Promises, Obligations and Consequences

[teddi]

"just moments ago, you and Mrs. Agapp exchanged glances.  Actually, you both tried to stare each other down.  She was as dismissive of you, as you were formally indifferent to what she accurately perceived your actions to be, toward another:  namely me.  Both of you are dissimilar as opposite sides of a coin, yet both of you are individually inimitable.  In a few moments, I shall drive the point home.  Bear with me.



"But importantly, something else is troubling you.  You did not wash your hands and symbolically absolve yourself of the matter.  You have all but fulfilled your obligation.  Moreover, it is apparent that you are free from Quillons judgement.  You hold the three pens, and they are almost, brought together.  I am happy for you.  Yet, you do not appear to be satisfied.  Is there something lacking?  Shall I continue?"



Mother's hesitant nod of "Yes," affords me the opportunity.



Elias' giggling witticism is profound.  "You can lead a horse to water, but a pencil must be lead."  It merits no reply.



"But now, there is more which bothers you.  We both know what it is.  The mediums words still are of concern to you:   and only now do you realize that those words exclusive of the paradigm were equally as important and significant as the paradigm itself.



"It has occurred to you that, the one-sided bargain, you noted, lamented and have become familiar with, was mine.  Only minutes ago, you paused and asked to reconsider a point.  The point you questioned and which remains unanswered, concerning your cruel actions towards me, were they yours or prompted?  Mother, they were both.  If I had not forced your hand, you would have failed.  By Authority, I cannot force that which by consent is or may be freely given.  As I said before, I truly believed you; you played the part well.  I would do and have done everything to ensure your success.  The end justified the means.  I chose you for a reason.  Unknowingly to you it served both of our needs.  I knew you would not fail the others and me.  I would not allow it.  Mine was the pat hand.



"The truth, Mother, is sometimes cruel: cruel but true.  Mother, you have always spoken the truth, but all too often, only the truth, nothing more.  Regrettably, what you most often left unsaid hurt even more.  Permit the analogy:  you are but one side of a coin, the face of it.



"I will explain further.



Mother, the exact words of the medium as relayed within the paradigm are, "The pen before you is the last of three, when all are together, from Quillons judgment, shall you be free."  What you hold in both hands is now all but a cold fact.  When touched together, as stated, you shall avoid Quillons fearsome judgment, but for now, to this moment, only that will you escape.  You are concerned, and rightly so.



"Please, consider her other words, which followed.  "The pen is yours.  Keep it always close, its well is without end, unless through your actions, all the innocents are condemned.  There in shall hold the key."



"Mother, she instructed you to remember her words.  You did.  But you did not understand them.  Respectfully, your reasoning was as blemished as the mirror into which you have stared.  The pen is and always has been yours and devotedly, you have kept it physically close.  Both points are factual.  However, more importantly, the facts are wanting, and in need of further thought.



"Consider the remainder of the statement, "...its well is without end, unless through YOUR actions, all the innocents are condemned;" here in lies a portion of your misinterpretation.  Listen to me, follow closely, and consider an additional portion of her guidance.  "He has chosen you.  Why?  Because all others had failed him; and of all the selections available:  he believes you will not."



"I shall explain the last portion first.  Failure is simply that.  It is not success.  It is the opposite. Truthfully, it is a disappointment, a letdown, an unsatisfactory end or a collapse.  Condemned, Mother, is destined to be damned, judged ill fated and predestined to occur regardless of one's actions.  You misunderstood the meaning of her words.  Again, I believed you would not fail for a reason:  I would not allow it.  I held my belief in you to be true.



"Now, before you reply, think carefully.  Consider her other words, all of them, which you detailed, but which she excluded from the paradigm.  Specifically, "No, it was not a "damned sentence," but YOUR thoughts may be prophetic.  But, that is for YOU to decide."  YOURS is the free will, that of choice.  All consequences accrue to you, be they good or bad, but then again, success is in YOUR hands.  If YOU disown the matter, it is a conviction of the innocents," in essence, condemnation.  Did you truly believe that the opportunity to disown the matter was subject to merely one purposeful single-action?



"Just now, as you looked into the mirror, what did you see, besides the obvious?  Why have you now purposely switched the soiled pen to your left hand?  But more importantly, why have you likewise moved one of the pens from your left to your right?  I apologize, another rhetorical question.



"The clue Mother is not tangible nor is it visible.



"You believe that two of the three pens, which you hold in your left hand are dry and that the third, which you now hold in your right, as of now, is not.  That is the truth.  As of now, that is what you believe.  You believe it to be the truth because one pen, yours, still writes.  You acknowledged the fact.  The other, Freida's does not.  Why doesn't it?  Of course Mother, that is another question, which I will answer for you.  In your rushed first attempt to use it, you supposed the well dry, and so it was.  The third, Edwina's, is old and still soiled, therefore, logically to you, it too would fail as well.  That is what YOU truly believe.



"Look in your hands and remember her words, as do I.  The shadow spoke the words, "Success or failure is truly in YOUR hands."  Mother, you do not understand the why and wherefores of her statement:  that is, beyond what you have long considered to be the truth of the matter.  Now, the first portion of your misunderstanding can be explained.



"Failure, to hold the pen close, was not a condemnation.  If it were, neither Elias nor Joachem would now exist.  She did not allude to the tangible.  The physical key is in your hands but to you, intangibly, it must be turned within its keep, from somewhere else.  Mother, "There in shall hold the key."  I pause to look at Brisa, and then continue.



"That is the other side of the coin, which has now figuratively come forward and has slapped you in the face.  Wisdom may tender and give way to understanding and affection.  



"Do you understand?  If not, without a word, I shall start again."



There is only silence.  I smile as I move on, while musing that the trough in which she stands is noticeably shallower than before.



"Additionally, for you, Mother, at Cassadaga, there was no need to engage in the formality of knocking to bid entry.  Through me, what long ago cursed had been invited to meet with her again.  What was once lost, was now found.  I led you, the truth, by the hand to once again, sit before her.



"Truth is not a synonym for wisdom.  In its purest form, it stands alone, accepted as is and nothing more.  What it lacks, value, must be determined, thereby becoming a conveyance of preferred acceptability.  To her, you have always been the preferred.



"As for Aeron Deryn, she is Algonquin, mostly.  Algonquin means, "They are family or allies," she held the key to the entrance.  There was no need for one who held the key or who was family to knock to gain entry.  She was more than welcomed to enter."



The only sound made and heard by all is the noise of the air register as it begins its task.  Mother moves to stand beneath it.  I trust that her veneer of ice shall fall as well.  I continue.



"Mother, as you sat at the table, to receive your reading, the silohuette cast upon the screen was an additional enticement to you.



"Symbolically what she presented to you was a living metaphore. It was the "Allegory of the Cave."  It is the cave in which several men are chained together in complete darkness.  All those who were shackled in the cave, could only see the shadows cast upon the caves wall by a single fire.  Inside the cave, only the shadows seen on the walls were their living reality.  That is, until one escaped into the sunlight, and then he understood that the shadows were merely illusions and not reality.  He had found the truth.  The simile was "An impressive suggestion for the dramatic."



"If you will, my scrawled message was but a paraphrase of a thought by my former lecturer.



"May I?"  Once again she nods, but with her slightly parted lips and now opening eyes, appears to hold her breathe, as she does.  I understand.  She soon will.



"Mom, the ...

[teddi]

"... two pens in your left hand, by appearance are identical, except that the third, which you have just received, remains coated with the dirt from Meadows Watch.  The other, in your right, is not so easily distinguishable.  Yet, it is the one, which you have relentlessly kept physically close.  Please listen.



"Imagine that the third has been cleaned, and once again shining as bright as the other two.  Then place it upon a table, and mix it with the other two: now, all appear identical, and given but one choice, with no reconsideration given to your first touch, if souls were the wager, which pen would you, select?  Keep in mind that you would never again have a second opportunity to decide.  Which is the one pen whose well had not run dry?



