League of Lilith, The: A thriller with soul

by Sugrue, Rosalie

  Pauline is unsettled and wonders why. She should be feeling great. She hasn’t had sex in ages and sex with Fish is as good as it gets with a guy. Be objective, woman. Attractive physically, interesting mix of Kiwi bloke and artist, morally … she has doubts, something she can’t quite put her finger on. But to her he had never been anything less than gentlemanly, and sensitive. She nods without realising it and suddenly recalls the conversation she overheard between Fish and Kat … remarkable considering the circumstances. The mystery between Kat and Fish is a constant niggle but she won’t be the one to initiate this personal dialogue.

  You can’t condemn him for promiscuity. Her Brethren upbringing surfaces submarine-like, as it is wont to do on rare occasions — sinner, fornicator. She is taken by surprise and has to firmly restate the position she came to decades ago. Just because sex has a uniquely special place in marriage it does not follow that it must be denied to the unmarried. The Supreme Power Pauline believes in rejoices in pleasure, whatever its form, as long as no one is harmed. Fish may have his weaknesses but who doesn’t! She will nourish his sensitive side.

  With Brethren scruples scuppered, Pauline’s calm is disturbed by a vision of Sarai. Why do I hanker for intimacy with women? Why can’t I be one or the other? Am I genuinely bisexual or simply mixed up? Perhaps sex is not what she wants from women. Women make marvellous friends. She affirms the thought by taking from a shelf the gift the coven presented on her birthday.

  Since the dramatic events involving her athame Pauline has resisted buying any Wicca articles, but gifts carry different vibes from purchases. She cups her hands around the pewter present and loves its weight — a solid and beautiful thing, just as friendship should be. Slowly she turns the scrying bowl, admiring its Celtic knot-work border around its rim and the raised figures that sit beneath the never-ending pattern. She runs her fingers over the carefully moulded details and murmurs, “It couldn’t be more perfect.” The Maiden is potent with enchantment, the promise of new beginnings, birth and youth. The Mother embodies ripeness, fertility, fulfilment and power, and the Crone is a fitting representation of wisdom, repose and endings. The long grey hair of the Crone is of similar proportion to her own. Could her problem be she is not making the transition from Mother to Crone as graciously as one should? Does she resent the fact that she has never given birth and her breasts have never sustained an infant? Does she fear an eventual loss of sexuality and power? She hopes not. Pauline understands the cycle of life and knows age has its pluses. She turns again to the Maiden. The maiden is less pretty than some depictions but has an appealing directness. Instead of cascading curls, thick shoulder-length hair frames a square fringe. Kat could have been the model for this Maiden.

  Kat appears in too many unlikely places! Pauline dislikes what she is feeling — could it be envy? She puts the bowl down. The poor girl is pregnant and devastated. Her baby lacks a father and she has no mother. Get a grip. Katrina is a lovely young woman. You don’t want a baby — not at this time of life. Having mother qualities does not depend on having given birth. Pull yourself together, woman — evoke some positivity.

  Pauline steps purposefully to her preparation room, intent on relaxing with candle magic. Banishing negative thoughts she looks over her selection of candles and selects … a blue candle, for inspiration and wisdom. Pleased with her choice she moistens her hands with fragrant oil. Carefully aligning the candle to its psychic magnet of the North and South poles she begins rubbing the oil into the tapered north end, brushing downwards to the middle. She repeats the process beginning at the bottom end and working up to the middle. Pauline concentrates on charging the wax with her personal vibrations, enabling the candle to become an extension of her mental power and life energy.

  When the candle is fully dressed Pauline inserts it in a candlestick and gives it life. As she has no specific desire she writes no request to fold and burn. Instead she fills the scrying bowl with water and places both articles on an altar in her study. She judges the candle a little too fresh and the study a little too light for her purpose. Not wanting to lose concentration she sits at her desk and doodles with purpose. For some time now she has been trying to produce a well-balanced freehand triskele. The Celtic triple ‘spiral of life’ dates from the Bronze Age in Ireland and has been used in Celtic art for three millennia. Pauline likes the Celts’ belief in eternal cycles regenerating at each point. Mind, body and spirit she thinks as her hand draws imperfect spirals. Birth, death and rebirth she tries again. Definitely improving. It is too dark to attempt another. The study has dimmed with dusky shadows and the tiny light of the candle is flecking the water in the scrying bowl. Pauline gazes into its shallow depths. No magic image appears. She has ceased to think of Kat. Her mind is empty, or would be if thoughts of Sarai didn’t wriggle into the void.

