Well in Time

by SUZAN STILL

  “What work is that?” I gasped, for I was close to tears

  “Why, the work of bringing love into a loveless world, of course!” With that, she kissed me most sweetly, full on the mouth, then turned and with a flick of the curtain, disappeared.

  I stood with my hand to my lips, for her kiss had imparted such powerful energy there that it left me stunned. I understood in those instants what the Scriptures mean by an holy kiss.

  I barely felt Allia’s hand as she took me by the elbow and guided me back the way we had come. I moved as one in a daze, but a pleasant one, misted in the scent of orange blossoms and dazzled by sunlight.

  §

  Gradually, I became aware that we were in a part of the cave where I had never been. This awareness came through my feet, for they suddenly informed me that we were ascending.

  Coming out of my trance, I looked around in confusion. The cave was just giving way to a manmade tunnel, neither broad nor high, yet not terribly confining either. It was apparent that we were climbing, as if up a steep ramp.

  Allia was in the lead, pulling me along by my hand. I sensed both an urgency and a lightheartedness in her.

  “Where are you taking me at such a great rate?” I teased.

  “Great rate?” Allia shot back. “You are as balky as an old donkey! You may as well be sleepwalking.”

  We laughed together and I felt a sudden influx of such joyous energy that I could scarcely contain myself.

  “Where are you dragging this old donkey to then, Allia?”

  “Well you should ask. We are almost there. Just around this corner and…” She smiled mysteriously and tugged me onward so that we were almost trotting. We rounded a corner and a short length down the tunnel, were confronted by a massive wooden door.

  “Here we are, then, Blanche de Muret. The threshold to your new life. Are you ready?”

  Not having the slightest idea what I should be ready for, I yet assented. “Yes,” I said boldly, for my heart was leaping with joy for no reason that I could ascertain, “I am ready!”

  With that, Allia swung the portal open and a great, burning, dazzling ray of sunshine shot into the tunnel! I was on the surface!

  I stepped forth into the courtyard of the safe house, greeted by the scent of flowers, the songs of birds, and the laughter of children. And who should my sun-dazed eyes see, rushing toward me with arms open wide to greet me, but my beloved Caspar, King of Nubia!

  I sank into his arms like a bird returning to its nest. There are no words for the joy I felt. All I can say is that the Great Mother had prepared for me a day that healed the last of my woes, for no sorrow can dwell where such joy lives.

  §

  Paris

  Calypso stopped for a sip of water. “Still with me?” she asked, glancing at her companions. The two men nodded and she took up the manuscript once again. “ Here we go then. We’re almost done.”

  §

  The Story of Comte Henri Charlemagne de MontMaran Continues

  “And that, my dear Maria-Elena, is enough of that for one night—which I fear is actually now morning. Are you still alive?”

  The Count’s voice, although gravelly with use, was lighthearted, even gay, as he slapped the cover down on his bound edition of Blanche de Muret’s testimony.

  “Yes, Monsieur le Comte, I am indeed!” Maria-Elena sat forward in her chair so that he might see her face by the firelight. “That is the most entirely compelling story I ever have heard!”

  “Yes, it is extraordinary. So much so that, when Blanche de Muret was returned to France by her Egyptian friends, she was scarcely believed—which of course is why she wrote this testament in the first place. The Inquisition had not quite yet begun in earnest, you understand, but it was not too soon for the church to level charges of heresy against her.”

  “Oh, dear! That poor girl. What a life of upheaval she led! What became of her?”

  “She stood trial. It has come down through family legend that she defended herself quite ably, but was bound for prison, despite that. It was her Cathar heritage, of course, that worked against her. But then a quite astonishing thing happened: charges were suddenly dropped. Not another word of accusation was leveled at her.”

  “How could that be?”

  “It seems that a certain young man had listened carefully to her testimony and was convinced of her innocence. The young man was impressed, we are told, by her brilliance and her skill at argumentation. Day after day of the trial, she beat back the arguments of the prosecution with splendidly reasoned defenses. Of course, it also did not hurt that she had grown to become a very beautiful young woman!”

