Post by goldenmyst on Aug 3, 2021 21:36:41 GMT -6
I Wept for the Women of the World
I stood facing the picture window gazing out at the lotus pond. Morning sunlight bathed me in glowing radiance. As I looked around in the mirror I saw myself in my nightgown, illuminated. I felt pure and angelic. It was as though I was transformed by the light into a spirit, free from hunger, pain, or sorrow.
The soft breeze blowing from the ceiling fan rustled my gown, the cotton fabric tickling my soft skin. My bare feet on the wooden floor tingled with pleasure. I wondered where my husband was. However, I was glad to be alone at this moment. His presence wasn’t needed or desired at this time.
I watched the light fill the pond with golden sparkles as the sun rose over it. Looking across the pond I saw the pagoda soaring up to heaven like a steeple. It was funny how I associated the pagoda with a steeple. Perhaps they both had male connotations with me even though of different cultures. I like the pagoda better than a steeple though. It was more elegant and graceful with its curled corners sticking out. Steeples looked so aggressive and male. I could imagine the pagoda as a strong graceful woman with delicate hands. The sun was now a swollen mass of flame suspended above the pagoda. I felt the tropical heat penetrating my gown and filling me with a heavy hunger.
I stepped out the side door and onto the porch hanging over the pond. I stood immersed in the moist air feeling the heat and humidity. Soon I was drenched in sweat. I lay in a hammock suspended between two columns on the porch. I heard the sad plaintive singing of the Vietnamese women as they rowed across the pond gathering lotus blooms. They looked like little fairies as they floated across the water in their tiny skiffs.
Soon the light faded and I felt so far away. I was back in France. It was night and I floated on my back in a lily pond. I gazed up at the stars and there were thousands of them. I felt the leaves of the lilies brush against my skin. The water was cool and refreshing. Then I felt the hands. They grasped me holding me suspended in the water. I looked to my side and four women rose from the water. They looked Asian. Their wet black hair glistened in the starlight. One held my head in her palms gazing down at me with glazed eyes and look of extreme tenderness.
I felt deep peace. I was like a child in the womb once more. The woman looking down at me effused love and gentleness. I felt that no one, not even my husband, could trespass upon me in this place. This was a sanctuary where I was inviolate. I vowed that I would never let my husband desecrate this sacred place.
Then I felt my body shift. The women faded into the blazing sunlight. Slowly my eyes fluttered open. I was back on the porch. My husband stood over me looking down. I felt intruded upon.
I say, “Do you remember that old coat of mine handed down from my long-gone Mama to me her grown daughter? It has been patched up so much it looks like a raggedy quilt. But though my family grew up poor, I always used gold thread for the patches because Mama taught me that love made us Bourbons.”
“Oh yes, I remember that jacket. It sounds like you are leading up to something.”
“Well, there is a Japanese tradition called Kintsugi that spread all the way here to Vietnam. An old lady is teaching me. But don’t worry, she only asks for food in exchange for her classes. Kintsugi is the Japanese art of restoration of cracked pottery with gold. But it is much more than that. Kintsugi is a reminder to us that an artfully crafted thing can crack but yet still be pleasing to the beholder, and that, once fixed, it is sturdier where the breakage occurred. This is a fantastic metaphor for healing and recovery from hardship. In fact it represents all of life.”
“Francine, everyone should have a hobby. And yours sounds grand.”
“Actually for me it is a spiritual exercise in healing. But I use a cheap adhesive instead of gold because I know the budget of a chargé d'affaires is threadbare what will all those outings for cocktails that are necessary social events for a career diplomat.”
“I always said you have a good head on your shoulders. And it is obvious that you have come through life without too any emotional wounds.”
“If you ever retire from the diplomacy corps you can speak for me. You are good at it.” I asked him, “Weren’t you supposed to be taking Thuy out to lunch today?”
He said, “Oh well, he couldn’t make it. Said he was tied up at home. I think he’s having marital problems. Wouldn’t be surprised if they divorced soon.”