  Familiar’s meow is indignant. “Yes, I know it is your dinner time. I’m coming.” Pauline doesn’t move. She is caught up in her own thoughts. I think I understand. Familiar utters a long, demanding meow. It is Sarai, it is always Sarai! If anything bothers me about Kat it isn’t that she is with child, it is that she is with Sarai. Sarai is letting students into her personal life. Familiar has no qualms over jealousy. Familiar prioritises and right now food is his priority. He head-butts Pauline and wipes a wet nose on her leg. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” She checks the candle is safe to burn its magic to vapour, and turns thoughts and feet to the cold realities of her fridge.

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  Jen does envy Kat being pregnant. It’s not fair, she tells herself, Kat doesn’t want a child and I do. She wonders if God has anything to do with … anything? It is a problem she often considers. Not something she could discuss with Wilkin, actually these days there aren’t many topics she can discuss with Wilkin. He is so stressed by worries — we may be at the bottom of the map but nowhere is safe from global realities. The recession will affect us. He is uptight about the liberal tone of the university and severely disappointed by this lack of an heir.

  In religion Wilkin is fixed and rigid. His beliefs are carried in his DNA, Jen surmises. Pious forebears have declared some things right and others wrong. Wilkin’s religion is not up for debate. Religion is an anchor in a changing world. It may have sustained his forebears in most of their being, but for Wilkin it is a Sunday activity that bears, as far as Jen can tell, little relation to the other six days. She feels sure Wilkin prays on Sundays.

  Jen doesn’t pray for a child, well not in church on Sundays. The God the vicar extols is excessively male and judgemental. The God she believes in would not allow suffering to exist if s/he could end it, nor would this God favour one person over another in times of catastrophe or need, merely because one had prayed and another had not. Jen prefers to think God cares, is present in suffering, right amongst it, offering inner strength, but is unable to change the physical rules established by the Creator. It is something to do with free will and humans messing up — utopias in fiction never work, so presumably the world we have is the best possible under the given circumstances.

  But, Jen does wonder why Kat fell pregnant after one unfortunate episode of unprotected sex when she has been trying for months in perfect conditions. Age could have something to do with it … but lots of women conceive into their forties. Though she tries to push it away she can’t help but envy Kat’s youth and potency. It’s only natural, she comforts herself. I guess such feelings have existed forever. It’s how Sarah felt when her maid Hagar got pregnant to Abraham.

  Perhaps her attitude lacks something. Instead of striving to be the perfect, loving wife it may help to spice things up a bit — dress like a slut?

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  Darlene can’t concentrate on her essay. It is an optional exercise. She always chooses to do extra work if Sarai suggests it. Sarai believes the best way to feel into the lives of biblical women is to give them voice by enlarging what is known through creative fiction. Darlene’s first attempt was giving voice to Ruth’s feelings.
She so identified with Ruth’s willingness to do anything for the woman she loved that she didn’t hand the essay in. She had become Ruth, and Naomi had become Sarai — it was just too obvious. I have to get over this crush, she had told herself at the time, Sarai isn’t interested in young women. But if Sarai isn’t interested in young women, why are Jen and Kat frequent visitors to her study? Jen doesn’t bother her, she is married, but Kat is single and about Darlene’s age. What does Kat have that Darlene doesn’t have?

  Darlene learnt early that life isn’t fair and she is what she is. She is smart enough to know crushes can be outgrown even if lesbianism can’t. She was frankly surprised to discover ancient women had the same raw emotions as modern women. Envy and unrequited love can be found in many Bible stories.

