Times of war

Times of war are supposed to be this tiring, I know. But to be in love with a king is definitely so heartbreaking that it takes skills more powerful than those usually accepted for a woman.

How I have long to see his face once more, in this time of wretchedness, but I had not had the honor of being great enough to be in his presence more often. And since I am but a girl in the eyes of this many men who only think of swords, I was not allowed to even be nearer to those who know him well.

To love a king is trouble. There is no doubt in that.

Had I loved a simple commoner perhaps my life would have been easier. Perhaps today I would be home, feeding my children simple stew and bread. I would have no fineries, and I would not have wine, but that would not matter to someone who had been happy. I could participate in the many festivities, wearing flowers in my hair and letting it loose upon my shoulders.

But that would never be, as I was not born for that. I am meant for the pain of watching girl after girl be chosen to warm his bed at night. I am meant to watch them leave just as broken as I left all those years ago. The only difference between them and me are the years… and the fine dresses. Mine are so very fine.

I wish he would call for me once more, or visit me at least. I miss his voice, even when I know his words will only bring me tears.

The crown upon his head seems heavy, so is mine. But since I am not allowed to own mine, only wear it, he still pretends to be better at bearing the pain. He is not. He will fall one day. And I will stay, for I have stayed. And all the times in which he has forgotten my existence will return to him.

At least, I wish they would.

I so wish to be able to enter his chambers now, and be allowed to talk to him. Like we did when we were first married. When he still allowed me to discuss matters of war and state.

He should have realized by now that his long absences to fight an unnecessary war have made our country vulnerable, hungry and frail. And I have stayed. I know.

I may still be a young girl, a maiden with her hair braided with lace and flowers, in his friends eyes. But he SHOULD know better. I am his Queen. There is nothing he knows that I don´t know too. We have learned and lived together for so long. And though he seems to have forgotten it long ago, I have loved him enough for songs to be made of our love and he has loved me enough to start a war - a war that broke us.

Parte 1. Perdido na floresta.

Ele estava cansado de andar a tarde toda, mas nada ele podia fazer. Já era tarde, mas o sol ainda não havia desaparecido, embora um leve cor-de-rosa preenchesse o céu.  A floresta se mantinha silenciosa, as árvores não se mexiam, o vento não fazia barulho. Tudo parecia estagnado. Mas não, enquanto ele andava no vazio, ao longe ele sabia que muitos conversavam, esperando a noite e a luz fraca do luar.

Seguindo o mesmo caminho que já seguira por toda aquela tarde, assim como o havia feito no dia anterior, Tomás já começava a perder as esperanças de chegar a algum lugar. Ele realmente estava perdido.

A fome atacava, e o resto das barras de cereal que havia trazido já se iam, mas ele não perdia as esperanças. Ao menos sabia que não estava dando voltas. Ele não tinha visto este local ainda, e mantinha como ponto de referência o pico a sua frente. Enquanto o ‘Pico da Solidão’ estivesse a sua frente ele não poderia desistir, ao menos o monte lhe fazia companhia.

-“Porquê não avisei ninguém que ia ficar para trás um pouco, observando?”. O grupo certamente estava a sua procura, mas com eles iriam encontrá-lo depois de dois dias. Com certeza sua amiga Juliana, ou seu amigo Pedro teriam logo dado falta dele. “Mas, será?”

            Envolto nas mesmas incertezas que já o preenchiam desde o dia anterior, ele ouviu um pássaro a longe. Parecia-lhe um animal diferente, que ele nunca antes havia ouvido. Isso não o surpreenderia pois naquela floresta muitos dos animais lhe eram estranhos. “Eu deveria ter estudado um pouco a flora e a fauna deste local antes desta viagem!”. Mas quem faz isso? Certamente não Tomás!

“Está escurecendo, é melhor eu parar de andar por hoje”. O cantil que ele havia trazido cheio para a viagem ainda tinha um pouco de água, mas ele não pretendia tomar tudo. Comeu o resto da barrinha de cereal e procurou um bom lugar para dormir. Acender uma fogueira não seria uma boa idéia, mas ele tinha medo do frio. Não achou nenhum ponto interessante e resolveu andar mais um pouco.