I said, “Oh no André. They’re both strong Catholics. Divorce would be out of the question.”
André touched my forehead. He said, “Francine, you’ve had too much sun. Why don’t you let me fix you a cup of iced tea?”
I looked up at him plaintively and said, “Yes, I guess so.”
I rose from the hammock and the magic had disappeared. Now I was back to being Francine, André’s adoringly demure wife. We sat in the kitchen sipping tea. A drop caught in my throat and I began coughing. André said, “You should drink more slowly.”
I nodded. André went out to the front porch and sat in a chair reading the paper. I fixed him croissants and Swiss cheese in the kitchen. I fixed some iced coffee, his favorite. As I raised the pot to pour the iced coffee, I felt a twinge of anxiety race through my body. The pot slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor. André walked in and looked down at the ice cubes and coffee glowering. I laughed and said, “I always was such a klutz.”
He laughed too and said, “Yes well, I guess that’s par for the course.”
I frowned. He said, “Oh, don’t worry. I can get some coffee at the office. I’m really in a hurry to get back. Do you need any help cleaning up?”
I smiled and said, “No, of course not.”
He kissed me lightly on the cheek and stepped out. I picked up the ice cubes one by one and placed them in the sink. Then I slowly wiped up the remains of the mess I had made and mopped the floor. It was funny. I had done so little work but felt drained. Really I was more emotionally drained. I wanted to return to the lily pond.
I walked back out onto the porch and the lotus gatherers had gone in during the heat of the day. The pagoda shimmered in heat waves. I lay under the fan in the living room. It was so hot I poured a cold bath. I lay in the water feeling the coolness invade the pores of my skin. My body once more felt alive and vibrant. After a couple of hours, the sun began to sink over the western end of the house.
I looked out over the shacks of the city. I gazed across the river on the other side of our house. I saw a woman bathing her baby in the water across the opening through the trees. She looked so content. I had never had a child. I wondered what it would be like to have a child suckling at my breast.
My husband said Vietnam was no place to raise a child. They wouldn't be acculturated properly he said. He wanted to wait till we got back to France. Besides, there were revolutionaries out in the jungle fighting we French. It wouldn’t be responsible he said to bring a child into such a place.
Once I asked André, “When will be the right time to have a baby?”
He replied, “God will tell us.”
I queried, “How will God let us know? Will he announce it with a bullhorn from the sky? Or will he post us a letter with God, heaven for the return address?”
André said, “Carrier pigeon.”
I replied, “Don’t speak of the Lord in jest André. It doesn’t bode us well.”
I remembered how André and I met at a cafe in the left bank of Paris. He was a political science major at the Sorbonne. I was an art student at a small college. He didn’t say a word about politics. We went to the Louvre. As we walked through he made jokes about the people in the galleries. Looking at a man in a trench coat he said, “That guy looks like a mobster. He’s an Al Capone look alike for sure.” I smiled and looked at André.
We saw the movie “From Here To Eternity” that night. When we got home we danced in the living room to Edith Piaf. We danced till the bells at Notre Dame sounded midnight.
When morning came, I heard the radio announcer say, “It’s 7:00 a.m., time to get up and face another day in this crazy world.”
André blew me a kiss as he closed the door. He ran for the subway.
My mind was summoned back to the present as worry surfaced through the bliss of my recollections. Night had come and my husband was still out somewhere in the city. I wasn’t particularly concerned. However, not knowing when he might pop up and infringe on my solitude made me a little antsy. I stood out on the porch looking out at the night stars. They were dazzling. The star fields spread across the sky in a carpet of tiny flames.
As I stood out there I heard footsteps. I looked across the porch and saw a slender Vietnamese woman walking up the stairs in a traditional green silken dress. The gas lantern hanging from the beam on the porch illuminated her elfin features. Her eyes were tiny ovals and her cheekbones angular. Her hair hung down to her waist. She walked up to me. She stood by me on the porch gazing out at the sea of stars. She looked up at me and said, “Please missus. I need get away.”
