by Rane, April
“Yes, I know, child. He has always been that way. Believe me, it will get worse. Then again… if you can do what you say, he may be in for more than he bargained. Heh, heh.” Her laugh was a sad sound in the morning light. “Hmmm…I know of many women who could use your skills. What spells can you cast?”
“All manner of spells,” Aradia told her. “But for that I need more herbs. Pray, could you show me the quickest way to a wooded area. I will not poison! For my Grandmamma hung for that crime. One infamous woman in the family would be enough!”
The old woman laughed again, and Aradia gladly joined in. When Giorgos came to the door and in a croaking voice ordered his wife to cook for him, it made them laugh all the more. Coming out of the door, his face contorted in anger, he picked up a switch and struck Poletzia with it.
When he raised it to Aradia, she wrenched it from his hands and yelled, “Bastido.” Pulling herself up to her full five feet nine inches, and glaring down at him, she strode purposefully out of the small courtyard with the switch in her hand, tossing it aside angrily before entering the hallway leading to her room.
The patron came running after her. “This has nothing to do with you. It is not your affair! Where are you going?” he croaked, slight panic in his voice. “You cannot walk away from here. I will be disgraced if it were to be thought that I sent family away.”
“I will stay, but you will not put your hand on me nor strike your wife in anger ever again! That is the only condition on which I will remain here.” She folded her long slender arms across her breast. “What is your answer?”
“You misjudge me. My women expect me to be strong!”
“I go.” She turned, and shrugging her slender shoulders, she moved down the hall and into her room.
He ran in behind her before she could close the door on him. Out of breath and holding his protruding belly, he croaked, “All right, all right, I agree!”
Aradia told him impatiently. “I am going into the woods to fetch herbs today. You will allow Poletzia to go with me.”
As she left him, puffing behind her, she felt a sense of power, and though it felt good, she knew she should not gloat upon it. He made no further protest, due in part, Aradia knew, to the spell she had already put on him.
As with the night before, she hardly made it to her bed from the exhaustion. She slept fitfully and woke with the sun. Going out into the garden, she found two women in the courtyard awaiting her for spells. Aradia would have no peace in her mornings unless she spoke up. It had been like this every morning since she first did a spell for a friend of Poletzia. Grandmother said it was important to have quiet time in which to reflect, other- wise you would not be very good at your craft.
She made her decision and spoke firmly to the women waiting in the courtyard, “Go and come back at midday! Come bearing food, food cooked by your very own hands. Bring coin also, though the amount is up to you. Tell others wanting my service, to not disturb me so early. Come only at midday.”
They said not a word, fearfully they nodded and left. She did not like to be so gruff, but knew she needed her quiet time. She wished she could go to spend time by the water. Hmm, she thought, I will make plans. I’ll go to the Acropolis and see the sights of Greece which I have heard tell of, and then I will go and sit by the water.
Aradia’s days were spent doing spells, and her nights watching from the shadows of the courtyard for the blue eyed man who looked so like Adonis. Surely he had meant what he said. She knew he had felt drawn to her, just as she had to him. But until he came, what was she to do but wait on fortune’s tide? She knew the fate of those who were not citizens of Athens. If her identity were revealed, she would at once become a slave.
A moon had come and gone. The amount of business she was doing in the afternoons with the women of the city was keeping her busy. They were attentive, and brought her such delicacies as huge black olives and tender veal wrapped in grape leaves, but most of all she loved the baked honey and almonds in a flaky crust—so sweet. Aradia loved the food of Greece, though she could not say the same about most of the men.
Sitting in her tiny room counting coins and admiring the lovely pieces of jewelry the fine women of Athens had given her, she thought how sad it was that here in Athens, a great city state, scores of women were miserable.
Deciding to take a day for herself, Aradia begged the man who brought wine to the establishment to take her to see the city. He finally gave in, more because of her beguiling smile and the knowledge she displayed of the goddesses of old, than the money she had promised him. After all both of them knew that as a woman in Greece she was not allowed the freedom to go out without a male family member with her, and even then there were few reasons that women strayed beyond the home.
Aradia rose to her feet in the wagon as the driver rounded the corner and started ascending the limestone hill where the Acropolis rising high above the glory of the city with its marble shrines was located. The great citadel and the splendor of the buildings it encompassed were well known in Etruria, where art, beauty, and great accomplishments were often spoken of.
Aradia could not contain her excitement. Enthralled by Lycabettus Hill, with its unique molten hues standing out against the clouds and blue sky, she stood taller and peered upward until the driver begged her to be seated for her own safety as they negotiated their way up the rutted road of the foothills. As they came closer, she noticed how much larger the buildings were compared to those at home, though the structures were much the same. As always, picturesque scenery brought tears to her eyes.
“I would be delighted to accompany someone as lovely as you, miss,” the driver told her with a huge, toothless grin as he stopped the wagon. Having reached the level beyond which the rutty road would take them, he helped her to the ground.