  “Did the young man rescue her?”

  “Yes, in a sense. He did not scale fortress walls and carry her away by night on horseback, if that is what you mean. But he was the first and favorite son of a family of immense influence in the realm. There was nothing his father would not have done to grant his son’s every wish.

  “The life of a poor simple girl was nothing to him, but as it meant a great deal to his son, the father used his power and authority to intercede on behalf of Blanche de Muret. Even the Archbishop dared not intervene, as the father gave generously to the church. And so, Blanche was saved from certain torture and imprisonment and a slow and terrible death.”

  “But what happened then? Did they fall in love?”

  “Sadly, no. The boy was already betrothed to the daughter of another powerful lord. It was a match that was to unite two feuding fiefdoms and so must be consummated. The two did, however, correspond throughout their lives and were, as far as I can tell, the best of friends. And Blanche did find a mate, obviously, or I would not be here to tell this tale.

  “She was wooed by a young man from a good, solid family and she accepted his advances. They had five children. It is all written in the family records. Four were boys and one, a girl. As you can imagine, it was the girl who inherited the locket upon her mother’s death. She and Blanche were my ever-so-many-great-grandmothers.”

  Maria-Elena sat on the edge of her chair and faced him fully.

  “This locket, Monsieur le Comte—Blanche makes record of having received it but she never describes it. What did it look like? Was it a thing of great beauty?”

  The old man drew in a breath and let it out very slowly, as if he were summoning his courage. He nodded his head, as if listening to an internal prompt or argument. When his eyes met Maria-Elena’s, they had lost their merriment and were dark pools of sadness.

  “Well, you may ask, Maria-Elena,” he said.

  Hefting himself to his feet without another word, he crossed the room on bowed and spindly legs to a small table. On it sat a box inlaid with ivory and precious stones.

  “This casket traveled with Blanche from Egypt,” he said, lifting the box. “Who knows how old it may be? Certainly, it dates back to the pharaohs but how far back is anyone’s conjecture. Family rumor has it that it was a small-scale model of the one created by Set to entrap Osiris.”

  He brought the box back to the fireside and laid it on Maria-Elena’s knees. “This is the dubious gift I wish to give you, Maria-Elena, this box—and what it contains.”

  He hovered over her with a heavy sigh.

  Maria-Elena sat for some minutes, her hands stroking the marvelous box, her fingers wandering over its jeweled protrusions.

  Finally, the Count ordered her sharply, “Open it! Open it now or I shall never have the nerve to give it to you!”

  With cautious fingers, Maria-Elena turned the latch, carefully lifted the lid and allowed her eyes to fall upon what was cached within. Her brow knit with confusion and astonishment as her hand withdrew from the depths, where it had been pillowed on a frayed linen cushion, a gold chain and at its end, a round locket the size of a large coin.

  Maria-Elena brought the locket close to her face and examined it carefully. “Oh,” she breathed. “It’s beautiful!”

  Lying on her palm, a jewel of extraordinary workmanship, was a
n enameled disk, surrounded by cunningly wrought gold. In itself a precious object, it was the image worked in enamel that was truly wondrous—an exquisitely rendered portrait of a bare-breasted mother with a boy child upon her lap and extending a golden orb, as if offering it to someone.

  “It is an image of Isis suckling Horus,” the Count said. “But you have seen the same image in Christian churches, I know, of Mary with the infant Jesus. You see, one secret that this object encodes is that the Great Mother is present in all religions. Her names may change but her presence is ever One and the same. That was one of Sa Tahuti’s lessons to Blanche de Muret.

  “And there was another: whomever would take ownership of this necklace did so because it was foreordained that she should do so. No man is allowed to wear this chain about his neck. He is not even to consider himself the owner of this jewel but only its conservator, until such time as its rightful owner should appear.” With a sigh and a cracking of his knees, the count sat down heavily into his chair.