I looked at her and asked, “Why?”
She said, “Child die in birth. Husband blame me. He try to kill me.”
I said, “Oh my God. Did you call the police?”
She said, “No! Police not help!”
I led her into the kitchen and gave her some cheese and toast. Her eyes darted around fearfully. I held her shaking hand as she sat across the table from me. I said, “Please, come take a warm bath. You'll feel much better.”
I led her into the bathroom and went back to the kitchen and made a cup of tea. I heard her running the water. I heard her moan fearfully. I ran into the bathroom and saw her lying in the tub with the water red with blood. I said, “You need to see a doctor.”
She said, “I afraid.”
I called a doctor over. He came to the house. He said that there was nothing they could do for her. She might live or die. It was up to God. I thanked him and he left. That night she and I lay in the hammock together. I held her stroking her head as she fell asleep. Soon the swaying of the hammock and her warm body nestled against me lulled me to sleep.
In my dream, I was floating underwater in a warm sea filled with kelp, multicolored fish, and surrounded by beautiful pink coral. Mermaids swam by brushing against me with their long green tails.. One mermaid looked like the woman I held in my arms. She gazed at me smiling as she swam by. She grasped my hands and we swam around each other in circles in an aquatic dance of life. I saw the sparkle in her eyes. She looked deliriously happy. I laughed and tiny bubbles rose from my lips. I felt out of breath and she filled my lungs with air from her mouth.
Suddenly I felt her arms begin to stiffen as she grasped me. I felt her slip from my grasp. The sea began to shake as though there was some maritime earthquake deep in the bowels of the planet. I saw her float away sinking into a dark trench.
I awoke and her body was still in my arms. She had a tiny smile on her face. Her blood covered me. I kissed her forehead lightly. Then I picked up her lifeless body. I walked out into the lotus pond carrying her and let her float gently in my arms. I stood there up to my waist in the water holding her as she floated. Tears began to well in my eyes as I held her body, so stiff and cold, looking into her empty eyes.
I wept for all the women of the world. I wept for this sister who had died unloved by the man she had conceived with. My tears fell into the pond like a slow sad rain. I carried her out of the pond and lay her in the grass. I stood gazing at her my mind whirling with a storm of emotions. Pent of anger, fear, and pain surged through me.
I got a concrete block from the side of the house and tied it to her legs. I picked her up and dropped her into the water over the porch. Then I threw the brick in. Her body sank into depths her pain vanquished in this final liberation. I watched her long silken hair swirl into the dark waters the last I saw of her as she vanished.
I went to bed covered in her blood. My husband came home at midnight. He said he had got caught up with backlogged paperwork. I believed him. He asked me how I got covered in blood. I told him I had my period. I lied, “You know that means I can’t conceive right now.”
He said, “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
I said, “What’s the matter do you find menstrual blood repulsive?”
He said, “Oh come on darling, you know that’s not true.”
If he can’t give me affection at least he could give me a baby I thought. But he couldn’t even give that. I didn’t feel at all guilty about fibbing to him. I kissed him. For the first time since we dated he surrendered to me.
I thought that sometimes babies can bring couples back together. But that would be a very selfish reason to bring a child into the world. I knew I was doing this because being a mother was so important to me. I had always wanted to raise a child and watch it grow. Perhaps with a child, he would learn what it means to give of yourself, to sacrifice your needs for another. This was only part of the reason I decided to conceive.
Most of all I wanted to love and nurture a child. I felt ready to be a mother. It would be rewarding beyond measure and also the hardest work I had ever taken on. I only hoped he could love the child as selflessly as I knew I could. I had faith in him. I could see the shadow of the person he could have become. Vaguely I could see the outline of the stranger within him. Deep in his soul, I knew there was a young man, trapped in a false security through remoteness and self-absorption. I would orchestrate his resurrection with the indomitable power women exert over their men.