"There is no slight of hand and neither of the pens is hidden beneath a shell.  All are seen clearly.  Once again, Mother, a rhetorical question is posed, and of course, I will answer for you.  Please, pursue the reasoning closely and please, listen closer to my every word.



"The pen you have just acquired is, the last of three, but it was the first pen lost.  The pen presented to you, by the medium, was the last of three, but it was the first you acquired. The second you wagered upon has always been so.  Obviously, your consideration of the "last" word was in error. Once more, you misconstrued her words.  The word was not synonymous to condemnation.  It did not mean failure or death.  It was simply that, the last pen ever to be given.



"Now consider the analogy, that each of us, Elias, Joachem and myself are each a pen.  Mother, if you theorize that only one pen will write, what will YOU do with the others?  Shall you discard them or push them away because you do not believe in them?  If you selected Joachem, would you condemn Elias and me?  Alternatively, if you chose me, you would certainly condemn Joachem even after you professed and felt love for him.  Mother, "If you disown the matter, it is a conviction of the innocents."  Herein lays the crux of the matter.  Right now, if YOU were to wager all on your decision, would YOU still claim the results as "just deserts?"  I gave you the answer, years ago.  My thought to you, was in her additional words, "...it is not what I want YOU to do; but rather, it is what YOU will yourself to do."



"Truthfully, up until this moment, it is what you have not allowed yourself to do which concerns you and me.  Is it your will to still do only what is necessary?  I have wagered all on you, what have you wagered:  your belief in just deserts?  If so, regretfully, as of now, they will not be sweet.



"When you replied, "Yes...I'm in," to Gina, did you grasp how prophetic your words would be?  Alternatively, could be?



"Mother, additionally reflect upon your middle name and that of Christina and as you do so, consider as well Edwina's middle initial.  Of course, now, you obviously must and are considering Freida's as well.  After all, though you did not state it, I know it too.  Forgive me for smiling, but, in the mediums own words, "Yes, it is more than sheer circ-umstance."  All of them Mother are ... identical.  Is that considered, irony?  Most certainly, ironic, it is not.



"For you, here and now, it logically must follow that the mediums conclusion must be addressed.  "Take care Julia Athena, for the little one is most precious, for ages past his thoughts I knew, and now will hold him dear.  He is the key, the reason I am here.  If you would fail, my anger would be great, thought Quillon may indeed be Fearsome; my wrath would have no end: and it would be but the beginning."  



"Again, I would caution you Mother.  If you will, the word...fail...was qualified...referring not only to that of Quillons fearsome judgment, but also, if you were specifically to fail her:  personally.  However, while it is not a condemnation, for you, her rage and anger would be terrible, ageless, inescapable and never ending.  Truthfully, it is a dismal and foreboding vision.  I fear for you.



"Now, to put it gently, while not being sarcastic, you are again discontent, but why?  For so many years, you have treated me with coldness and all too often considered my thoughts as lies; heartlessly heard and acted upon with a callousness that still baffles me.  What has happened to the truth, which you, at one time in the past,long ago,so attentively harbored?  Instead of gentle candor and loving forthrightness, you have, even up until now, managed to lace the bare truth to suit your ends.  Why?



"Before I was born, I had obligated myself to you and your needs.  Now, looking into your eyes, they are empty, and you still do not understand.  Metaphorically, you still stand:  but you stand alone.  Perhaps...that will change.  But to do so, I must pursue the end from another and especially distateful digression.



"Christine relayed your recently stated desires of me to "get a life," these desires are absurd.  Obviously, I have had more lives to deal with and remember than you have even dared to consider.  More to the point, you would have forced an illogical conclusion of who I actually am as opposed to who you desired me to be or become.  Even your unprompted explanation to my alleged quandry concerning the phraseology of "Old Sisyphus" was less than frank.  Do you consider me as dim-witted?!



"Mother, what transpired between the two of us is termed Socratic irony, I knew him too!  He was my lecturer's teacher.  Truthfully, they both knew me as well.  Forgive my giggles, but long ago, both were renowned and celebrated:  I had been schooled by the best.



"Nevertheless, what you glaringly left unstated was the obvious, that the singular most derisive term for an effeminate looking boy, in the world today, is a ... sissy.  It was a purposeful omission, which hurt even more than if you had spoken the word.



"By today's absurd standards of acceptability that use of the word, by you, to describe me, unquestionably would also have condemned us both.  Thankfully, for some reason, at least that much you appear to have recognized.



"I cannot help but think that I am less to you than the sum total of who I was or have become.  That in itself is enough to make me cry.  If that is what you desired you have almost succeeded.  From this moment on, a far as you are concerned, I will not cry out, nor, will I shed a tear!  Will that meet your requirements if I swear to do so!?



"Mother!  Don't turn your eyes away.  Look at..ME...damn it!



"My appearance has not changed in over three thousand seven hundred years.  I categorically deny that I am anything but what I am.



"Even you said I was beautiful.  Actually, you said minutes ago I looked "genuinely pretty."  Same difference!  So what am I to conclude?  Thanks to both Mrs. Agapp and my newest sister, I have come to terms with my appearance and now fully understand my presence here.  But do you?



"No!  Do not reply.  At this time, it would be wiser for you to hold your tongue.  While Quillons judgment may by Authority be Fearsome, my judgment by Authority would be eternal, for both of us.  I told you I could do more, much more.  I have had no desire to wound, kill or destroy.  To the contrary, I sought the opposite.  Yet now, if necessary, from this moment on, I will.  The young boy will not live longer than the young man to be.  I have solved that riddle!"



Aeron D. returns my quick glance towards her with wide-eyed astonishment.  Accompanying her deep, and startled inhale, she slowly motions me to calm myself by gently motioning several times with her extended right hand:  palm down.  As she shakes her head, from side to side, she again cautions me.  But while the words are almost identical to those she spoke to me concerning Melinda, her tone of voice is markedly harsher and admonishing.



"Gishpin gii inaakonige maji-izhiwebiziwin misgawaa-gwayakonaagozi giib annawaadizi!  (If you make such a judgment, ill tempered, even though appearing to be correct, you will be in the wrong!  Gagwaanisagadamig baataa!  A terrible mistake!  Gii gashkendamide'e gaagige!  You will grieve forever!")



"Before I can reply, Mrs. Agapp intercedes and vies for my attention.  "Christopher, my little one, you would lose everything with an empetuous word or action.  Speak your mind but do not judge hastily.  There are some things, of which you are not aware.  As I stated to your Mother, I am not a fool, but then again, some mothers may act so, for reasons, which are not evident:  that would include me as well.  Restrain yourself.



"Please, calm yourself.  I understand the reasons for your bitterness.  Of the many things long denied you, my sweet child, it is the intangible losses, which hurt most.  Again, I remind you to consider the warrior who engaged your ancestor.  You and h..THEOS MOU! MELINDA! Ean tolmeisete na kinethete alla mia insta apo apou stekeste orkizomai oti that sas timoreso xoris eleos gyia tis psuxhis eseis tha exhane!  Stasetei akoma kai kleismenos epano!  (MY GOD. MELINDA!  If you dare to move but one inch from where you stand I swear I will punish you without mercy for the souls you would lose!  Stand still and shut up!)



Melinda's slight movement towards me abruptly halts.  What is evident, besides the opened mouth and glaring shocked look on her face from Brisa's shouted warning, are the quick drips, which begin to expand onto themselves into the widening puddle on the hardwood floor, between her legs.  All she can do is to turn around and cry as she buries her head on her Mothers chest.  I feel dreadful, especially for her.  The pained look upon Mrs. Agapps' face speaks volumes, as do the tears in her eyes.  As she cuddles the now sobbing Melinda closer, I focus my attention once more on dearest Mother.



"Mother, Mrs. Agapp said she was not a fool, nor am I the fool you have treated me as.  Truthfully, the first time I was born, it was at night, but it was not last night:  nor, was it a mere twelve years ago.  If I sound bitter, it is because of you, believe it!



