Lest anyone who might read this wonder Julia is pissed. "Ye Gods", her shrill voice assaulted my consciousness. "My father's favorite threat, when things were going wrong, was 'or as quick as spoiled asparagus I'll ---'. I always wondered just what that meant. Now I know. How in Hades do you have the audacity to say I or Tanaquil or Carti have abandoned you?" I would have interrupted with my explanation, but interrupting Julia is akin to holding back flood waters. "So you've lived 75 years. Big deal. And what, pray tell, have you learned in those 75 years? Nothing as I can see. Nihil."
Then silence. My assumption that she had left was wrong. I had barely read one paragraph in the Great Course Guidebook I started yesterday. "Tell me, Jewellee, what are you doing right now? And you need not pretend I am not here or that I don't know."
"Trying to learn about meditation."
"Ye Gods, what is there to learn? Just close your eyes and think."
"Think-- think about what?"
"Whatever goes through your mind."
"And you call that meditating? Wrong. So wrong."
"And just what is meditating?"
"It;s not letting your mind wander willy-nilly all over. It's controlled. Did you ever think that we have a past, a present and a future. The wandering mind tends to think about the past or the future-- never the present."
"And," Julia 's tone was derisive, "that is why you can't deal with me? I am, if you will notice, here-- now-- in the present - not yesterday and not tomorrow. It's now; I'm here; I'm trying like Hades to talk to you. So do you deal with me or not? Or do you keep pretending I have abandoned you. I'm here-- in your precious present."
"You are an incorrigible pest. Or an awful bore. What do you want?"
"To talk about you the state of your lethargy. Your word-- not mine. You could just decide to get over it."
""How in Hell do you suggest I do that?"
"Let me tell you a little story. Don't scowl. I listen to you; now you listen to me. It was 19 AD. I was confined to this god-forsaken island. Why at the moment is not relevant. But if you so badly need to know,
check out THE EMPEROR'S DAUGHTER. Which you shouldn't have to do. Anyway my black hair was dusted with gray; my gray eyes had lost their clearness. The bits of my former self were few and disassociated. Sometimes I closed my eyes and tried to conjure up Rome. All I could see and hear was Livia, my demon filled step-mother who kept telling my father I needed taming. Let me assure you life on that isolated island tamed me.
I remember the day I came to terms with my condition. Then it came to me-- what I had to do. It was a clear afternoon in August. With flushed face, disheveled hair and breathless, without knocking I burst into my mother, Scribonia's room. 'Creeping cyclops, Julia, where have you been?'
'Running, and thinking and deciding. Mother I want you to leave.'
'When and why did you decide this?'
'I've been thinking about it for a while-- going back and forth. But now I've quite made up my mind. I know it was your decision to come here with me. And I do appreciate it. But I have quite made up my mind-- I want you to go.'
Mother held her steady stare. "Am I being exiled? Or do I have a say?'
I could not look her in the eye. I knew she was staring at me. 'Mother,' I said, 'you're old. Nearly 80. You can't have many years left.'
'Thank you, Julia, for that information. It never occurred to me that I was nearing my death. Now you listen to me, daughter. No one forced me to come. No one even suggested it. I came of my own volition and I would prefer to think I can leave the same way. It delights me to see you so self involved."
I felt like striking her. 'Self involved? Do you think that's what this is?'
'Oh indeed I do and, I rejoice at the thought. It's time you showed fire and faced what you're feeling.'
'And you know what I'm feeling?'
'Of course I do. Something like this.' She hesitated with lowered head. Then looking into my eyes said, 'Your beloved daughter, Juju, and your youngest, Posti, have been given harsh inhumane treatment. And you think it's all your doing. And poor Ovid, because of his poetic talent, has been exiled. That's your doing too. There's a lot afoot here-- and far it be for me to prick your bubble of self importance. But dear Julia, you had little, if anything, to do with Juju or Posti or Ovid. Get over it."
'And what would you have me do, oh wise mother?' I didn't even try to hide my annoyance.
'With a faint smile she said calmly, 'As befits your heritage.'
'And pray tell, just what is my heritage/'
'To be mistress. If not of the world, if not of Rome, then of yourself.'
Julia's image grew; she filled up my mind. Her voice commanded my attention. "Knock off the bitchin' That is the colloquial, isn't it? So knock of the bitchin'; kick your lethargy from your mind and get on with it. Be mistress of yourself."
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