I stood facing the picture window gazing out at the lotus pond. Morning sunlight bathed me in glowing radiance. As I looked around in the mirror I saw myself in my nightgown, illuminated. I felt pure and angelic. It was as though I was transformed by the light into a spirit, free from hunger, pain, or sorrow.
The soft breeze blowing from the ceiling fan rustled my gown, the cotton fabric tickling my soft skin. My bare feet on the wooden floor tingled with pleasure. I wondered where my husband was. However, I was glad to be alone at this moment. His presence wasn’t needed or desired at this time.
I watched the light fill the pond with golden sparkles as the sun rose over it. Looking across the pond I saw the pagoda soaring up to heaven like a steeple. It was funny how I associated the pagoda with a steeple. Perhaps they both had male connotations with me even though of different cultures. I like the pagoda better than a steeple though. It was more elegant and graceful with its curled corners sticking out. Steeples looked so aggressive and male. I could imagine the pagoda as a strong graceful woman with delicate hands. The sun was now a swollen mass of flame suspended above the pagoda. I felt the tropical heat penetrating my gown and filling me with a heavy hunger.
I stepped out the side door and onto the porch hanging over the pond. I stood immersed in the moist air feeling the heat and humidity. Soon I was drenched in sweat. I lay in a hammock suspended between two columns on the porch. I heard the sad plaintive singing of the Vietnamese women as they rowed across the pond gathering lotus blooms. They looked like little fairies as they floated across the water in their tiny skiffs.
Soon the light faded and I felt so far away. I was back in France. It was night and I floated on my back in a lily pond. I gazed up at the stars and there were thousands of them. I felt the leaves of the lilies brush against my skin. The water was cool and refreshing. Then I felt the hands. They grasped me holding me suspended in the water. I looked to my side and four women rose from the water. They looked Asian. Their wet black hair glistened in the starlight. One held my head in her palms gazing down at me with glazed eyes and look of extreme tenderness.
I felt deep peace. I was like a child in the womb once more. The woman looking down at me effused love and gentleness. I felt that no one, not even my husband, could trespass upon me in this place. This was a sanctuary where I was inviolate. I vowed that I would never let my husband desecrate this sacred place.
Then I felt my body shift. The women faded into the blazing sunlight. Slowly my eyes fluttered open. I was back on the porch. My husband stood over me looking down. I felt intruded upon.
I say, “Do you remember that old coat of mine handed down from my long-gone Mama to me her grown daughter? It has been patched up so much it looks like a raggedy quilt. But though my family grew up poor, I always used gold thread for the patches because Mama taught me that love made us Bourbons.”
“Oh yes, I remember that jacket. It sounds like you are leading up to something.”
“Well, there is a Japanese tradition called Kintsugi that spread all the way here to Vietnam. An old lady is teaching me. But don’t worry, she only asks for food in exchange for her classes. Kintsugi is the Japanese art of restoration of cracked pottery with gold. But it is much more than that. Kintsugi is a reminder to us that an artfully crafted thing can crack but yet still be pleasing to the beholder, and that, once fixed, it is sturdier where the breakage occurred. This is a fantastic metaphor for healing and recovery from hardship. In fact it represents all of life.”
“Francine, everyone should have a hobby. And yours sounds grand.”
“Actually for me it is a spiritual exercise in healing. But I use a cheap adhesive instead of gold because I know the budget of a chargé d'affaires is threadbare what will all those outings for cocktails that are necessary social events for a career diplomat.”
“I always said you have a good head on your shoulders. And it is obvious that you have come through life without too any emotional wounds.”
“If you ever retire from the diplomacy corps you can speak for me. You are good at it.” I asked him, “Weren’t you supposed to be taking Thuy out to lunch today?”
He said, “Oh well, he couldn’t make it. Said he was tied up at home. I think he’s having marital problems. Wouldn’t be surprised if they divorced soon.”