"Most certainly, my first life's memories and the havoc, of what I have relayed to you, of Astyanax and of Fathers involvment, hold a second and thoroughly more significant meaning.  But I will preface the obvious, for you, with a salient although lost obscurity.  Did you ever for a moment, consider, that even while Astyanax had not drawn blood in battle, that I was not schooled in the art of war?  My father taught me much and I would have been feared even more than he in battle.  I was an honored warrior's son and died a young warrior's death, honorably.



"If I am cynical and contemptuous now what difference, does it make to you?  After all, it should come as no suprise to you what I will say next.  You have all but deduced the obvious, the medium knew of me, as did Mathew Daniel who was in Harmony with Him as did my guardian Angel.  All knew except for you.  Besides, if you have not already inferred but a portion of the obvious, permit me.



"The medum is the one who counseled Astyanax, or, if you prefer, me.  She was my first Guardian Angel.  Truthfully, among them all, she was ... the First.



"Only now do you begin to understand the significant implication.  Mother, I too, am part of the Legend of the Eagle:  but a much greater part; for to her, I was the ...

[teddi]

Herald.  My presence, then, to her, was the pronouncement of what was to occur.  Without prompt, I became both the Messenger, and the omen, the augury of what was to be.  To her, I became portend, representing the certainty, of what would result.  She knew my thoughts - all of them.  Do you understand?



Mother's slight but hesitant nod of yes precedes her reply.  "Christopher, my darling son, I understand all too well, but the question posed is more important to you.  Do YOU fully understand?  I fear not.



"Yes," is my terse reply, "I understand what happened!  When Astyanax and I met for the first time, it was the goddess of wisdom, and of warfare, the arts, and industry, of justice and skill, who stood by his side; and counseled him.



"Immediately, she understood that the wandering spirit did not reside within the confines of Olympus; but more importantly, that the eagle which met me at that time, was, of even greater importance then to all concerned.



"Mother, inadvertantly, the eagle and I both represented a more important concept, of which she understood the totality, and that consequently, she would fall away, and sleep for ages.  To explain the obvious, I would appear arrogant, conceited, or perhaps haughty and egotistical.  That never was or is my nature.  Looking then, as I do now, do I appear so harmless and innocuous?  Who could ever, or would believe, that my appearance is anything other than gentle, tender or submissive?  To another, to do so, would be ... was fatal?"



Mother nods one time and replies, "Yes, Christopher I believe you.  I believe as well, that those qualities were never your nature nor that they will ever be.  But have you considered that those qualities may have been the nature of another?  Consider my question while I speak to Mrs. Agapp.



"Brisa, I know your heart is well intentioned: and that you would protect him as your own, thank you, but he is still my son, not yours.  What you have asked him to consider is more than significant, and holds a deeper meaning, to him, yet to be made evident.  Instead, if you wish, help your daughter, go to my room, it is down the hall to the left, inside my walk-in closet on the second shelf to the right, within a blue plastic bin, are various pull-ups and diapers.  Use whatever you need for Melinda's problem.  When you return, please bring an additional pull-up for Christopher.  He will need it.



"And please, contain your additional sense of devotion, until my son has come to accept the truth of the darker secret, which has guided him and your daughter to one another.  Your presence here is not by inadvertent chance.  I promise there will be no word games from me to blind him or you from what shall become known:  and Brisa, the introduction you so formally requested, consider my consent as cheerily given.  But, keep in mind, that I will not tell you to go to hell, as you have asked, even if it is how I truthfully feel."



Mother turns her now steadfast attention towards me, to prod once more.  "Christopher, please forgive me, but it is Astyanax who must answer."  Without pause, she continues.  "Astyanax, when Troy's mightiest protector and warrior fell it was by single combat against the mightiest of the Greeks; Achilles.  This is a portion of the legend, which, through Christopher, you have just relayed to us and have accepted as fact.  Moreover, Brisa has buttressed your recollection.  If true, a simple nod will suffice."



We nod in agreement, and as Mother continues, Brisa's movement towards Mothers room abruptly halts.  Softly, she whispers to Melinda, "Sweetheart, go and change yourself, then return with another pull-up, but hurry."



Mother never falters, with her additional inquiry, but this next question is asked of Elias.  Gently she entreats, "Elias, when you spoke of the wars between the ancients, when this portion of the fable was told, did you relay it in the same manner; and accept it as such?  Please, do not charge to the answer but consider my next question.  Christopher, is there an untold and darker truth hidden which lurks unaware?"



For the several silent moments that we reflect, the  newfound thought becomes overwelming.  Silently, we stammer at the implications.  



Barely audible we murmur, "The recitation ... the recollection ... a ... mistake?  A darker truth, has been disguised and kept from us.



"No ... I am not a ... ohhh no.  I never ... until now ... so ... so ... how could they ... they knew?  But ... but ... She?  Why ... would ...?  Aeron?  Mrs. Agapp?  But if it was not Father?  Mother you understand all of the corrolaries?  Why?  That would make ... me ... no ... Her!?  That can't be true ... can it?  Which is the worse?"



While Mother tries to shush me, I will not take her cue.  Instead, the now rudderless ship I liken myself too, begins to sink within the whirlpool of contradictions now forced upon me.



"No.  Mother wait.  It must be you, first, the issues, which Mrs. Agapp has noted, concerning me, those you have left unsaid; still linger.  Then again, the uncertainties I now have are growing greater, especially where Dad ... and ... and ... Her ... is, I mean are, concerned; but ... but ... Her.  It is Her!  Her words appear to have predicated both of your actions.  But, then again, by involvement, mine?  Logically, one must consider that there are at least two, yet, related causes.



"The most obvious, concerns the incomplete reading you have mentioned, the second and all other actions, would stem from it, I mean Her.  The first is your secret or is the greater secret  ... Hers?  But if, if the secret were Hers, then ... the conditions under which all have been influenced have been altered; furtively.  The remainder, besides your inexplicable actions, which vary from one extreme to the other, appear linked, but why?  Only Fathers actions or lack thereof, for some reason, seems to be consistent.  But, if he were the only constant that would be illogical.  I too have been an invariable.



"No ... all questions must be solved in turn.  Mother, you are first.  You must be first!  All remaining questions must then be addressed in turn.



'For example, the sewn hemline of satin into what I am now wearing.  You knew how I would react.  Why did you do it?  Why tease me?  Why did you continually tease me with snippets, the bits and bobs, of smiles, when you had me wear girls' clothes?  At times I thought, at last, for some reason, you were being kind, then BOOM!!!  Just the opposite!  You were always teasing me!  A kind word here or there, coupled with a gentle thought, along with a concerned or tender touch there, but always, always, followed with implications, which left me wondering.  Why ... were you, always ... why ... were you leading me on? "Even a couple minutes ago, the ohh so wonderful soliloguy about loving me was, inexorably, for the most part coupled with what would happen to you, if you failed.  You would be shattered?  Perhaps.  Yet, your primary concern, in the end, from what you have stated, has always been your own welfare.  You, could not choose one, over the other, why not?  Why to you, had love become a four-letter word; which you have so personally hurled towards me, to what end?  You said it became your honor to champion me.  I would have been honored , if you had nobly failed, in my behalf.  Mother you said you never stopped loving me, true.  Actually, you never stopped loving the thought of me, of what I represented, that is what you were in love with, but otherwise, you all too often, coldly disregarded what you first literally held at times in your hands:  me.  But then again - you - you were not ... no ... not the first.  Another held my life ... yet ... it was the thought, was it not?



"No!  Why should I consider ... Her?  Only moments ago, I described you as the face of a coin.  Maybe, I was in error.  Instead, I should have labeled you other wise.  You are two faced; the first is smiling but cold, the next, becoming a sneering wicked witch!  Did someone ever really drop a house on you?  Right now if I could, I would!  You were right, I thought it before, but now I said it to your face!  Damn it!  Wait!  The first is smiling but ... two faced?