Logo a frente percebeu uma clareira. E nela, vozes. Mas teve medo. A solidão, a cede, o sol, não estariam pregando uma peça nele? Haveria mesmo alguém, a estas horas da noite, no meio da floresta? Poderia ser alguém a sua procura? Mas se assim fosse estariam chamando seu nome e o ruído que ele ouvia não passava de um som normal, vozes conversando entre si. Parecia-lhe que na clareira havia um mundo vivo ao qual ele, em sua estada perambulando pela floresta, não mais pertencia.

Não ousou chegar mais perto. Não ousou se mexer.

Poderiam ser traficantes das belas aves desta floresta, ou ladrões ali escondidos para fugir da polícia. ‘Melhor não ir por ali’, pensou Tomás. ‘Melhor esperar a manhã e ver o que o sol me mostra’.

Tomás tentou fazer o mínimo possível de barulho ao dar passos para trás e retornar para o local onde tinha comido, sem perder de vista a clareira. Ele então se virou para a outra direção, tentando fugir do local no qual ouvira vozes. Logo achou um espaço onde pode se deitar. Ainda sem causar barulho abriu seu saco de dormir, fechou-se nele e tentou, o mais que pode, pegar no sono. O medo do quê e quem poderia estar escondido naquela clareira dificultaram sua noite.

Quando finalmente repousou os olhos, acordou já na manhã seguinte.

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a moment

She had closed her eyes for just a moment and it seemed that now everything had changed for her. Had she really just done that, had she really told him how she felt?

 Despite the fear, she had managed to contain her trembling hands and she had kissed him, showing him with actions what her words had not been able to fully explain.

But could he understand her? Had he fully comprehended just how important he was for her? Had he realized that she could not leave without him?

A few moments of blissful happiness was all she got before he left her, once again empty. He had not understood and he would never understand.

She was lonely without him but his presence did not guarantee her happiness, he could not understand her, he could not truly see her. He was not right for her and she knew that.

But she did not know how to extract herself in the same way as she did not know how to tell him how she felt. And moments like this were lost. He’d continue living life in its daily beauties and she would continue to love and dream of a more beautiful tomorrow.

when she left him

Did it ever occur to you that maybe this is the real me? You don´t even look at me, do you? And when you do decide to glance my way, what you see is a bizarre version of me. Someone I´m not, someone I don´t want to be.

Why are you still with me? You don´t love me? You don´t understand me? You don´t even want me….

Yet, you won´t set me free. So the only way I can be free of you, is if I leave.

Good Bye Jonathan, I am gone now, for good.

 Don´t look for me. I don´t need you and you don´t need me.

Once upon a time, with love

And just like that, she had left him. Now he was all alone in the world. Did she really think he had never loved her? He would have moved mountains for her, he would sing her favorite songs, just because he asked her too… Now how did she believe he could live without her?

Maybe he had, in fact, been blind. He should have paid more attention, listened more. But he always thought that she knew he was a bit oblivious to everything around him.

Jonathan left the open letter over the kitchen table. Then now empty house felt cold, the kitchen had lost its liveliness, its color. The sound of the television seemed to usurp the silence. She had taken her favorite flower with her, it made sense for she could not live without pink roses.

One by one, he closed the windows, the lights on the street seemed to hunt him. “Could she be hiding there - somewhere in the shadows? No, she´d be long gone, by now”. The last stream of light coming from outside was now gone, television off, lights down, he was surrounded by darkness.

What had made her leave? He wondered… What had he done? What had they done? He wished there had been warning,… But there had been, so many warnings, he was the one that had been blind, blind to all, blind to her, blind to the sadness that filled their hearts. He needs her, he had always needed her, but he had never shown her just how much, he had never been there when she needed him. So perhaps it had been his fault, perhaps it had been their fault.

Seating on her favorite spot, by the sofa, he noticed the emptied bookshelves, no more woman authors organized by last name, no more pink markers or flowery arrangements. He had complained about them, now they were so normal to him, he missed them dearly. For she was him, and he was her, and everything he like she liked, even if she didn´t; and he liked everything she like, even if he didn´t. This is how they were.

But now she was gone, and he could not understand why… and he had to let her go.

just something I came up with today...

While I wait for sleep

As I lay in bed, half closed eyes, hoping sleep would arrive soon, I remembered that I no longer had something to look forward to in the morning.

The children had all left (they were no longer children) and the house felt empty, no noises into the night, no crying baby I had to run to. The comfort of the frequent presence of steps running around no longer exists.