I said, “Oh no André. They’re both strong Catholics. Divorce would be out of the question.”
André touched my forehead. He said, “Francine, you’ve had too much sun. Why don’t you let me fix you a cup of iced tea?”
I looked up at him plaintively and said, “Yes, I guess so.”
I rose from the hammock and the magic had disappeared. Now I was back to being Francine, André’s adoringly demure wife. We sat in the kitchen sipping tea. A drop caught in my throat and I began coughing. André said, “You should drink more slowly.”
I nodded. André went out to the front porch and sat in a chair reading the paper. I fixed him croissants and Swiss cheese in the kitchen. I fixed some iced coffee, his favorite. As I raised the pot to pour the iced coffee, I felt a twinge of anxiety race through my body. The pot slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor. André walked in and looked down at the ice cubes and coffee glowering. I laughed and said, “I always was such a klutz.”
He laughed too and said, “Yes well, I guess that’s par for the course.”
I frowned. He said, “Oh, don’t worry. I can get some coffee at the office. I’m really in a hurry to get back. Do you need any help cleaning up?”
I smiled and said, “No, of course not.”
He kissed me lightly on the cheek and stepped out. I picked up the ice cubes one by one and placed them in the sink. Then I slowly wiped up the remains of the mess I had made and mopped the floor. It was funny. I had done so little work but felt drained. Really I was more emotionally drained. I wanted to return to the lily pond.
I walked back out onto the porch and the lotus gatherers had gone in during the heat of the day. The pagoda shimmered in heat waves. I lay under the fan in the living room. It was so hot I poured a cold bath. I lay in the water feeling the coolness invade the pores of my skin. My body once more felt alive and vibrant. After a couple of hours, the sun began to sink over the western end of the house.
I looked out over the shacks of the city. I gazed across the river on the other side of our house. I saw a woman bathing her baby in the water across the opening through the trees. She looked so content. I had never had a child. I wondered what it would be like to have a child suckling at my breast.
My husband said Vietnam was no place to raise a child. They wouldn't be acculturated properly he said. He wanted to wait till we got back to France. Besides, there were revolutionaries out in the jungle fighting we French. It wouldn’t be responsible he said to bring a child into such a place.
Once I asked André, “When will be the right time to have a baby?”
He replied, “God will tell us.”
I queried, “How will God let us know? Will he announce it with a bullhorn from the sky? Or will he post us a letter with God, heaven for the return address?”
André said, “Carrier pigeon.”
I replied, “Don’t speak of the Lord in jest André. It doesn’t bode us well.”
I remembered how André and I met at a cafe in the left bank of Paris. He was a political science major at the Sorbonne. I was an art student at a small college. He didn’t say a word about politics. We went to the Louvre. As we walked through he made jokes about the people in the galleries. Looking at a man in a trench coat he said, “That guy looks like a mobster. He’s an Al Capone look alike for sure.” I smiled and looked at André.
We saw the movie “From Here To Eternity” that night. When we got home we danced in the living room to Edith Piaf. We danced till the bells at Notre Dame sounded midnight.
When morning came, I heard the radio announcer say, “It’s 7:00 a.m., time to get up and face another day in this crazy world.”
André blew me a kiss as he closed the door. He ran for the subway.
My mind was summoned back to the present as worry surfaced through the bliss of my recollections. Night had come and my husband was still out somewhere in the city. I wasn’t particularly concerned. However, not knowing when he might pop up and infringe on my solitude made me a little antsy. I stood out on the porch looking out at the night stars. They were dazzling. The star fields spread across the sky in a carpet of tiny flames.
As I stood out there I heard footsteps. I looked across the porch and saw a slender Vietnamese woman walking up the stairs in a traditional green silken dress. The gas lantern hanging from the beam on the porch illuminated her elfin features. Her eyes were tiny ovals and her cheekbones angular. Her hair hung down to her waist. She walked up to me. She stood by me on the porch gazing out at the sea of stars. She looked up at me and said, “Please missus. I need get away.”