"Besides, how stupid and dumb do you think I am?  The various baby plastic pants you keep on dribbling out for me to wear, coupled with those lame excuses, like "I couldn't find your powder blue ones" are so much horse crap!  They're so glaringly different that the question presents itself again.  Why?  First off, I had never worn anything like those before!  Did you for a second think that I took the bait you dangled in front of me, and that it wasn't meant to humiliate and make me feel bad?  But ... I ... recognized ... the smile it ... it didn't go with the face ... but who's ... yours?



"B ... b ... besides, even a fool could've guessed that you had a fresh stash of this crap stuffed or hidden somewhere in the walk-in closet of your room.  I'm NOT a baby and most all of you contrived excuses were just so much childish bullshit!



"But you somehow knew about the butterflies before I did and had me wear everything you could with 'em on 'em.  Even Christine was in on that!  So how'd you  ... you... know?



"My bathrobe got torn up and ruined in the wash; don't think so!  For some reason, you ... you wanted to switch it out on purpose!  So what the hell are you trying to prove!?  You know I told you before to get out of my room and leave me alone!  What's the point with you?



"How innocent and gullible do you think I am to accept your continued lame and dimwitted excuses?  But more to the point, how much longer do you think I'll continue to even want to be here or even want to be around you?  Am I gonna be better off dead than worry about how you keep on screwing with me?!



"As an afterthought, I would re-ah-re-remind you, what you k ... kept on telling me when you kept wailing the ever-loving dog crap out of my blistered butt for what you said were lies, and when I told you that what you were doing to me wasn't fair.  Y .. you remember, don't you?  Of course you do, I'll repeat the words for you.  Wouldn't want you to stress out any more than what you  ... you are already.  You said, "First, whoever said l...l..life was just or fair did not understand the cold truth;" and that "If they lied, a second time, they deserved what happens to them."



"As for deserve, I understand that deserve has nothing to do with this.  For the same reason, as far as I am concerned, you have not reconciled the just deserts, what you truly deserve, for your previous pledge.



"Mother, I said that I understand and trust you.  Truthfully, what you are and have always been to me is that, the ccc...cold truth, nothing more:  and ... and ... as of now, it is only that much I believe and trust in.  At one time, I believed I would have liked you more than what I should have and wanted to be closer to you, maybe it wasn't what I deserved but I thought, I thought, that with you, it would be, or could be more.



"You stated that what I have been would end.  That's cool.  I believe you.  No big whoop there!  Been there, done that, so, what else is new?  Besides, how do you know what the hell I fear the most?  I knew the pen still wrote, even without you telling me!  It has royal blue ink; everything you write is with that pen!  Every day, it's sort of like your first daily check up to see if, that for some reason, you really haven't screwed yourself!  Even a son like me can tell when his mother is chronically obsessive!  I've been dead before and soon will be again.  Tell me something I dont know, why don't you!?



"Your never satisfied and always trying to trick me into a disadvantaged position by agreeing to distinctly one-sided, sugar coated, deals to make yourself feel ohh so super cool and smart:  mother superior!  You were always trying to snooker me.  Was it for a reason?  Do you think I didn't notice that you ... you always had to bid the game higher and that.. that for some reason you have always played word games with me?



"O.K. to you the bid is now seven hearts no trump!  Do you understand?  Care to bid it higher, but keep in mind, that, the bid, if doubled or raised, will be, to you, all in spades.  You must take every trick!



"Don't shake your head as if your're surprised.  Happily, you've played your games, now Mother, it is almost time, to play mine; it's but a segment of my sleepy time song.  Won't you play it with me?  Since yours is the freedom of choice, that's what She said, the decision to play is yours first, or, to decide, do you require a second more?  So?  Decide.  A simple yes or no may be all you need.



"Look back towards the mirror, the sissy in it, the one that you have teased and almost up to now avoided, will even curtsy, to you, prior to my recitation.  Of course, I'm rubber and your glue, whatever you say ... well ... you know the rest.  



"Then Mother, your wager, as to just deserts, upon the very second of your choice, will be paid in f...f...full, all that and more!  Oh, please Mother, play my game with me.  I promise the decision will be yours, to decide, which pen to select, how will you choose?



"That's it, stare into the mirror and as you do, notice, does his c..c..curtsy mmm...meet with your approval, or does it need more work?  When we are through with this, will you abandon me once more?  But, then again, by your standards in time, we shall all be ...

[teddi]

"...disposed of.  Then we will all be good in time.  Now Mother, speaking of time, perhaps the allegory I have referred to, will, for you, take on an additional meaning.  The first quatrain of my sleepy-time poem you may remember.



Tick Tock - look at the clock.

Tick Tock I can make it stop.

Tick Tock its hands are mine,

Back to the black, or towards the light.



"Oh please, isn't that just so special?  Just now you've connected the dots?  Why do you look so shocked Mother, in the past, I encouraged the two greatest who philosophized.  While representing, the metaphor, the simile, who symbolically, brought the light back into the cave of darkness, upon which they could further develop their theories.  I told you they knew me as well.  They knew and cared more for me than you have!  Oh gee, was that cruel to say?  You've had years of experience dealing it out, so it shouldn't come as a big surprise that you'd get yours someday!



"The incomplete remainder, but a segment of my poem, for you or I, may heal or kill, so it is only fair, that you listen to the verses before you decide.  Listen closely, only one time will you hear it, I promise, for you there will be no second chance.



"Tick, a second, more, yet much closer to life,

Tock, one second more, becomes much less.

Nevertheless, this, the second, is closer to death.

Slow or stop the hands of time,

The power I possess.



"Forward or back?  How far the stride?

It is willed, lest you guess. I

Play the game, while you decide.

Then you, behind the truth,

Will, no longer hide.



"A decision, in yourself to trust,

A second more, than I

You must.



Tick-Tock or Tock-Tick - Tick Tock.

Hey diddle-diddle, You are in the middle.

Neither of us may fiddle ..."



"Well there's more but why bother.  By the way, now you can't turn and run away, neither of us can!  Forgive my wide-eyed sneer, but am I now as cold hearted, as you have been and now would wager me to be?  I told you if I had to be a girl I'd be a real bitch!  Guess there's a lot more of you in me after all!



"Mother, I told you this would be distateful.  And if you think I will be turned and softened by your crocodile tears, well, I remember the song went, with but the slight gender change of one word, "Never smile at a crocodile, no you can't get friendly with a crocodile, don't be taken in, by "her" welcome grin, "she's" imagining  how well you'd fit within her skin."  Of course, there's more, but for now, "Clear the aisle but never smile at Mrs. Crocodile!"



"Mother, the time clock is running out on my little game, if we go into overtime it will be sudden death.  Shall I continue, that, is not a rhetorical question, because, it is almost desert time!"



Mothers stone cold face can only stare directly at me.  With but the slightest movement, side to side, and with the wiping of tears from her now dry lips, she begins to speak.    "Christopher, I cannot play your game.  I never, I mean, it was never for me to decide.  It is for another to do so.  That was foretold, and emphatically so, by the medium.  And no, do not continue with your tirade, acting the royal bitch, for you is unflattering, ugly and out of character.  I will try to explain, especially as to what the medium told me and of which I have omitted; it is then that you must answer the question asked of Elias.



"Please, stand in front of me while I sit on your bedside.  I will no longer talk down to you.  On that, you have my promise.



"My beautiful child, the trip to Cassadagga was far from what I expected.  The joyous "hoot" was anything but.  It was not a reading where one would expect, that the glittering generalities of a gypsy huckster,who,would state the obvious, polish the apple so to speak, and offer the tidbits of hope, to an easy to fleece college co-ed would succ-umb to.  The entire experience was nothing short of terrifying.  It left me an emotional wreck.  If souls were the bargain of my being true to my vow, I was petrified at what would occur if I failed.  I understood her shrouded threats.  To me, the word meant the same, there was no other consideration, if I failed; I would in essence have condemned myself.  I was not being selfish.  This would be my last chance to set right what long ago went terribly wrong.  She told me as much.