  Her first story presented for marking was the well-known tale of Jacob’s wives from the point of view of the elder daughter, Leah — the less comely, possibly short-sighted wife, she was just as much a pawn in her father’s games as her sister. Leah bore Jacob six sons and a daughter but Jacob only had eyes for Rachel. When Rachel eventually produced Joseph he was favoured over all Leah’s children. Sarai had awarded Darlene a B. Darlene visualises the blue letters of Sarai’s round writing and quotes from memory … an interesting perspective, sensitively handled. Keep refining the process. You write well.

  Darlene’s second essay related to Hannah, barren wife of Elkanah, who prayed desperately for a son. When her prayers were answered Hannah’s joy and gratitude were such she gave the infant Samuel to the priest Eli to train in the ways of the Lord. Darlene’s concern was for Peninnah, the other wife, who had given Elkanah several children but Elkanah remained besotted with Hannah. Perceptive insights well presented but there are other reasons for envy and other scenarios to explore, penned Sarai. Darlene would have been discouraged had it not been for the B+ that followed the comment.

  This time she is really into it, loving the concept she has mined from the text. Determined that her theory be based in textual accuracy Darlene ripped relevant pages from an old Bible and did some old-fashioned cutting and pasting with scissors and glue to get the thread of the whole story. She highlighted each character in a different colour and was excited by the pattern they wove. She wants to type but her creative flow is diverted by visions of Kat and Jen. Nice enough girls but why are they such close friends? She is convinced it has something to do with Sarai. Teacher’s Pets or is it something else? Her fertile mind flashes up a café scene … the Alibi in the Law Building. Jen and Kat so wound up in each other they didn’t even see her. They have a secret, all right. Is it also Sarai’s secret? Darlene directs her thoughts of secrets to her writing. She can become anyone she wants through writing. She is not a pathetic unpartnered lessie. She is Michal, wife of King David. She will win Sarai’s favour with writing.

  A Window on Michal by Darlene Chapman

  The King is failing. The mighty David shivers in his bed. He is old. I Michal, his first love, watch from a window. The palace has many windows, ornate outer windows and secret inner windows. I see much and say little. I watch this husband but do not go to him. The King’s advisors think a nubile beauty may rekindle his dying flame. How little they know of David’s true passions …

  ~ ~ ~ | ~ ~ ~

  Jen sips herbal tea and marvels at the recuperative powers of the human spirit. Kat shows no evidence of personal trauma, she seems invigorated by the lecture.

  “There was no beating about the bush with Job’s wife,” Kat is saying. “Curse God and Die, wow! She sure said it as she saw it. I didn’t think anyone in the Bible could advocate cursing God and get away with it.”

  “Others who did less were struck down by the wrath of God. As you say, Kat, it is a remarkable speech, memorable for brevity and content.”

  “What a contrast to those so-called friends. Did they go on and on — the wonder is they didn’t bore him to death!”

  “Some of those ‘boring’ speeches have considerable literary merit. You are quiet, Jen, how do you see Job and company?”

  “I discovered Job as a teenager and although I hated the story, wondered how God could possibly do that to anyone. I was excited by God speaking to Job out of the whirlwind. I read it as poetry. I guess I was a bit of a sucker for poetry. As for Mrs Job, she had good reason to curse God. God had killed off the ten children she’d borne and she was destined to bear another ten just so Job could feel blessed at the end of the story — I see what you mean about these stories being written from a male viewpoint!”

  “Maybe Job had other wives to contribute to his blessing. The interesting point is none of the seven sons are named but the three girls are,” reminds Sarai.

  “And they were given an inheritance along with their brothers,” puts in Kat. “I thought that was an enlightened ending.”

  “Mmmm,” says Sarai, “but the male fantasy persists: and in all the land there were no women so fair as Job’s daughters — classic folk tale, and look at their names: Jemimah, it means sweet fragrance, Keziah translates to seductive charm, and Keren-happuch to dove cooing — collectively a little tacky, wouldn’t you agree?”

  The younger women join in her brief contagious chuckle. Then Kat dares ask, “Are you anti-men, Sarai?”

