Chapter III
The High Priestess
My parents believed that raising an emotionally stable child was closely connected to the latter’s self esteem. Therefore, they didn’t miss any opportunity to remind me how smart and beautiful I was.
“Sweetie, only you can get out of bed and look like you have already done your toilette!” Mom would sing-song.
“Darling, such a great movement! Ballet suits you so well!” Dad’s line.
“Helena, this dress was totally made for you! No one else could pull it off like you do!” Mom.
“I wonder if an antique piano would complement your great posture better…” Dad.
It stopped making me any impression when I was about eight, after I went through different stages from hating it to feeling embarrassed, and finally chose to ignore it, hoping they would stop doing it in front of other people. It made me look desperate for compliments and attention. No one else’s parents were behaving in such a ridiculous way. I was punished at birth.
Few years later, in the darkness of puberty, I realized my beauty was not of the common type or most people simply didn’t appreciate it. Spent long hours wondering why I wasn’t among the popular girls at school. Thought my looks were too distinguished for the mass public and Mom and Dad readily supported this point of view. I was dark haired and my eyes changed from brownish-yellow to cattish green at night. I was a shape shifter of a kind. Or a soul shifter, if you believe the eyes are the mirror of the soul. My schoolmates seemed to dislike such diversity and preferred to keep distance.
My waterish nature was also starting to manifest dangerously. I was either riding pink clouds or falling into depressions that needed treatment. While I may have been in possession of the High Priestess’s looks, I definitely lacked any of her wisdom. Mom and Dad became seriously concerned and doubled their efforts in boosting my self esteem. My father insisted I was the “intellectual’s type of woman”. He had got it wrong. Turned out I was more the artistic alcoholic’s type.
My first boyfriend, Mark, was a handsome creature of a great family, my parents’ dream come true. Tall, athletic, green eyes and the sexiest full lips ever, studying to become an actor. This was his only fault in my dad’s opinion but his parents’ wealth was sufficient to make it up for Mark’s lunacy. I tormented him for three years dating him, touching him, kissing him, exploring him, finally taking grandma’s advice and taking my clothes off in front of him, before I decided he wouldn’t be my first man. It was one of the few wise decisions I made at the time or I would have fallen for him very badly. Not so wisely, I chose one of his friends to revenge Mark for not getting mental after my sexual rejection. He went away for a year, filming. I fell into another depression. Hadn’t planned it like that. He was expected to creep at the doorsteps. The first man was forgotten right on the next day, his calls remained unanswered forever. I never saw him again.
Mark came back. We met. It was a strong connection and sick ambition on my side. Two years of going on and off followed until we finally separated. My parents were devastated. His family probably celebrated the occasion accordingly. I was confused. Why didn’t it work? What more could he ask for? Who the hell did he think he was?!
At the time I’d already discovered that my looks were giving me certain advantage. I was definitely scaring most men but there were others who showed some resilience and could provide me with enough food for spoiling myself. Their admiration sounded so much more sincere than my parents’ ramblings! Lots of portraits were painted at the time. The more the artists praised my grace and my dancer’s body, the more I fell for it. I even fell seriously for one of them too – Sebastian. He had a cute attic downtown. Star gazing, vodka drinking, painting, and sexually abusing the time – this was our relationship. It didn’t last too long though. The portraits started to repeat themselves. Lack of inspiration, I guessed, and walked out of it. Wouldn’t like to be connected to losers.
Up to this point in my life I had learned very few things or was too arrogant to understand the lessons. Naturally, as it happens in the universe, balance had to be restored at any cost.