"During her counsel, She had warned me of what would occur if I had taken a path other than the one she showed me.  Mentally, the one path she envisioned was at its end wondrous.  The other terrified me.  Fear, dread and horror were the mildest of the visions she forced upon me.  Additionally, unspeakably vulger, sordid and disgusting acts were supplementary digressions to the images she foretold.



"I have bounced back and forth, up and down, between wanting to hold you nearer but also fearing the results if I had done so.  Every day I have used that damned pen!  Every day it still writes!  With every step, I took in one direction with consideration I purposely took in the other.  Every day I presumed myself damned for losing you by showing affection.  Every day, for the other path, I presumed you would damn me in turn, as I kept pushing you away.  Either way, it appeared that I could not win.  This has continually followed me.  Her words and visions have always haunted me whenever I have slept!



"As for your clothes, or rather Christine's clothes, I'm sorry, She, the medium, sought to hide you, the real you behind the facade of femininity:  I could agree with her logic or loose you.  You will understand shortly.  Moreover, it was She who suggested in the strongest terms that a butterfly be utilized to become, and these are her very words, "The symbol which would eventually manifest itself."  I took this one-step further, I encouraged Christine to select as many clothes emblazoned with it upon them as possible.  I wanted to ... to ... well ... get whatever was going to happen, over with.  Of anything else, Christina, from me, knew nothing.  Your interest in Lepidoptera came as a complete surprise to me.  Obviously, now, through the simile you have offered, it is all to clear.  Cassandra was your first love and through time, she has remained so.  Through all time, until now, you have never forgoten her.  Neither has...no...



"You are closer to the truth than you have ever been.  Please listen.  During this reading, the medium told me that before you were born, the bare truth is what little I had left, to hold close.  And what little I have held close, through time, has neither pleasured me nor brought me peace of mind.  And if I failed, in Her own words, "That the end occurrence is better left unsaid." That much the medium

told me.  My son, the house you would have dropped on me but a short time ago, occurred over three thousand years ago.  When her houses fell, piece by piece, so did I.  The walls literally tumbled down, and buried me within.  That is the past vision she showed me.  Christopher, not only did I see what she said was history, but I heard every scream of the wounded and dying, every cry for mercy and for help which went unheeded; but also, every insulting word hurled towards me.  Only that did she show me, only that.  But of who I was before she would not say, only that, one may not kill a pure thought, especially one which believes.



"Truthfully, Chris, there is a darker underlying implication which you are now coming to understand.  As for understanding the corollaries, please, I am not the fool you take me for and I too am smarter that what little credit you give me.  Moreover, the remaining portion of Her counsel concerning you was more than upsetting.  In all honesty, it was terrifying.



"Both of you are indebted to the other.  She, far greater to you and I fear that when your realize the totality ... well... it is not pleasant.  Please.  Do not be hasty to judge me...or Her...but...you are right to be wary...all is not what it appears to be.  There was a greater obligation made, to you, of which you are not aware.  The consequences...to you...and your Father have been significant.



"Where to begin?  Perhaps Aeron may assist.  I shall attempt to explain, and if I am in error, Aeron may correct me as needed."



Aeron offers a slight nod which is inturn acknowledged by Mother with a brief and forced smile.



Mother continues, "First, a minor history lesson concerning the significance in ancient cultures of gods and goddesses, and of wars:  wars among mortals; wars of mortals vs. gods; or wars among the gods themselves.  Secondly, in the meaning of proper names:  specifically, Astyanax Hector, Elias, Joachem, and Christopher.  And lastly, the interlocking and underlying corollaries.



"My sweet, in ages past, mortals considered the various gods, to whom they prayed, as being vindictive, vain, often malicious and self-serving.  Those thoughts were commonplace and accepted as truisms.  They were, embellished upon and returned in kind by the various gods themselves.  To service their needs or delights and to accept fate as dictated was humanity's lot.  Of all the gods and goddesses, only one, was known for her supposed love of the mortals who inhabited this earthly plane.  All others used its inhabitants as pawns to suit their own ends.  The solitary goddess, who took so personal an interest in, counseled and who helped the mortals, was known as the "Protectress."  Her name was ... Athena ... Athena Nike.  Please consider this:  on one hand while she could appear loving and concerned, on the other, if she felt wronged, most wrathful and vindictive even towards those whome she counseled, or supposedly cared for.



"She sprang to life from the head of her father, Zeus, fully armored and ready for battle while at the same time possessing all of his knowledge.  Except for the underlying implication, she was a more feared warrior than the god of war himself, the vain and childlike, Apollo.  She would have defeated him in battle with little difficulty.  The fact that she was the only god or goddess born of a virgin birth and was also known as Athena Parthenos, for which her greatest temple, The Parthenon, was built, still stands as a testament to the status of what was once her being."



Mother looks to Aeron for confirmation.  With a nod, Aeron confirms her explanation.  Mother continues.



"Please be patient.  I understand what the more than significant implication was as to your appearance.  First, I will preface.  In ancient time's war among mortals, was commonplace.  Accepted then as fact, was that a mortal may kill a mortal, but that a mortal could never kill a god.  However, even upon a whim, a god may kill a mortal and would often do so.  On the other hand, only a god may kill a god.  This occurence was a rarity.  Yet if there were a war among gods, the lesser god would perish.  This is the lesser of the underlying implications.  Of them all, she was the most knowledgeable and kindest while at the same time the most fearsome and if necessary, the deadliest.



"Your appearance, to her, was the statement of what was to come.  She understood that she and the others would soon pass away only to become memories.  All would and all have except for her.  The question of why, begs the obvious answer;  because, she knew all of your thoughts.  My little one, without prompt, you had engaged the gods of the time, and had defeated them by your mere presence.  The eagle, which met you, was not from Olympus, it was from the One you represented.  She believed you and in everything that you had instantly taught her.  This much you may understand as the underlying implication.  My sweet, you poisoned the well!  Your mere presence, without malice, foretold their doom.  Your appearance, with that of His Eagle, was simultaneous and analogous.  You became the greater part of the metaphor.  As surely as if you carried His arrows into battle, you pierced the hearts of the lesser gods and doomed them all.  Though you had never drawn blood in battle, with but a thought, you had in essence killed them all!  That your appearance belied your ability, to destroy, was unfathomable.  Truly, a more terrifying opponent than any had known.



"Christopher, several times Brisa has asked you to consider your appearance and the one who slew Hector.  Please listen, she tried to make you understand that the greatest warrior of all times was clothed the same by his mother.  She feared for him and his life.  Chris, she dressed him as a girl.  Should I dishonor him by calling him a sissy?  Even if I did not call him that humiliating name, did that make him a sissy?  You of all should know better.  I told you before you are not a sissy!  Neither was he!



"To the one who saw and understood your thoughts, you had traded places with the most feared warrior of all times.  It was bewildering, that the beautiful child she beheld was as terrifying a phantom, with whom neither she nor any other could contend.  So far, I believe you have just understood, but only this portion.  There are other implications as well, but for the moment...

[teddi]

"listen.



"The counsel she offered Astyanax was accompanied with an unmentioned price and its consequences have been profound.  My ever-beautiful prince, it is here where you, mentally, must address the question I had posed to Elias.  Was the tale told in a fashion, whereby the greatest of the Greeks who slew Hector did so himself?  If so, then the recollection is in error.  In fact, it is but the first of several omissions.  Remember, that in war, mortal may kill mortal; but a mortal may never and could never kill a god.  Please, consider, the warrior, who slew Hector, was not an ordinary mortal:  he was half-god, having been born to the goddess Thetis.  Thus by implication, no mortal could have killed him.



"Furthermore, Hector, knew this but still chose to fight.  It is for that reason he has been called the "reluctant warrior."  As Brisa has so insightfully observed, it would seem that for years upon end, you have likewise followed suit, unwillingly, until now, to fight.  Nevertheless, this observation belies the point, that the greatest of the Achaens who fought Hector, did not do so by himself.  A goddess also aided the ferocious half-god Achilles.