I looked at her and asked, “Why?”
She said, “Child die in birth. Husband blame me. He try to kill me.”
I said, “Oh my God. Did you call the police?”
She said, “No! Police not help!”
I led her into the kitchen and gave her some cheese and toast. Her eyes darted around fearfully. I held her shaking hand as she sat across the table from me. I said, “Please, come take a warm bath. You'll feel much better.”
I led her into the bathroom and went back to the kitchen and made a cup of tea. I heard her running the water. I heard her moan fearfully. I ran into the bathroom and saw her lying in the tub with the water red with blood. I said, “You need to see a doctor.”
She said, “I afraid.”
I called a doctor over. He came to the house. He said that there was nothing they could do for her. She might live or die. It was up to God. I thanked him and he left. That night she and I lay in the hammock together. I held her stroking her head as she fell asleep. Soon the swaying of the hammock and her warm body nestled against me lulled me to sleep.
In my dream, I was floating underwater in a warm sea filled with kelp, multicolored fish, and surrounded by beautiful pink coral. Mermaids swam by brushing against me with their long green tails.. One mermaid looked like the woman I held in my arms. She gazed at me smiling as she swam by. She grasped my hands and we swam around each other in circles in an aquatic dance of life. I saw the sparkle in her eyes. She looked deliriously happy. I laughed and tiny bubbles rose from my lips. I felt out of breath and she filled my lungs with air from her mouth.
Suddenly I felt her arms begin to stiffen as she grasped me. I felt her slip from my grasp. The sea began to shake as though there was some maritime earthquake deep in the bowels of the planet. I saw her float away sinking into a dark trench.
I awoke and her body was still in my arms. She had a tiny smile on her face. Her blood covered me. I kissed her forehead lightly. Then I picked up her lifeless body. I walked out into the lotus pond carrying her and let her float gently in my arms. I stood there up to my waist in the water holding her as she floated. Tears began to well in my eyes as I held her body, so stiff and cold, looking into her empty eyes.
I wept for all the women of the world. I wept for this sister who had died unloved by the man she had conceived with. My tears fell into the pond like a slow sad rain. I carried her out of the pond and lay her in the grass. I stood gazing at her my mind whirling with a storm of emotions. Pent of anger, fear, and pain surged through me.
I got a concrete block from the side of the house and tied it to her legs. I picked her up and dropped her into the water over the porch. Then I threw the brick in. Her body sank into depths her pain vanquished in this final liberation. I watched her long silken hair swirl into the dark waters the last I saw of her as she vanished.
I went to bed covered in her blood. My husband came home at midnight. He said he had got caught up with backlogged paperwork. I believed him. He asked me how I got covered in blood. I told him I had my period. I lied, “You know that means I can’t conceive right now.”
He said, “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
I said, “What’s the matter do you find menstrual blood repulsive?”
He said, “Oh come on darling, you know that’s not true.”
If he can’t give me affection at least he could give me a baby I thought. But he couldn’t even give that. I didn’t feel at all guilty about fibbing to him. I kissed him. For the first time since we dated he surrendered to me.
I thought that sometimes babies can bring couples back together. But that would be a very selfish reason to bring a child into the world. I knew I was doing this because being a mother was so important to me. I had always wanted to raise a child and watch it grow. Perhaps with a child, he would learn what it means to give of yourself, to sacrifice your needs for another. This was only part of the reason I decided to conceive.
Most of all I wanted to love and nurture a child. I felt ready to be a mother. It would be rewarding beyond measure and also the hardest work I had ever taken on. I only hoped he could love the child as selflessly as I knew I could. I had faith in him. I could see the shadow of the person he could have become. Vaguely I could see the outline of the stranger within him. Deep in his soul, I knew there was a young man, trapped in a false security through remoteness and self-absorption. I would orchestrate his resurrection with the indomitable power women exert over their men.