  “I am an old man now, Maria-Elena. I have waited a lifetime for that one to come. And I believe life has reserved the best for last: it is to you, Maria-Elena Villanova y Mansart, that I now bequeath the locket of Sa Tahuti.”

  §

  The Story of Maria-Elena Villanova y Mansart Continues

  “And so you see, my dear Roberto, that what I have here is a very precious thing. And because I will not be able to guard it any longer, I am passing it on to you.” She ran a loving hand over the top of his head.

  “But, Maman! Why don’t you use the locket to heal yourself? You said it is magic!”

  “Yes, my darling, that it is. But it is not that kind of magic. It is the magic of foreseeing the future. That is how I knew I was ill. Long before the tumor was visible on the doctor’s X-rays, I knew it was there. I was told it was there! There is a voice that speaks, sometimes in dreams, sometimes during the most mundane tasks of the day. Never has it been proven wrong.”

  “What use is it, then, if it can’t heal you? What good does it do to know you’re sick before you’re even sick? I think it’s a terrible old thing and I don’t want to have it. Give it to Tia Isobella or to Grandmother!” Roberto’s smooth brow furrowed beneath his thick black fringe of bangs.

  “No, Roberto. This locket cannot be given to Isobella or to my mother. They are women of the world. They have no interest in such matters. They care about banquets and ball gowns and how much money is tucked away in the bank. They would not understand the importance of this locket. In fact, if they had it they would probably sell it and use the money to buy a jewel of modern design. You are the only one to whom I can entrust it, Roberto.”

  She scooted Roberto away from her and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “See this?” She picked up the inlaid box from her bedside table. “You must always keep it in this box. Keep it by your bedside. It will bring you vivid dreams.”

  “But I’m a boy! The locket doesn’t like me.”

  Maria-Elena laughed.

  “Oh, Berto! The locket loves you! Don’t you see, the heart of the Great Mother is attached to this locket. She will never fail you. Her love is even greater than my own.”

  “No! I don’t believe it! Give it back to the Count then.”

  “Berto, that isn’t possible. You see, I hadn’t been gone from the Count’s chateau for more than a week when I received word that he had passed away quietly in his sleep. And do you know what, son? His old saluki, Saladin, died the exact same night! Isn’t that remarkable?”

  “If you own the locket and you are sick and about to die, then the locket is bad luck. I don’t want it.”

  “Roberto, you don’t understand. You are fighting fate, my child. This is the life I agreed to live before I ever came to this world. And you, my son, have agreed as well. You knew before your soul entered my womb that you would one day be the conservator of the locket. It is more important than you know. The locket must go on. It must move toward its next owner.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the power of the locket can intervene in events, Roberto. It helped Sa Tahuti lead the Count’s grandmother to the well that saved her from the harem and helped her escape persecution by the church. It has transformed the lives of all who own it, even my own.

  “I was a careless young woman, Berto, when I went to the Count’s chateau. When I came away, I was changed. I knew in my heart that what he had told me was true. I knew it was my duty to protect the locket throughout my life and to send it onward to its next owner at my life’s end.

  “All these things come from the power of the locket, Roberto. I ask you

  §

  The Story of Father Roberto Villanova y Mansart Continues

  “At last, the boy that I was capitulated, Señor Hill. Who can say if it was the power of the locket that overcame his resistance or the power of his love for his mother? Either way, the locket passed that day from Maria-Elena Villanova y Mansart to me, her son. And within a week she, like the Count before her, was gone.

  “Throughout my life I have protected the locket in its box. It has sat by my bedside and given me strange dreams and caused me to awaken with unusual knowings. Who can say why, Señor Hill? It is not for us to know these things but only to honor what we know to be true.

  “So that, my friend, is the very long and involved answer to your question about what I am doing here in the forests of Chiapas. I was urged by these inner messages to be here. That is all I know and all I need to know.