The next boyfriend was more wisely chosen as I was becoming obsessed with my emotional health too. I had also become quite mysterious at the time. A lot remained unspoken and I closed my doors to many people which seemed to attract more and more new ones. Victor was a manly creature, with broad shoulders (I always fall for these!), a bit of a rough presence but faithful unto death. We had known each other since we were toddlers. He stood by me through some difficult times of self exploration but then dumped me. I was shocked. Not even a bit sad but shocked. How could he manage to ignore me? How was he picturing his life without me? Not out of love but of pure ambition, I had to get him back. So I did. I turned myself into a compassionate, loving, not even a tiny bit selfish woman, who was ready to wash his socks and make his dinner for the rest of her life in exchange of his manly shoulder to cry on. The play was so good that he couldn’t resist it for long and rushed to me. We got back together but only a couple of months later I found myself bored of the role and desperately attracted to another artistic soul. I dashed into a wild pursuit. It was all about who dumped whom. It was important at the time. I could not be the beautiful, praised by artists Helena and be left behind at the same time. It just didn’t fit. I was the one who had the right to walk away and Mom was always there to confirm.
In difference from her, grandma was furious. She accused me in being spoiled, stupid, and on my way to a mental institution.
“Do you think you can play a goddess strolling around and ruling other people’s lives? Are you so stupid indeed to think you will get away with all the damage you are causing? Where is your self respect if you don’t respect others? Where is your wisdom?” She was booming in our living room during her rare visits. I ignored her most of the time. What would she know? She was what… eighty? “You will pay your bill, Helena. Sooner than you think. And when the time comes to pay, you won’t find me around to heal you. More, you won’t find anyone. Prepare yourself. It will tear you apart.”
“Don’t threaten me!” I would scream and rush out for another tour of the bars. Later Mom would comfort me but Dad was sometimes silent. He was starting to participate less in my life and it made me sad. I needed his approval and protection! He was the man who would never leave me.
The musician I left Victor for was called Rick. Another dramatic story. He hadn’t grown up, I hadn’t settled down my mind. More crazy nights, drinking, song writing, fans, traveling, and so on. What attracted him most was me ignoring his female fan base. What he failed to understand was I couldn’t bother less thanks to my self appreciation. It was one time when I thought my parents had done a good job. The artists too. But after a few months I felt he was annoyed. His own self-esteem was suffering my ignorance. Didn’t he deserve jealousy? Even just a little?
One beautiful summer night the guy told me he felt a prisoner and wanted out. He said I was a control freak and didn’t allow him to have a life of his own. I was furious. He was lying. I didn’t care where he went or what he did and it was driving him crazy. He felt a zero. He was a zero. And being dumped two times in a row - couldn’t take it. Told him I wasn’t going anywhere (we had moved in together). He didn’t know what to do and things remained unsettled. We were passing by each other in a rather bizarre living environment. I spent night hours in the bathroom writing affirmations on the mirror with tooth paste. “I am beautiful”. “I am powerful”. “He wants me”. Naturally, didn’t tell anyone. What was the point of admitting I was a freak?
Then his best friend confessed he had fallen for me. I broke up with the musician (after he had already broken up with me!) holding a midnight speech right after he had come home from a performance. I blocked his way to the living room, head up, chin forward, hands on the waist.
“I am leaving you.” I declared. He stared at me in disbelief. “I am not ready to pamper your immaturity anymore while I am constantly offered better opportunities. Even my love for you, as strong as it is, can’t ignore the fact that you are far behind me in terms of emotional development.” His attempt to conceal a cheerful smile infuriated me. I yelled. “You have absolutely no idea what a relationship is about! Apparently, you have never been part of a devoted family! I feel sincerely sorry for you. As you know well, there are plenty of men around who would be happy to be in your place. You seem to not appreciate the gift you were given! You hear me?! Do you?” I went on raising my voice even higher in a dramatic appeal. He stepped back towards the door. I thought he was going to rush out and hurried to finish him. “If I were you, I would become more careful about losing assets. You don’t have that many of them anyway. Neither external nor internal!”