"First, she fooled Hector into chasing her disguised form around the walls of Troy three times.  It was then, exhausted and having only but his sword to continue, when your ancestor finally realized that he had been deceived, did he turn back to fight the powerful Achilles.  But, unkown to him, the very same goddess had aided Achilles further, having also retrieved and returned to him, his miss-thrown spear.  The proverbial deck had been stacked against Hector.  In this battle, when sword turned to meet spear, the spear prevailed.



"Please, remember, that until your appearance, a mere mortal could never and had never; killed a god.  The thought, even to the gods themselves, was anathema.



"Sadly there is more.  She also forewarned the Achaeans, and Odysseus, of Astyanax's potential greatness and caused them to fear his retribution; and to all who awaited the young prince's downfall, silently, she further infuriated them.  She was one ... who ... I ... am ... sorry ... had a terrible impulse for vengeance.  Do you begin to understand the darker implications?



"My little one, you had been betrayed by the very one ... who stood counsel at your side ... Athena Nike.  All this is true."



Mother looks to Aeron for confirmation. With the slightest nod it is approved.  Mother continues.



"The remainder of her consultation was starkly different from her induced and tormented images of what would happen if I failed.  Her raison d'tre ... her reason for being ... was explained in simple terms.  The incongruity, of the beautiful child who, without malice, could with a thought kill or save, was shattering.  She had maliciously hurt the little one, whose thoughts would eventually save her; the contradiction was too great to bear.  She knew all of your thoughts, and believed.  It is for that reason that she exists.  That was all, which was needed.  The goddess of wisdom understood, that just your thought in the belief of Whom you represented, that He would save her; but to her the truth then ceased to be a matter of congenial perspective.  What she once valued as a cherished convenience of perception was to become decidedly cold and ineffable.  As a result, her sum total diminished, piece by piece, each falling away, until only the purest of thought would remain.



"The tears you have cried, and rightfully so, for so many years, are understandable.



"However, the net of deceit goes further.  Your recollection of who hurled you from the precipice is also knotted within this mesh of trickery.  Odysseus did not throw the young prince Astyanax, or those who presumed him to be, from the cliff.  Talthybius, the herald of the Greeks, was charged by Odysseus to throw him from the cliff.  However, the herald could not bring himself to do so because of the child's beauty: therefore, a slave child was substituted in his place.  If you were the "Herald," of what was to happen then the herald of what would pass should be the instrument of your demise; to her, the impulsive thought contained certain symmetry.  That is the first version, which the medium presented.



"However, there are many others.  The second reflection glimpsed, is that upon being led to the summit, the young prince turns and pulls free from the grasps of both the herald and Odysseus and willingly leaps naked to his death: thus becoming the child's own personal victory; in a reprisal denied.



"The third manifestation offered, was that Astyanax, was somehow rescued and that along with his Mother, Andromache and a warrior prince by the name of Aeneas, himself a half-god, escaped to a land discovered by Odysseus, and there fell in love with a princess called Hyanthe."



Again Aeron's confirmation is sought and her silent consent is give once more.



"Christopher, she said that there were many other possibilites, but that of the three major versions only you might differentiate.  Nevertheless, understand that the most terrifying aspect of the mediums counsel was, in her own words, that, "Regardless of the vision selected, that all might be true:  for to the child, it simply was only a matter of time."  Only now do you begin to understand the more ominous implications.  Of the many times you have wandered back, the limitless outcomes, except for one, have always resulted in unhappy endings.  If Astyanax would die for you, alternatively, how many times have you, in your dreams, died in his place?  Your every venture, back, further twists the fabric of the spoken tale.



"In your simile, that I choose one pen over the other, you pose the conundrum of which would be the correct choice.  Understand, while on the one hand, to choose, I would be bound to the account of the epic I believed in; yet on the other, if I had not matched your discriminate choice, what would be the result?  To which version of the fable must I adhere?  Which shall be the basis for my belief?



"It is not that I did not believe in you, it is because I did, that I constantly pushed you away.  I cannot favor one above the other.  If I were to have held one closer, favored one over the other, the admission would have been made, and by doing so, all souls considered may have been lost to us forever.  Your little game is not a trifling amusement, for in its finality, your lives or deaths as well as mine are the uncertainties.



"You did not choose me to fail you nobly.  Nor did you choose me to honor you as a failure.  You chose me to fight for ... you.  If I am a disappointment, then regretfully, the burden is mine, not yours."



Mother awaits my response but I refuse to reply to the admission.  With the certain tone of disappointment in her voice she continues.



"The medium went on and claimed you to be the exemplar of knighthood while possessing all aspects of the perfect warrior and that when in battle, that you would exhibit exceptional prowess in arms; and then with her next breath stated, "That of the "Nine Worthies" the child is the sum of the greater parts."



Mother stares impassively at Brisa and concludes, "The first portion of that statement I understood but I am at a loss as to who or what the "Nine Worthies" are.  I must now confess that I am ashamed, for this portion of my revelation, has until now been concealed and while I had rehearsed what I had spoken before, of this I could not have prepared in advance.  I had, however, acted upon the first half; it was my desire to hide you, as Achilles was hidden by his mother, as a girl."



Brisa recognizes Mothers quick glance with an approving smile.



Once more Mother looks to me for a response.  I offer none.  Brisa takes the stage once more.



"Julia, please, there are other small pieces of information with which I am familiar, specifically, your quandaries as to the "Nine Worthies."  Perhaps now would be an appropriate moment to explain why I had asked Christopher if he could speak French.  May I proceed?"



Without waiting for a reply, Mrs. Agapp all but dismisses Dads attempt to speak by simply lifting her right hand with index finger extended upward, the universal signal to hold on for one second.  Mentally I giggle that at least it was not the universal signal of the middle finger being extended upward.  She turns to speak directly to Aeron, giggling as she does.



"My apologies Aeron, obviously you are no ordinary stranger.  If I offended you by considering you a xenos, forgive me, you are family.  Mr. Markison, forgive me as well but I consider myself a student of literature and on this inquiry, I may speak unequivocally; though Aeron may correct me if I am in error.  Simply stated Julia, the "Nine Worthies" were divided into triads, three men each.  Each triad represents  the exceptional heroes who were the paragons of chivalry within the pagan, Jewish or Christian traditions or cultures.  Within the Nine Worthies, two were related.



"Specifically, Hector, the valiant defender of Troy was the first of the Nine Worthies.  I will ask the rhetorical question of Aeron.  Is this true?"



Aeron's broadening smile and sparkling eyes acknowledge Brisa's statement as correct.



"And of the nine, all except for Hector, were considered conquering heroes.  Hector, and here I apologize, being the only failure in combat.  Is this true as well?"



Aeron's lips form the one word response.  "True."



Brisa turns her attention towards me.  "So my little noble, Christopher Astyanax, descendant of Hector, you are indeed a most precious and formidable personage.  If several versions of the fable can be true, have you connected the dots?  Forgive me; I did not mean to be flippant with you.  With your preoccupations, you have not, for it is Astyanax, the presumed lost son of Hector, who holds the key.  He is the source.



"Christopher, you are, my precious child, truly, even greater than your long deceased ancestor, or mine.  Forgive me, but as I said before, I have an affinity for the inexplicable.  I asked if you could speak French.  Of course, you can.  Your reply to my inquiry was wondrous.  Christopher Astyanax, your mother has cued the recollection and I will elaborate.  



"Your Mother stated that Astyanax fell in love with a girl named Hyanthe, after fleeing Troy, to lands discovered by Odysseus.  The lands he fled to were named:  Corsica and Sardinia.  Once there, Astyanax sought to hide from further reprisals; he renamed himself Francus.  Astyanax, married Hyanthe, he became the founder of French royalty.  A city in France is named after his brother, whose name was, Paris.  Moreover, he was the ancestor of Charlemagne, who was also one of the Nine Worthies.  And as a further point, the warrior Aeneas, who led Astyanax from Troy, was the founder of Rome!  Even tangentally, my child you have done much!"



In stunned comprehension, Mother realizes that once again, even without malice, she has been bitch slapped!  Brisa nods for Mother to resume her explanation.  



