The Heart within us

   "Coriolanus? Are you mad?" I startled at the volume and tone of Julia's voice.  One would never call her --what's the correct word?-- shy and retiring. But now she acted as if she reigned over the world. "Ye Gods, who knows about Coriolanus? Or more to the point who cares?"
   "You would be surprised, " I said and hesitated before adding, "Your highness."
   Not noticing or more likely just ignoring the implied insult of my "your highness", she said in a more controlled voice. "Granted your -- how shall I put this? Granted you have some ingrained notion that characters like Coriolanus are despicable.  What can I say?"
   "What can you say? Great."
   "You do not know.  You cannot know how things were." She sighed heavily.
   I did not wait for her to continue. "Oh I think I know exactly things were.. Not so different from how things are in my own time, in my own country." She scowled. I scowled back. "You were royalty. Rich beyond my comprehension and at times aware of it. Let me share a tale with you."
   Her eyes narrowed, the corners of her mouth flared out. I spread my lips in a smile I hoped was as condescending as I intended. I took pleasure in the notion that I, as a mere Latin teacher of the 20th Century, was able to cow the daughter of the 1st century world leader, Augustus.
   "Let me set the stage for you," I said. "It was 22 BC. Agrippa had fled Rome in a snit because he was jealous of your young husband,Marcellus. Marcellus, the nephew and designated heir of Augustus was called into duty. From sun up to sun down Marcellus  was pressed into 'Empire Business'. You addicted to pleasure--" Julia waved her hand with what could have been violent if she were more than a figment of my imagination and if anyone had been within her reach. "And don't go denying it," I said. "You resented not having Marcellus as your whims dictated. How terrible-- no picnics in the garden at noon, no wine parties in the middle of the afternoon, no sex whenever the mood struck you. Your leisure led to one thing--Augustus's, and more to the point, Livas's insistence that you help with the weaving. This was the scene you agreed to spend the afternoon with Marcella-- Marcellus' sister and wife of the run-away Agrippa.
   "Are you ready for this tale?"
   Not waiting for her consent I began.

   One warm sunny sfternoon to avoid her weaving assignment Julia went with Marcella to visit Arelia Lepida, an ill planned visit as it turned out. Arelia had invited them to share the experiences of her trip to Syria with her government official husband. Her sharing amounted to flaunting the jewels and silk she purchased. About Arelia's behavior Julia and Marcella agreed, and without any need for consultation they were on their way home sooner than planned. Julia insisted the slaves accompanying them walk enough behind them that no one would know they were chaperoned. "Don't be an idiot," Marcella said. "whether they're with us or not, everybody knows who we are and that we're guarded."
   "Don't be so big headed. I bet there are a lot of people who would walk right past us and  never know who we are-- if we just blended into the crowd." Julia's attempt to motion the slaves away met with little success as they dropped back only a few steps.  "Watch this," Julia said and began to hum.
   Marcella pulled up her headdress. When people gawked and pointed, she called them boorish. Julia found the attention intoxicating. "You know, Marcella, this is fun. I feel so free-- so me."
   Despite Marcella's objections Julia waved to the crowd and stopped to chat with some, who according to Marcella, did not know their place. Incensed when a young woman in a tattered tunic threw herself at Julia's feet, Marcella rushed ahead and watched from a safe distance.
   At first Julia felt revulsion, then sympathy as she looked down on at the piteable creature, not much older than she. She was so worn, so tired, so old. Julia put her hand under the woman's elbow and lifted her to her feet. Her sallow face with its sunken eyes had a hauntingly sad expression. Julia had never been this close to anyone so wretched. She felt the need to comfort the woman, to assure her there was a way out of this quagmire, but the woman drew in her breath and stepped back. They kept their distance, each staring, neither speaking.
    "I am so glad," Julia thought, "I was born into my family. Ye gods, what must it be like?' She felt a pang of shame. Her problems looming so big this morning now seemed a mere trifle. She was so pre-occupied with her dislike of weaving, when this young woman would welcome it, not for a few hours a day, but for twelve or fourteen, just for survival. The woman visibly embarrassed fled. Julia looked down the street after her. Then distracted by children playing in the run off of the fountain she ceased to think about it.
                                  *               *               *              *              *
   Julia's ebullient nature seemed fractured.  The empathy I might have felt for her vanished when she said, "And just why are you sharing this with me? Do you think this little story makes me like Coriolanus? Shove it. How can you, a mere peasant, begin to understand?"