Then dashed, grabbed my bags from the closet under the stairs, left him, and in peace of mind and soul, spent with his best friend one of the most beautiful summers I’ve ever had in my entire life. The High Priestess seemed possible again. The musician was devastated. He had been in love with his best friend for years. He called me a harpy and couldn’t write even a note for long. Finally, I heard he had married a quiet girl who adored each part of him and followed him around like a dog. Wondered what kind of freedom she gave him and what she thought of his unresolved orientation, if he ever enlightened her on it at all!
Following this truly dramatic episode, I consciously gave up dating. Everyone I had dumped was more or less happily attached. They all managed to continue their lives and none committed a suicide because I had left him. Regardless what I showed on the surface, the number of my scars had dangerously increased. I suddenly felt tired of running in and out. The emotional Olympics were over. There were cracks on my armor; the shine of the shield was fading; the sword was dull. What was once fun, now seemed pointless. With the time the dumping game became shallow. Even being the one who ran away didn’t help the pride. And what was there to be proud of? Hurting someone? Of all my relationships, longer and shorter, I couldn’t forget only few episodes and one of them was Victor’s face the evening when I confessed there was another man. I couldn’t escape the memory of his eyes - the disbelief, the torment, the pain hidden behind the chocolate darkness. The victory was mine but bitter.
And then I lost both my parents in an accident. There was no one to tell me how beautiful I was anymore. More important, it suddenly seemed to matter. They were gone; my lovers were gone; grandma had passed away; the nights were quiet now; the mirror still showed a remarkable face but there was no spark in the eyes. I was living in a black hole where no light was to be seen and no living people would survive. My father’s partner told me about the accident and I locked myself in the bathroom. They called the police, afraid I would commit a suicide. I didn’t but chose to remain silent for six months. On the second one they took me to the hospital to feed me intravenously. To my own darkness they added the gloominess of the pills that were supposed to make me happy. Instead, I crawled in my own subconscious fighting with demons and longing to hear how precious I was, to feel a hug, to be given a kiss, to hide.
Lacking many friends as usual, I had to rely on myself and very few close girls to get out of the nightmare. The lesson was so brutal that even I couldn’t fail but get it this time. Instead of being reborn like a phoenix from the ashes and leave the experience stronger, I crept out of it like a snail whose shell had been taken away and he was left naked and vulnerable in the rain, each moment to be smashed under someone’s sole.
Jemma went through this with me. She used to spend the evenings at the hospital, playing me favorite movies and reading to me. On the weekends she would bring some other friends of hers as I didn’t have many. They even went shopping for me – nice underwear, beautiful clothes, make up - for the time I was going to be out and dating again. Jemma would bring the bags in the afternoon and arrange outfits on the hospital bed. I would spend the nights stabbing them with forks I had hidden under the mattress. She had told all my ex-s what had happened but none of them came to see me. Sebastian had sent a painting which Jemma hung in the hospital room. It was a cheerful summer landscape with boats and sea birds. The musician’s best friend had come once while I was sleeping but he had never been considered a boyfriend. Jemma told me he had kissed me and went away without a word. She thought he loved me for real. I had the same feeling but didn’t love him in return. And didn’t want to hurt him.
When I finally left the hospital and stopped taking the pills, I focused on my studies. My career, as to reimburse me for the emotional catastrophes, went very well. I won a number of awards for event organization and reached a Senior Event Coordinator position after four years of complete dedication. Then, just when I was dreaming of the supervisor’s desk, the husband-to-be showed on the horizon disguised as a manager on rotation.
He met a woman close enough to the High Priestess to be helpless. I had gained enough wisdom to represent the perfect wife in someone’s eyes. Apparently, at the time I also managed to convince myself it was going to be an everlasting love story and was worth the move across the ocean. He was going to be my King of Pentacles – stable and reliable. He was going to protect me and provide the snail with a new shell to hide from the dangers of the outer world. I trusted his ability to care for me and heal my wounds. Otherwise I would have never married and sacrificed my career, and moved to another part of the world where I had to start almost from zero. But the fact that I was able to sacrifice anything at all made me very proud. I fancied myself being compassionate and ready to support another person for a life time. I entered the sacred union with best intentions and full of dreams. Gradually the intentions turned into an everyday fight to ignore the negativity and the lies, and the dreams melted in the TV screen. Few years later the harsh reality scored its final point and I ran away from the piercing silence that ruled our house. We had spent four months and sixteen days without exchanging a word outside the grocery needs.