Dejected, she realizes that the stage, once more, is hers and struggles to continue.



"Before you were born...the visions presented to me...have... I ... mean had...always run their course...through my nights sleep.  Each version of your fall did not escape my minds eye...and...in each adaptation...your appearance was as...stunningly beautiful...then...as it is now.  Each time...you fell...I could only hear the sound...of rushing air...there were no other sounds...not...until I...heard your form meet...the rocks below...and regardless of the variation...never...never...even with your last breath...did you cry out...nor...did you shed a tear.  Upon your...birth...the visions ceased.  Until now...all...that remained...were the waking memories.



"Christopher, please, I am not that blind...I believe you are...more...than the sum total of whom you have been...and you cut me to the quick, to think that I would not sacrifice myself for you.  I will not accept your threatened promise.  I refuse to consider it.  Please, would you shed...but even..one tear...for...me?"



Steadfastly I stare at her and refuse to answer.  I am as cold to her as the mirror into which we both have stared.  I shake my head, side to side, and dismissively exhale a discernable nasal and distaining "Hmmphf."  While I have not turned my back on her, it is a side of me she has not seen before.



Christine's video feed resumes and I am able to follow Mothers sorrowful eyes wandering, from me to focus upon Brisa, as she continues to speak.  



"Do you understand the fear...of not being able to hold close...someone that you love?  That even a loving touch would condemn them as well as yourself.  That but the slightest of touches would be considered repulsive and cause them to withdraw.  If my heart were otherwise, open, even your sweet, would have been lost.  Brisa, I envy that you have not been cursed yourself."



Mentally I note the last word of her innocent admission.



"I have been damned through time, to this point, constantly understanding this contradiction; that my actions, my thoughts, or even my touch, would bring nothing but pain.  What I held once in my hands I heartlessly pushed away, only to realize all too late, the price I would pay.  At the very moment of realizing the horrendous mistake...she has been forever obliged to you.  The cold truth, and naught but the truth, is uncaring and is deemed as unloving.  You have stated this as fact and it is true, but only to this point.  I have been torn enough and have had my fill...no more...I refuse...I cannot continue to be the obstruction I have been.  I will not be a party to yet another intemperate and arbitrary decision.  I will no longer be the arbiter of convenience.



"Chris, I cannot and will not again trump your heart with a spade.  For my part, there will be no tricks played with the hearts that are now in question.  Both of you have all but told me to go to hell...and...deservedly so.  Christopher, if you would send me there, with a thought, could it be worse than what I have already gone through?  Without a doubt, even hell, to some degree, would be more pleasing,  Forgive my witticism."



Once more, I ignore her.



"Now however, what is not in doubt was the unmentioned price, the cost, which at first consideration was meant as a gift, given in recompense as an everlasting tribute, in essence, a partial repayment of indebtedness, to you.  But to you, here and now, it is uncomforting.  While it was not in her power to grant life, it was within her authority to grant, something exceptional.  She bestowed upon you the gift of perpetual beauty.



"Consequently, in whatever lifetime, from that point on, you then followed; regardless of whatever life you lived, singularly, you would always be a most beautiful boy.  Chris, however to the contrary you may desire, who when looked upon, you will always be mistaken for a girl.  From this, you cannot hide, nor can you run away.



"There was no indication, that a boy's beauty would be used to disgrace him.



"My poor attempt to force you to decide, was just that.  A poor attempt to reconcile.  It is not in your power to decide which you will be.  Remorsefully it is no longer in mine.  When you led me by the hand to her gate, it was impossible for me to determine if it were an endearing little girl or the most beautiful boy, I had ever seen who once again stood beside me.  She laughed at my quandary.  Moreover, she was unapologetic in her description of you stating, "You have long ago established your son's beauty and it will never change."  Her additional words that, "With little effort, you could appear to be either male or female," left little to my imagination.  I'm sorry.  This apparent condemnation I truly regret, forgive me?

[teddi]

I respond intensely to the obvious.  "Forgive you?  Forgive you?!  Of the many things you could ask for, you ask this?  If I were to forgive you anything else, it would be a miracle!  Of all the things you could have cursed upon me, you had to go and make me look...pretty?  Who gets the bonus points for that, you or me?!  Go ahead and blow it off - you always do.  Oh sure, you can always rationalize it away, you always have.  Don't forget to throw in that false sneer of a smile and tell me I'll grow out of it!  Dare ya!  Any other surprises you're holding onto or are you stashing them for just the right time?"



Perhaps she understands that some things are better left unsaid, her silence and painfully forced smile of regret is short lived.



Out of the corner of my eye Mother's quivering smile wavers then falls away, broken, as she looks towards Melinda, who ever so cautiously and silently, has edged past Brisa and nervously approaches with the asked for pull-up extended in her right hand.  Mother nods towards me and gently speaks to her, "Please, do not say anything, just give it to Chris, he can excuse himself and put it on in his bathroom."



Christine's thoughts start to thump me.  "Don't turn your head away and look at me you doofus!  Look at her when you take it!  Jeez-m-nee, your two "pees" in a pull-up!  Sorry, couldn't resist!  But seriously, if you're condemned to forever look like a girl at least be polite to the one who thinks you're pretty and irresistibly mouth-watering!  I just hope you don't keep on suffering from SRS!  Damn, you sure as hell can be one cross bitch!"



My quizzical look is met with her grinning and whispered reply, "SRS...Sperm Retention Syndrome.  If you keep this up, were both gonna suffer major league from your continuous SRH...that's short for Sperm Retention Headache!"



My whispered come back to her chiding, "SRS...my butt," is delightfully laughed away.



In any event, with as much grace as possible, I accept the folded white pull-up, and offer a wary smile, as I nod my appreciation in return.  It then occurs to me, why bother excusing myself to put on what in just a couple of minutes I'm going to totally waste or lose out on wearing anyway.  So...I do the obvious...standing in place, it takes little effort to unfold and step into each respective leg opening and just...pull-em up.  I figure, if I'm going to face Dad in the buff, with an audience, modesty can go to hell along with whatever or whoever else is going to meet up with it!  With that completed thought, I pull the cover-up down off my shoulders, and let it drop to the floor.



Mother's attempt to regain her composure once more falters as she gathers the cover-up the moment I step out of it, and less than casually tries tossing it behind me, back towards the bathroom door.  It doesn't make it half way to the opening and the soft "wumpf" sound it makes, as a parachute capturing air, can clearly be heard, as it expands and spreads down to meet the floor; also audible is the soft, one word, crappy expletive she utters at her unsuccessful left-handed lack luster performance.



Melinda's still red and watery eyes have followed the failed toss; uncalled for, but insistently, they call my attention back to her emotions.  Upon backing away, without a word, she proffers me the wink of an eye, and coyly, shrugs her shoulders, thereby offering me yet another aspect of the once stilled life image, who audaciously vies for my notice.  As she withdraws, her eyes constantly move up and down, the length of my body, taking in every part.  Of the two times they stop moving, both times she fixates at the rounded base of my pull-ups; and each time she pauses, she wets her lips with the rolling of her tongue and just as quickly darts her eyes upward to stare directly into mine, as if in wide eyed..insatiable...anticipation.



Brisa gently and lovingly, reaches out; placing both of her hands on Melinda's shoulders, and tenderly guides her last steps backward, there again to embrace what is dearest to her, nearer.  Bending to whisper to her sweet, she asks, "Opus s'agapo, eseis na me agapesei?"  (As I love you, do you love me?)



Melinda replies to her mother's kind question with but one word.  "Nai."  (Yes)



"Katopin mou gliko, thumatai eikeenes tis lexies otan melate epeita.  Tous expraste me teen agapei."  (Then my sweet, remember those words when you speak next.  Express them with love.)