“Let us begin, Bella Donna,” he crooned as he offered Aradia his arm. He flattered her taking the time to speak a few words in her language. Their height the same, her eyes peered at dark brown eyes that reminded her of something in herself, something buried; something very painful. Shaking the feeling away she took his arm, and felt his lean and muscled strength. His short brown hair was graying at the temples, and his skin was leathered and deeply creased from the sun. She decided at day’s end she would give him extra coin for being so courteous to her.
Nearing the entranceway, a mammoth white marble stone tinged with pink stood to the right, half her height and just as wide. Above it there was a statue dedicated to Demeter’s daughter. Aradia was sure of this because the beautiful maiden was clutching a narcissus, the flower left behind by Persephone, when she was abducted.
“Here,” the old man told her with grand ceremony, “is where the worshipers of the mysteries of Eleusis end their pilgrimage in honor of our mother goddess, Demeter.”
Aradia carried flowers and food for offerings to the goddess and placed the food on the altar of Demeter, for are not all mothers concerned with nourishment Aradia pondered. As she knelt to pray to Demeter, she asked her to embrace the mother that she had lost and the sister she so loved. She treasured the story of Demeter searching the world over for her daughter, Persephone, who while picking wildflowers in a meadow was abducted by the god of the underworld. She imagined that the legend spoke poignantly of the lost innocence of women in general. At any event, her eyes were moist as she got unsteadily to her feet, and the wagon driver gently took her arm and guided her to the next path.
As they walked through a gate-like structure, she spotted an alluring sanctuary.
“Oh, this is lovely.” The trees and bushes surrounding it were alive with all of the hues of the rainbow. The rose colored bench carved from stone, curved around the bushes in the shape of a crescent moon.
A statue of a partially naked young woman with a hound at her feet, carrying a bow and a pouch of arrows strung around one shoulder, caught her eye.
“Is this Artemis, Virgin Goddess of the Hunt?” asked Aradia, as she brought her hand to her mouth, her eyes wid
ening with excitement!
“That is so,” replied her companion as he folded his hands humbly in front of his heart. “Is she not beautiful?”
“Yes,” observed Aradia, “in my country we call her Diana. She is connected with the moon, but then… I guess all women are.”
“Yes,” he said, “so true.”
“Let us sit here and break our fast with bread, cheese and meat in honor of the goddess of the hunt. It is quiet and secluded and offers shade,” Aradia spoke while not taking her eyes off the softly shimmering statue.
Untying the hemp that held the sack together, he made a show of placing the cloth and the food before Aradia. She felt honored at this display, and rewarded him with a brilliant smile.
After sharing the food, they continued their walk. Aradia sauntered down a worn path that led them through the center of the Acropolis. Laughter echoed off the walls as people strolled the grounds. Though the gaiety was lovely to hear she wished for silence, so she walked toward the deserted trail taking them to a quiet area.
“Pray, what is that grand temple?” asked Aradia, getting to the end of the path.
“It pays homage to Athena.”
“Minerva,” she whispered to herself. The memory of the radiant face of this goddess on the gates of Volsinii came back to her. She could see it on that fateful day. Minerva’s beauty destroyed, along with the city that honored her. It took Aradia’s breath away. She clutched at her heart.
The gentleman paused, firmly holding onto her arm.
“No, I am all right. Minerva it is what Athena is now called in Etruria. It just made me yearn for my family, that is all,” she stammered.
She could not yet speak of the atrocity, even to this kind man. She cleared her throat and pulled herself together saying, “Your Athena is a beautiful goddess. What does she signify for you?”
“In peace time, she is the Goddess of Wisdom,” he told her. “In times of war, she instructs us to bear arms with strength and wisdom. She is a goddess that is fair and stands firm in her decisions. She will not begin a fight, but she knows how to win if one is opened to her. Knowing strategy, she teaches it well. But much of the old wisdom is lost,” he added. “Many people try to make her just a warrior. We know better, you and me.” And with a soft smile, he winked.
“Yes, it is so in my country as well,” Aradia told him. “Minerva has much wisdom and strength. I see her with a golden sword beside her. It is the sword of truth. She uses the sword to remind us to speak with integrity. It is when you are not willing to speak your truth, that she raises her sword to your throat in warning. If you do not learn… then perhaps you will lose your head,” she laughed. “It is just my own way of course, of understanding what she teaches. Do not mind my ramblings,” she apologized.
Her companion became very somber. “Yes, yes, I like the picture it forms in my mind. I can see her like that too. People are not open with each other. The closer people get to someone they love, the less honest they tend to be. They begin to fear that they will hurt the other’s feelings. They protect themselves by being dishonest. Small indiscretions, they think, what can it matter? But it eats away at the bond they have with the other person. Then soon it eats away at the relationship they have with themselves. My marriage died because of small untruths. I have come to honor truth above all.”
Glancing at Aradia, the wagon driver hesitated. “It has been wonderful talking to you, and I don’t even know your name.”
“I am sorry, for you are correct. I have neglected to give it to you. It is Aradia. And yours?”