Felt desperate for months and thought I was an emotional failure. Had no one to talk to or share with, besides my few friends who lived far away from me. Had to deal with it mostly on my own. The story was repeating itself. I was sure this was going to finally kill me but instead it helped me realize I needed help and there was nothing shameful in admitting it. The therapist was part of a program for women who were immigrants like me and were more or less alone. I met so many who had had terrible lives. My unsuccessful marriage seemed ridiculous compared to their ruined existence but they were all loving, friendly, and supportive. No one thought I was overreacting or dramatizing. I became more self confident without being arrogant. Realized I could survive everything – loneliness, pain, divorce, death. Found a home, concentrated on being a professional, increased the number of cigarettes smoked daily, invested in a nice laptop and expensive outfits, drank quality wine, and waited for something to show me which way to go. The fear seemed to have disappeared; the longing for being touched by something extraordinary remained despite my efforts to bury it deep where I would never feel it again.
Time passed and I finally stopped accusing myself and wondering what other people thought or said. Instead, forced myself to work on the affirmation that one broken marriage didn’t make me a second hand person; that all I could give was still inside me and would still mean something one day which, of course, was a popular mantra threatening to become a cliché anytime soon. On the other hand, what else was there to believe in?
Thankfully, time heals everything. After the divorce finally turned into a blurry row of ugly frames, I went to visit a friend of mine who was living with her man across the border. I arrived armed with questions which needed answers. What if, just if, I could find the right one? What if he actually existed? How would we live together? What would we do in the evenings? How did happy couples spend their weekends? As Jeanne and Bob had been together for eleven years without even feeling the need to marry, I considered her an expert, capable of giving me the right answers.
Found her cooking. I had caught a cab from the airport and spent a couple of hours in the city shopping and sightseeing. Bought them a nice bottle of wine and a silver candlestick “to lighten your way together”, I wrote on the card. Jeanne and Bob lived in a big house, him being a movie distributor and having no money issues. She worked part time as a mortgage and credit advisor without the financial need to do so. I’d always wondered what was the secret of their meticulously clean and tidy home, her spotless face and perfect manicure, and the freshly cooked food. I had never been able to excel in all these together.
“Hello, Jeanne!” I gave her a hug and handed the bottle and the candlestick.
“Hey, babe!” She grinned. No wrinkles! “You shouldn’t!”
“I wanted to.” I smiled in response. “You look gorgeous as always. And cooking again!”
“Yep. You know how relaxing it is for me at the end of the day.”
“Um… Not really. I find it very exhausting at the end of the day.”
“But you loved cooking!” She looked at me a bit disapprovingly, I thought.
“I do but not when it’s a duty.”
“Oh…” She looked confused. Jeanne hated to think more than necessary. “How is life treating you these days?”
“No complaints. Work is well, shopping – even better. My immediate manager feels threatened I will steal her chair.” I grinned.
“Cool. It is always nice to be appreciated, even if it doesn’t show the right way!” She winked.
“Yes. I can’t believe it yet. It was such a great luck to find this job. Hope the bosses don’t change their opinion and my career plans don’t turn into ruins.” I said secretly crossing my fingers behind my back. Always feared the turns of life.
“Be positive, Helena. Stop with all these premonitions, fate signs, and similar. You see where they brought you at the end!” “I’m not sure any premonitions brought me where I am now. I came to ask a few questions actually.” I smiled pretending to not get the meaning.
“What questions?” Jeanne asked pouring the aromatic sauce on a huge pile of pasta.
“About relationships. Happy ones. This smells fantastic!”
