I have always known that of all my imaginary ladies, Julia was the Force to be dealt with. Her father, though the Emperor of Rome, could not easily restrain her. Certainly I could not. It was I who had first summoned her, but she had decided she could now summon me.
With no warning she was there-- at the top of my consciousness. "You have it your power to finally after years too many to recount to promote the cause of women," she said as she stood before me.
"And what in Hades do you suggest I do?" As much as I love her, and I do, I had no time this day to indulge her presence. It was not that I was so busy, but I was at a low point. Her need for company took a back seat to my preoccupations. Which were --- which I leave behind now. For they would be of little importance to her and of no importance to you who read this.
Julia was not to be dismissed easily. As clearly as I saw the maple tree outside my dining room window, I saw Julia, with her tightly braided hair, her stylish stola, beckoning to me. I closed my eyes, breathed deeply and said aloud, "You are not real. You are a figment of my imagination. You come at my invitation. And only at my invitation. Go. Go."
"Go? I do not come and go at the command of anyone, except maybe my father. But," she shrugged, "who says no the Emperor?" She fell silent.
The harder I tried to will her away the more persistent she was. Finally I said, "You would have me do exactly what?"
"Speak for me, for Tanaquil and Cartimandua. For all women. Even Ismene-- and it irks me no end to say that for I find her not to my liking."
My patience, already stretched thin, neared the snapping point. "And say what, and to whom,am I going to tell things, may I ask?"
Julia laughed as only she could, loudly, lustily and lengthily. Then she smiled demurely, as she no doubt did when her father chastized her. "Share our last little encounter with our fantasies. Surely you remember-- or I should think you did for you sat writing frantically as the rest of us did the really hard work. Tell you what, Jewellee, I will bug off and keep my distance if you edit that story so we can share it with the world. Deal?"
To get her out of my head I agfreed. "Deal."
So I share.
We set about -- Julia, Carti, Tanaquil and I to construct a tale about "What It's Like Being a Woman", a tale devoid of time restraints, a tale that would appeal to all people of all times in all places. Or so we told ourselves. And that turned out to be not as easy as it sounds. In fact I am not at all sure it is worth publishing-- at least not just yet. But I said I would. This is our story.
The pond was not large as ponds go. The frogs who inhabited it were not different from frogs in other ponds. Some were big; others were small. Some were green; others were brown or gray. When and where the notion that big green frogs were superior to all other frogs, no frog knew. No frog ever asked. It had always been so in this pond and it would ever be so. That was the way things were.
Big green frogs were the biggest, no doubt about that. But they were not necessarily the loudest or the most voracious insect eaters. Nor were they all the highest jumpers. Granted because of their size most could jump higher than many brown frogs, although there were some big brown frogs who jumped higher. And more food was needed for the bigger bodies, although there were small brown frogs who seemed to consume more. Without question a large soundbox emitted a louder sound. But there were small frogs, brown frogs whose performances matched those of big green frogs. That was the status.
It was important to big green frogs to maintain their superiority-- not just the really superior ones, but all big green ones. Now big green frogs were no more evil the other frogs they consider their inferiors. They did not plot or connive to maintain their dominance. They did not have to. They were superior. It had always been so; it would always be so.
I began to laugh. My low point seemed to have passed. Did we really write this? I know many people who believe such products done by committee are mere trash. No wonder. This was done by our little committee and it was trash. I would write no more until I talked with them.
Then there was Julia, pushing to the forefront of my mind. She was not happy. "So you think it's drivel?"
"Not exactly drivel, perhaps, but bad."
"Nearly drivel then? Trash I believe you are thinking."
"Julia, I know where we were trying to go with this. I remember how long we mulled over it before starting the exact writing. But I ask you--? Wouldn't we do much better to write your account of the evening when your depression at being separated from your children led you to get drunk. Remember sharing this, remember what you said. It was a party of young people your age. The women huddled together, talking about husbands and children. You unable to deal with your longing for your children, which your father had moved into his house, wandered from the women to the men, whose company you preferred under any circumstance, but especially this night. It was not long before you had had more wine than you needed. You spilled it down the front of you and over your new silk stola. Napkins offered to wipe it off you waved away. "I'm quite all right," you said, or that is what you reported to us. "Lucky for me Tiberius isn't here. He already thinks I am a drunken wench. He seems not to notice how fond he is of drink. But that doesn't matter. According to Tiberius men can do things women should never do. Things they should never think of doing. Now I ask you why are you men so insecure that you have to keep us in our place? Tiberius says I should stay in my place. Now I ask you what is my place? And just who decides what it is?"
Julia glared at me. She had no intention of answering me. "I know where we were trying to go with our frog story," I said, "but, Julia, I think we need to use more stories about us-- all of us. We all have stories to share, stories which could tell the world how ---. Surely someone will hear. But if we can't make that work we need to go back to the beginning-- try a new, a different way."
"And when? Have we no guts? God I wish I was born an Amazon. They knew. But Us? We seem to have waited since the beginning of time. If we wait until we have the perfect story, another thousand or two will have gone by and we're in the same place we have always been." She was gone. But I knew she would be back. I knew she would have Cartimandua and Tanaquil on her side.
(To read the rest of Julia's remarkable life check out e-book from Amazon Kindle THE EMPEROR'S DAUGHTER)
No comments:
Post a Comment