The simple gesture of taking his hand in friendship caused her to have a powerful vision. It was of a young woman lying on the floor of a diminutive but elegantly furnished home. There was blood around her heart and a great deal more spread on the floor around her legs. A man was standing over her with a look of anger, yet satisfaction on his face. Blood dripped from the knife in his hand. Aradia knew that the man standing over her was her mate, and this vision had something to do with the man in front of her. Yet she knew intuitively, that it was not he that killed the young woman.
“I have become much too familiar,” he told her. “I have overstepped myself. Just call me Azarias. I will now go back to the wagon and give you time to yourself.”
Aradia strode along, purposefully trying to shake the pain she had just touched into. She felt sad about the discomfort their conversation had brought up, and his reason for dismissing himself so quickly, though she enjoyed being alone.
After a while, the day became so alluring that she opened up to the sun and the feeling of healing that it brought into her body. She loved to look at the moon, in part because it made her certain that there were important things for her to do in the world. But the sun was very powerful too, she reflected.
Just then, Aradia spotted an outcropping of rock that beckoned her to lie down. Approaching it she touched its warmth and stretched out and began breathing deeply. In her mind she commenced chanting the names of the goddesses. She had done this many times before, to pray or to ask for visions. Relaxation filled her body as she paid attention to her breath.
Desimena appeared and sat down beside her.
“Yes, you are feeling the importance of the sun. The sun is a gift to all mankind. If only all people could understand that the moon represents the feminine and the sun represents the masculine, and both are necessary in life. One enhances the other. Many do not recognize that the moon shines in the day, just as the sun always shines. Both exist doing the thing they were put here to do; reflect one another. Is that not what relationships are about, Aradia?”
“I would not know. I have not had a relationship. The one I care about thinks I am a servant. If he wants me, it is probably for all the wrong reasons!” scowled Aradia. Folding her arms in front of her as if to say, how is it that you do not know the world is treating me poorly?
“It is not only a lover that is considered a relationship. You have relationships with everyone you bring into your life, even this short relationship here today with Azarias. You reflected something to him and him to you. Both of you are fighting it. He reminded you of your father, and you pushed it down because if you feel pain, you think you are weak. He, on the other hand, has pushed his pain so far as to believe it never happened. I am here today to ask you to be mindful of yourself and your reactions to others because they always have something to teach you.”
Aradia pursed her lips to one side and looked away for a moment.
“When you began this day, you did not ask the wagon driver his name because you did not want to open the door to pain. You recognized a spark of friendship, but you were afraid to open the door to intimacy. For him it was the same. Being in the body is not about pushing down the pain; it is about experiencing it. Life is about experience of all kinds. The positive feminine principle allows you to feel the pain; the positive male principle picks you up and says ‘All right, that hurt, but I have survived. Now what’s next?’ When you work with those things that are life affirming, this is the process.”
Glaring at Desimena, Aradia put her hands on her hips and spoke in an explosive manner.
“I have survived, and I have been looking to what’s next!” said Aradia, through gritted teeth. “How dare you preach to me? It is not you that has lost your family, been dragged to a foreign country and made to sleep in a cubical that should not be considered a room. Worst of all I have had to put up with a man that is mean, dirty and lustful! I was having a good day… and here you come to lecture me.” Aradia turned away, but unfortunately she could still see Desimena in her mind’s eye. “Oh, go away if you cannot tell me something pleasant!” Aradia spat at Desimena.
“Child… I love you more than you can know, and yes, you are picking yourself up and trying to survive. However, you have not experienced the pain. You have not talked about the deaths to anyone, or of what you have been through since their loss. You are building a new life on shifting sand. I am concerned. It is my job to h
elp you with your life in the body, not to give you platitudes and empty words.” Desimena’s tone sounded more determined. “So then, I will go on with my teaching, seeing that the aggressive male part of you is present, and that is part of my lesson.”
As she stared angrily at her teacher, Aradia leaned back, putting some slack in her stance, though she still held her hands on her thighs.
Desimena smiled reflectively and began teaching her errant student.
“The negative feminine principle says ‘I am in pain; I am a victim.’ The negative feminine has two ways of dealing with the role of victim or martyr. The first says I will speak of my pain to everyone that will listen, and they will commiserate with me. They will know how I suffer; in that way the victim continues to be stuck.
The second, the martyr, from a place of fear pushes the pain and anger so far down in the body that it becomes inner sadness. That is the quiet sufferer, but there is another way. The positive feminine principle allows you time to grieve, by expressing the pain and anger with someone whom you trust.”
Desimena reached over to touch Aradia on the arm. “Listen well to that which I say now child, for it is very important.” Desimena waited for a moment to see if there was any reaction from her charge but there was only stillness.
“If the pain is not experienced in the body in a positive way, the negative male principle will become active. The negative male will become spiteful, aggressive or rude. Or the negative male will allow the anger to come out of the body in rage or in violence.”
Desimena realized she had been very long winded. “My job is not always easy, but I would have it no other way. You are worth the effort, and I will always be a part of you. No matter that I point out the things that test you in this life. I will always be the wings under your feet.”
Aradia’s spirit guide very slowly drifted off, hoping the words she had said would be taken to heart. Desimena wished that Aradia would let down her wall of protection, and let someone else be strong for her, just long enough so that she could learn the difference between strength and courage.