  “In the meanwhile, there is plenty for me to do. It’s not as if I were stranded on a desert island. Everywhere I turn in this place, there are those who need my counsel and encouragement.

  “Thank you for listening so patiently to this long story. You are a good listener, my friend.”

  §

  Calypso stopped reading and let the sheaf of pages fall into her lap. The three friends sat for quite a long time in silence, until Hill finally blurted, “You ended your book with me?”

  Calypso turned to him with a smile.

  “Not really,” she said. “The book’s not done yet. There’s something more, but I don’t know what it is.”

  “Something you forgot? Maybe you could write to Berto and ask.”

  She shook her head.

  “No. I’ve spoken with Berto and he feels the story’s complete.” She gazed pensively into the flames. “I think whatever it is will come to me, while I’m editing the manuscript in the South.” She shrugged and flicked a smile toward him. “That’s all I know.”

  Javier was sitting lost in thought. Finally, he said slowly, “Do you think we are in that story? That we have lived those events?”

  Calypso shrugged. “Who can say? Does it sound familiar to you?”

  Javier frowned. “It’s the repetition of the pattern that makes it familiar. The cave, the destruction of an old life, and the terrifying passage toward a new one. The friendships that save lives. The old, wise women like Allia—and Atl, in Chiapas. Doesn’t it all sound familiar?”

  Hill nodded. “I got a twinge when Blanche was saved by the young nobleman. I felt very sure that he loved her deeply but was forced by circumstances to be with someone else.”

  His eyes shifted from Calypso’s to Javier’s and back again to Calypso’s.

  “It’s no secret among us that you’re the love of my life, Calypso. The only difference is, I never married anyone else, this time around.”

  Calypso reached for his hand, brought it to her lips and kissed it.

  “Then, thank you for rescuing me from the power of the church. I really have no desire to be tortured, in this or any other life.”

  The golden Empire clock on the mantel chimed the half-hour. Slowly, the conversation turned to other matters.

  “We’ve got to be up early,” Calypso said at last. “The train to the South leaves at eight.”

  They stood. Each recognized a certain awkwardness among them, and each realized it came from the profound deepening of t
heir bonds with one another. “I’m going to miss you,” Hill said and raised his arms to embrace them both.

  The three stood entwined by the fire for several moments. No one could speak because tears constricted their throats. At last, with a final squeeze, they broke apart.

  “You’ll come to the South then, Walter?” Calypso asked softly.

  “Of course. How could I stay away?”

  “Good. We shall meet again. Over and over again we consecrate ourselves to the work.”

  Her smile held a hint of mischief as Javier pulled her away toward bed.

  §

  Brignac, Languedoc, France

  Spring was just beginning to touch the garden of the rental property on the edge of the old stone village. Rosebuds opened their thick, silky petals like the sensuous eyelids of the goddess. Deep in blue shade, acanthus lifted its softly purple spires amid ruffs of black-green leaves. In vigne vierge scrawled across the stone facade of the converted orangerie, an energetic pair of wrens labored over a nest. Swallows swooped and chittered in a pale, misty sky.

  They had been on the property less than a week and Calypso was still discovering its secrets. Where she sat, a thick canopy of plane trees sheltered the sun’s scant warmth, despite the seething of their upper branches in chill tramontana.

  Like water cascading, the roar of wind drowned other sounds, so that she was startled by her visitor. Lumbering down a pathway of pale golden gravel, its head stretched forth in earnest effort and its tiny black toenails pushing aside stones like a bulldozer, came a tortoise big as a salad plate.

  “Well, bonjour!” Calypso crowed with delight. “Would you like to share my strawberries?”

  Her hand darted into the old Chinese blue-and-white bowl in her lap and she flourished a succulent red fruit. The movement attracted the tortoise. He turned his leathery neck and gazed at her with sad black eyes that seemed to speak of a strawberry-less life and multitudinous other sorrows.