extend an invitation. I want to treat both of you tomorrow to an early supper on a cruise ship on the lake. You can have your fill of a most spectacular sunset, good food, excellent wine and the unmatched attention I shall shower upon you. Your comfort and pleasure are my duty, this I promise on my honor.”

  “Your invitation sounds irresistible. Hopefully Sio won’t have a temper tantrum,” Lena said. “But be honest George: are you heading for sainthood or knighthood?”

  “I am too old to be a knight; on the other hand, aren’t we all hankering for sainthood?” he asked, but there was just a hint of seriousness in his voice. ”Isn’t our goal to live right, and if we live right, isn’t that the road to sainthood?”

  “You have a long way to go, George. A very long way. Speaking of which, have you noticed how our innocent Lena and our saintly Paul are moving on the same wavelength? He definitely shines brighter when he speaks to her, and she radiates something sweetly contemplative when she listens to him. My heart melts from the warmth they exude.”

  “How very scandalous!” George cried in mock horror. “Are we witnessing a divine flirtation?”

  “No, we are not,” Sarah protested and then poured the drinks. “Salute and cheers. To correct the false impression you seem to have: it is nothing as common as a brainless flirt. It is more like two comets heading toward each other on collision course, and when they meet, heaven help us. Dr. Albert Onestone’s theory of relativity, as well as every other known physical law and theory will go up in a magnificent explosion, such as the world has not seen since the Big Bang.”

  “First of all, you have your facts all mixed up. You forget that comets are made of very insignificant and lightweight objects, such as ice crystals, dust and a few small stones. They are no more than dirty snowballs, or perhaps snowy dirtballs in the sky. In any case, their crashing into each other would not disturb anything, least of all the universe,” Lena said. “Second, your fine sense of drama is successfully making a global disaster out of a non-event.”

  “Is this all you have to say in your defense, daughter?” intoned George in a stentorian voice.

  “I wasn’t defending anything. The trouble is that our Sarah is talking of things that do not exist, and in addition she is indiscreet about her fantasies.”

  “Well that is obvious enough. We are all aware of my wife’s weaknesses. I have learned to live with them. On the other hand, do tell papa.”

  “Nothing to tell that would send your pulse racing. I admire him and like his company.”

  “It sounds as if you perceive him as a perfect specimen of creative success. That could be extremely dangerous!” He shook his head and contemplated the lone slice of lime at the bottom of his empty glass. “If I am to stay wise and calm, please Sarah, refill my cup and if possible spare me the hemlock and also the lecture on liver disease. So Lena dear, what else can you add?”

  “He is a friend, and I like him. May I add for the records, that I also like the two of you.”

  “And do you glow when you talk to me?”

  “George, I thought that is obvious!”

  “You put my mind at ease.” George of course was teasing, just as Sarah was, but their remarks were touching a raw nerve. Defensively, Lena felt compelled to continue the topic. “I never had a brother and carried the wish for a big brother ever since I was a child. My parents did not cooperate and with time the fantasy dissipated. Now unexpectedly I found a ready-made brother in a country cemetery. No need to get excited about it. If I feel anything at all, it is the love of a sibling, or the pure friendship seen in some of the stories about saints.”

  “For one thing, take it from one who raised five kids and so knows firsthand about the love of siblings you are pleased to glorify. It is found mostly in fiction,” Sarah argued. “Kids love and hate each other on and off, but they seldom display anything that resembles pure love. It is fortunate if they don’t kill each other before they reach voting age. If the kids are still on speaking terms, or heaven forbid are cordial to each other by the time they reach middle age, their parents accomplished a truly miraculously good job raising them. This having been discussed, we may put sibling love to rest, where it belongs. Next you talked about friendship, something of the kind that was between St. Francis and Clare, Blessed Cecilia and St. Dominic, or St. Theresa of Avila and Don Francisco. But Lena, there is a world of difference!”

  This was the Voice of Reason, delivered by Sarah. She was filling the glasses and her poise and the accompanying big smile radiated good will and lovingkindness. Her straight talk was neither judgmental nor harsh and this made her appear motherly. Lena watched her ministration and noticed that the second time around she was easy on the gin. “These pious couples were drawn to each other by the magnificent faith they shared and were connected to each other by a special bond of divine love to the Almighty. They offered encouragement and spiritual support to each other as they were virtuously marching into a happy hereafter, where they were to meet the Almighty. The crucial point is that this supremely pure love included not just each other and the Lord, but all fellowmen as well and even their enemies, if they had any. They were all a bit exalted, if you ask me.” She shook her head and added ice to the glasses before she continued, “Then here you are, my dear child, stranded in this lovely wine country, a barely practicing Catholic, minus divine inspirations, lacking the ecstasy to lift you into holy elevations, not wholly committed to the hereafter, married to a divorced man, and enjoying the singular advantages and comforts which a thoroughly materialistic world offers. Can you see the differenc
e between these saintly friendships and yours? Can you see that a very important element is missing? It is like a car without its engine. It won’t work.”

  “I understand, but believe me, what you suspect or indicate is as far from me as the Nebula Carina is. And come to think of it, you are a Protestant, so how do you know so much about saints?”

  “Can’t help it; it is the company I keep. As the years passed it hopelessly corrupted me. And by the way, because of its enormous mass and gigantic amount of solar power, the Carina is courting disaster.”

  “Sarah, quit worrying. I am not courting anything. I am Helena and not Carina.”

  Lena looked into space not seeing anything. The two were obviously teasing in a good-natured way, not really believing any of it, but she did not care to see her inner life, whether true or fabricated, spread out on the coffee table. Logic, common sense and humor were destroying the magic, which anchored her to a better world. It was as if a precious, beautiful garment had been inadvertently soiled.

  “We are talking about two different things,” she finally said. “I speak of friendship and you indicate carnal love.”

  “Ach! Now we arrived at the essentials. Sex after all, does enter the picture! I knew it as soon as my wife got excited about this,” he laughed, enjoying the bantering immensely.

  “You are really stuck on sex!” Lena smiled sweetly and gazed intently at the ice cubes in her glass to mask her annoyance, “But it does not enter the equation at all. I just happen to enjoy the friendship of three extraordinary people. I am one of those humans, who not only thrives on friendship, but who has an elemental need for it. Before the autumn leaves fall, sadly all this will be just a memory, eventually remembered only when we exchange Christmas greetings. It will not make a ripple on anybody’s sensitive soul. I do not belong here among the vineyards and before long I am gone, leaving it intact.” She smiled as she said it, but a disapproving tone was clearly audible in her response.