“Hm, it’s not bad but lacks a bit of a stronger taste. I should have used more garlic. Anyways, let’s go to the patio.” She murmured and led the way to the French windows. We opened the wine and sat to watch the sunset.
“Where is Bob?” I finally asked, surprised she wasn’t already lecturing me on the happiness in love.
“Oh… Is this bothering you? His absence half of the time.”
“Yes, of course. I would prefer him to be here. On the other hand, he makes the money.” She said in her aloof manner.
“I wonder how you still miss him after all these years…” I murmured.
“It doesn’t matter.” She looked at me. “When he is the right one, it doesn’t matter. Time is nothing.”
“I will have to trust you on this. So, what is your secret for all this time together?”
“Why? You got divorced, didn’t you?”
“I don’t want to remain divorced and single for the rest of my life!”
“Really?” She asked but I had the feeling she was somewhere else. “I’ve always thought you were this kind of person who would be happier on her own.”
I stared at her in dismay.
“What made you think that?”
“You are not offended, are you?” She looked at me, finally focusing on the conversation. “I just had this feeling during all these years of you having relationships and then ending them one way or another…”
“So, if I wasn’t capable of staying in a relationship, even if it clearly wasn’t the right one, it meant to you that I would be better alone… Is that what you’re saying?”
“Oh, you’re offended now! Please, don’t be! It’s just me rambling…” She sipped from her glass and glared at the garden dreamily.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“Um? Nothing. Just wondering how to answer your question. I guess my secret for remaining interesting is my attitude toward his work and our home. I respect what he does and show it constantly. And I always try to make our place comfortable for him.”
“A-ha. Sounds like grandma’s advice.”
“They were wise women, our grandmas. They had to live with the same person for a lifetime and found ways to make it as happy an existence as possible.”
“Right… I’m not sure I’m keen on trying though. Do you believe the right one exists for each one of us?”
“No. There are not enough men.” She cut a piece of apple and dropped it in her wine. “Some of us are lucky, others are not.” She nodded gracefully.
Four months later they separated. When I got the e-mail, dialed her number immediately.
“Jeanne, what happened? I can not believe it… After all this time.”
“Oh, yes… Well, you know… The usual stuff. He suddenly seems to prefer a not so tidy home and fast food.” She said in a perfectly controlled voice.
“Is there another woman?”
“I don’t know, babe. What difference would it make?”
“What are you going to do now?”
“I think I’ll go back home for a while. Need some rest. Maybe a ski vacation in the Alps or something.”
I was shocked by her attitude. If that was me, I would be on the edge of committing a suicide or already planning it. Even a short marriage took me months to get over it. And after eleven years… On the other hand, I didn’t believe she was as calm as she was trying to show. It couldn’t be after all this time with a person whom she defined as “the right one”!
“Jeanne, why don’t you visit me?” I said at last.
“Thanks, babe. Very kind of you but staying there would mean spending the nights together watching movies. In my humble opinion, the Alps will provide me with better opportunities.”
“For what? What opportunities?”
“For a new man, of course!” She exclaimed very surprised.
“Oh… Sorry, didn’t expect you to jump into another relationship right away.”
“No time for losing, babe. Besides, I can not live alone. I need to make nice supper for someone and have a beautiful home.”
“Good luck then. Give me a call if you need me.” I said rather bitterly. Seemed the secret of happy existence was in cooking and cleaning the house, and being cool at all times. But Bob didn’t think so. Neither did I. Who was right? I bet no one. Or everyone.
Jeanne married five months later to a French web designer with a wonderful house in South France whom she met during the ski vacation. He loved to eat as most Frenchmen do and admired her cooking skills. She seemed content again. I was shaken. My lovely Jeanne had a crystal heart – clear and cold. I doubted she had ever loved Bob. One thing was clear - the High Priestess was more Jeanne than me – above and beyond silly human emotions. The High Priestess would not allow a scar on her perfect pale skin while I had already cracked. And “The One” concept was utterly wrong.