  Sarai looks shocked. “Definitely not, some men are despicable, but so are some women. Men are just as important as women. That is the whole point of being human — men and women are of equal significant value. As they say in China, women hold up half the sky. In common with many other cultures China can quote quality proverbs and fail to action their truth.”

  As she speaks both Jen and Kat are aware of a change in Sarai’s attitude, she is slipping into what Kat calls her la-la zone, although Jen privately considers intense persona more accurate.

  “Friends,” she leans toward them and extends her arms, palms up. “Balance is the crucial element.” Her hands move like a set of balance scales. “Men and women each have vital roles, some are complementary and some interchangeable. Both genders forget this. Some women have accepted a subservient role without question and others have sought only to dominate. The world has known matriarchal societies as well as patriarchal societies and to some extent there has been harmonious acceptance of the given circumstance. But none of that is cosmically important, in fact it is trivial to the universe.” Jen’s eyes wander to the ceiling, she hopes Sarai can’t sense her confusion. “The truth is the ancient men forgot to heed the wisdom that the ancient women held, and worse still … eventually the women forgot it too. The knowledge, the wisdom, the truth of our souls was nearly forgotten. It hangs by a thread. The thread is stretched, stretched to breaking. If humanity does not return to the sacred path …” Sarai’s voice trails off, and then returns with conviction, “Time my friends, time.” She takes a long deep breath. “All will be well, all will become clear.”

  Sarai holds them in such an intense stare Jen and Kat feel uncomfortable. Both try, and fail, to find a comment that will ease the atmosphere. Sarai herself initiates a rescue. She leans back in her chair and remarks in a quite different tone, “I was born in A’bury, third child of a third child.”

  Jen clutches the offered straw. “Do you mean Avebury? Isn’t that the cute village with standing stones?”

  “We locals pronounce it A’bury. But I suppose I’m not exactly a local these days. Yes, Avebury is a village with standing stones. Cute? Charming may be a better word. It is one of the most mystical places on Earth. Avebury happens to be sited on the ley line that connects the great pilgrimage sites of Glastonbury Tor and St Michael’s Mount and that didn’t simply happen. Just south of Avebury stands Silbury Hill. It is considered the largest, and most enigmatic, of all megalithic constructions in Europe. Some theorise it represents the pregnant belly of Gaia. Only men would build such a thing. Women know a thrusting monument is inappropriate. The whole living earth swells in season to Gaia’s fertility. But I’ve got myself side-tracked, you asked about standing stones. The Avebury Stone Cir
cle is bigger and older than Stonehenge. The first stones were placed a good 2000 years before the birth of Christ. The village lies within the circle.”

  “How many people live in the village?” asks Kat.

  “Less than 500 souls.”

  “Like Ross!” says Kat, sensing a new point of connection with Sarai.

  “Ross is not known for its stones though,” states Jen.

  “Now, that’s where you’re wrong,” flashes Kat. “The most famous stone in New Zealand came from Ross — the largest gold nugget ever found — the size of a miner’s fist. It was even given a name, The Honourable Roddy, after the minister of mines, a Roderick someone or other. I’ll wager more stones have been shifted in Ross than any town in New Zealand. The gold rush that began in 1864 is still happening. These days the miners don’t use pick and shovel, they have earth-moving machines. When the Birchfields began open-cast mining in the 1990s, the biggest problem was losing trucks down century-old mine shafts. You could see them standing on end. It sure scared the hell out of the drivers. The open-cast digging went down 45 metres and even at that depth, tunnels and shafts were found.”

  “You led me to understand Ross was a dull place and now I discover it is full of great holes,” says Jen.

  “It is not, these days they have to restore or landscape wherever they dig. The whole excavation is now a feature lake, trouble is it refuses to stay full, the old shafts act as drainpipes. England isn’t the only place with history,” says Kat, with a pride that surprises her.

  “History is a comparative thing,” comments Jen. “1864 may seem long ago to us but England has a completely different time scale.”

  “Human achievement can be remarkably long-lasting, whatever the century,” reminds Sarai. “But yes 1864 is recent in terms of English history. Avebury has a fifteenth-century church, and a sixteenth-century manor house.”

  “How can buildings last hundreds of years?” marvels Kat.