What could I do now but read a novel with a cup of tea in my hands and hope for a phone call. Maybe soon I´d have grand-children, maybe they would visit in the summer and I would have once again the beautiful sound of children playing in the yards. But no, I did not hope for such. Even if my children were to have children, would I still be here to meet them? Or would the emptiness fill me so that by then I would no longer be myself?

Sleep is finally arriving, and my eyelids are finally surrendering to the darkness of the night. Good night, I whisper to the silence.

Another day, filled with nothingness. No news today. My reading progressed as time seemed to stand by. Is this all I can offer the world now? No, I know it is not? Perhaps I could write? Put into words the thoughts my mind never stops to make and follow the advice of Virginia Woolf, did she not encourage woman to write? So I will follow the grand writer, and I shall do as she said… I shall write…

Another day, another night. I tried to follow my determination of writing today. Easier said than done, I believe. At least I tried. The emptiness still surrounds me, but writing makes me feel better, perhaps it is the solution, perhaps it is not.

A full day of writing. Jane Austen would be proud for I do not have to hide what I write, as she did. No news from the children. Loneliness attacks at night, once again. Why is the silence of the night so silent? Where are the fairies that should be dancing away in the garden? The ones we used to see as children? The ones we dream of and create tales about? Where is the Fairy Godmother that will save us all and take us to our beloved prince?

“Good night, Fairy Godmother, I know you hide in the shadows, and look after the young children with special ardor, I only ask that you don´t forget the old, as we too need magic, and light, and hope”.

Have they forgotten, as I have forgotten myself? Another long day and no news of my children. The house feels even emptier as I walk their rooms. I wonder where they are, if they are happy.  As I put my beloved cup of tea down (the one I got for mother´s day, so many years past), a tear rolls from my face. I am tired of this lowliness. My family is no longer mine, they have their own family. I am now a distant relation to go visit and call during festive days. I have no more purpose, no more reason. I must sleep, tomorrow will be a new day.

Another day, no news, I keep writing, keep living… News will come, I am sure.

“Fairy Godmother, where are you? There, there you are!”.

Mary Bennet Drabbles

of course, I am no Jane Austen, so this is merely fanfiction.

Mary Bennet reflects

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Mary Bennet watched from afar as her family danced. Lizzie seemed far off in a world of her own today. Even as she danced, she didn´t seem to focus as much on everyone around her as she usually did.

Like Mary, Lizzie was an observer. She watched all around her. But today something seemed to trouble her. Mary Bennet wondered if her sister’s sudden lack of interest on the exercise of dancing had any relation to the recent visit to Kent.

Jane’s sadness was easily explained. When Charles Bingley left Netherfield he had taken her sister’s heart with him. Their mother’s constant reminders were of no help, off course. But Lizzie had no reason to be so thoughtful, or so Mary imagined.

Resolved to observe her older sister on every possible occasion and understand her almost forlorn appearance, Mary resumed her reading and forgot the loud sounds that circled her.

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Kitty and Lydia were laughing again. ‘They never go to sleep at a decent hour!’ thought Mary.  And even if Mary had given up sleep all together, and found a book to read, still she could not concentrate on the wise words of the written kind, as her sisters constant giggles would not allow her.

Mary wished she could share a room with Lizzie and Jane. She was certain their conversations would be much more interesting.

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The wedding was beautiful. Enjoying once again the moment of silence the end of the ceremony had brought the middle Bennet sister could reflect a little.  Mary had walked in with her sisters and had been able to participate on the celebration as a witness. She was very glad both her older sisters had given her that honor. Of course, Kitty had not been forgotten either. Now, the fun part (in Mary´s opinion, that is) was over and they would go to the wedding breakfast.

 Her mother had been full of the preparations for some time. Nothing could be wrong for the double wedding. The middle sister – now the official Miss Bennet – wondered if her mother would worry as much if she ever came to wed.

Lizzie had promised to take Mary to Pemberley and the young girl could not wait. She had heard much of the state’s library and she wished she could partake in it. “Would Mr. Darcy own a fine edition of Fordyce´s Sermons?” Surely Pemberley possessed not only that but many other great books for her to read.

Her mother interrupted her thoughts reminding her that Mary had to enter the carriage, and once again the noise of the Bennet family engulfed her and she could no longer concentrate on her own thoughts.