Once more, I find myself trying to look past Melinda, smiling at Mrs. Agapp and think of what an astonishing woman she is.  Truly, very little appears to escape her.  My silent reverie is broken when Mother rests her delicately cupped hand upon my right cheek, suggesting, that I guide my face back towards her seated position.  I recognize the magnitude of the emulated touch, it is offered to be as gentle as that tendered by Brisa, but more importantly, the intent of the proffer is discernible, and it is no longer that of an absolute.  It is a question, long-suffering, awaiting reply.



For the first time ever that I can remember, Mother's fingers, at long last, are not cold to the touch; but what is more important, is, that I do not try and pull away from her grasp as I have for all eternity done.  Unsuspectingly, it is the second thought, which matters most.  We finally are of the same mind.



She continues, "Truly, I understand your anger.  I am sorry.  Today, I can offer no excuse."



The three within agree, that at last, Mother has grasped the obvious.  I am of the same mind as she continues.



"But, what hurts most is when you claimed you had, so affectionately fallen asleep in her arms, while each time I have tenderly tried to hold you closer, even the thought of my touch has repulsed you.  Please, will you turn your head back and look at me?  Do...you...you do...recognize the face...is it still...so loathsome...and my smile...still so...so hateful?



With that thought, I once again begin to cry as we willingly turn to face her.



"If it is any consolation, your mirrored image curtsy was perfect.  As is everything else, which..."  Mother's dazed look at my face is worth the price of admission.  No pun intended.  Well, yes there was but what the hell!



My soft non-sequitur of, "I've got plenty more than one left in the well to spare," is for the moment, lost upon her; but it allows me the opportunity to look at her from another and now timely perspective.  At last, "To sumpatho."



Trying to wipe my face and hers with the hem of her smock, she alternatively moves from my eyes to her face, repeating the process several times, and is unaware that it is the tear from the well she requested and that, this time, it will not run dry.



As she attemps to compose herself, through the several moments of comparative silence, she attempts to quash her repeated sniffling, trying to explain further.  But, at the onset of doing so, she begins to remove the bows and pink scrunchies from my hair.  I don't have to be a mind reader to figure out why either.  As the day I was born means exactly that, bare butt, hair and all!



With the removal of the last scrunchy, Mother pauses for a moment but seemingly and abruptly changes the subject only to revisit a previous observation.  Yet most notable are the continuous and meandering uncertainties of her thoughts, which now begin to encompass her.  I believe that she, finally, has followed the path.



"Im sorry...your image...the curtsy...in the mirror...it was...perfect.  As...as well...as your names...yes that...that was it...everything .... I promised to explain about...everything...which was...perfect...perfect...even the names!  I mean the names you have been. Certainly, you have had many other names but only four of them...only... four....of all whom you championed, did you selct to take with you.  The four chosen were interlocked to the other and of the many other names you have held, the remainder did not perfectly interconnect:  only four met the requisites.  But...all that is...obvious? Then why...should I...repeat...the obvious?



"A moment. Please. Time after time, each instance you went back...it was your choice...to do so. Yet repeatedly you

went back. Repeatedly...as if always searching...probing time...for...a precise consequence to your return...the trips were... not for...Astyanax...but...each visitation was...to offer...what...the end...to...the...fable?  No.  The repetitive wanderings were not...no...they were not random acts...nor were they meant to alternatively die...to the contrary...they were undertaken with purpose and resolve. To...secure an...outcome. A resolution. But then ...by inference...if there is a desired conclusion...to be offered...or indeed preferred...other than those which are known...what is the ideal alternative?  Or, alternatively...could be?



"Wait, but a moment...if all...the alternative versions of the tale are true...and there are countless others...so many more...but...if...all are true...Brisa's observation is inacurrate.  You have never...cowed...never wavered.  With each...variation of the legend...as stated...you were the constant.



"But then...was each offering truly a failure? Time...I need more time to...decide...as to the...the...darker implications....all of them...all of them? All? You were, were ...well...aware of them...all?



"Logically, then with each variation except for the one which we find ourselves in now, with each deviation it was but a stepping stone along a path, forward and back, until, until the suitable outcome you sought was attained!  Totally committed, undaunted, you entered the warren!  Time had become your personal labyrinth, seemingly at each dead end, with each presumed failure, you learned.  Dutifully, loyally you repeated the scenario...until...until it was perfected.  No, that is not correct...it was necessary that you exit the maze..."



Mother quickly turns her attention to Brisa, using her words as one would a sword to fend and parry an opponents thrusts,"Not as a forlorn, or pitiful child, but victorious! You would emerge...victorious."



Mother's eyes turn again towards me.  She does not notice the nods of approval from both Brisa and Aeron D. It is just as well that she continue.



"But now...now...you are well aware of each failure...but truthfully...if...if you were or are well aware...of them all...again it is the figure of speech...I am so wretchedly blind!  A pen's well will write as long as it does not run dry!  But so too may one's tears well from their source!



"Wait!  I must put this aside for a moment and ask.  Christopher, you admitted that...you scripted much, but, how much.  No.  That is not right...I'm sorry.  I did not mean to make a joke...I should have said...that is not correct...a single word...now...which I could not take back...would make a difference.  Ohhh...now who's the clever lad?!



"Your words, "I'm rubber your glue"...those were my thoughts of the chldish prattle at the reading and your mocking words moments ago.  You taunted me to look into the mirror.  Yes...it is the miror into which you looked while you berated me as two faced!



"One, the living, the other, an image.  My words to Brisa, "I envy that you...have not been...condemned yourself." As I spoke,I stood in front of the mirror...and and...and...stole a glance at my...reflection...it is my, my...reflections...which have..."



Mother lowers her head and shakes it back and forth, while mournfully murmuring, "The mirror will not lie...my reflections...have been self-condemning. That is the thought which has followed me...continually.



"Oh...no...what you offered...each time...with each venture back...was...a...choice.  I had...at one time...no...each time...it was...the freedom of choice...but the impulsive choice...was mine...which was forever...repetitively...

dreadfully wrong.  The freedom of making the right choice

..the first time...had forever escaped me.  Continually,you were never the one who failed.  Me, it was I, I was the first, who pushed you away...to fail you...repeatedly. But, of all the thousands of selections,of the countless choices, available to you...you brought yourself to...repeatedly

...face...me?  Again?



"Worthy?  Mathew Daniel found me worthy?  How on earth or in Heaven could I have ever been worthy?"



My reply is met with her stunned realizaton.  "Mother, hell, is merely a metaphor.  You, for thousands of years, have been self-condemned:  a mortal, a living prisoner of your own device.  Mathew Daniels judgment was a second opinion, you had been found, worthy, at least of release from the hell you had fashioned for yourself.  If you had failed, you would have continued existing to infinity, seemingly, to be forever alone.  Unaware of course, that I would still ever be the first to pursue...you.



"To this moment, I have continued to script that which is necessary.  To you, now, to some degree, that should be comforting.  And yes, I forgive your previous witticism.  Up to this moment, I have pursued you without end:  unless through your actions all the innocents are condemned; then sadly we shall begin anew, ad-infinitum.  Do you understand?"



Demurely, I continue, "However, the conundrum remains.  Even with your admission, you have not replied adequately.  You must render a decision.



"Nevertheless, for the moment please, continue with your explanation of what you find salient in the names I had or have taken; that much of a delay of game, without penalty, is warranted.  However, remember, at certain times, names, bring back distasteful ..."

[teddi]

"...long kept memories.  The Vault of Memories, but only your small portion, from which none escapes, must open.  I am sorry."



With an understandably perplexed look, Mother valiantly attempts, while stammering, to explain the obvious.  She is within the crucible, subjected to the forces, which will necessitate change and for her, there are but two alternatives:  lost to the darkness of infinity or the enlightenment of release.  Her hearing has begun.  Haltingly, and with pensive consideration she speaks.



"The first...Astyanax...was...a forgotten child.  No...he was never forgotten...he was virtually omitted...long ago...historically...all but vanishing...along with his uncommon name.  But...I...never...forgot him...how could...I...it...I mean...it...his name...actually means...the...High King or Overlord...of the city.  His second name...Hector.... is...I mean...was.  I'm sorrry...it means...the noble guardian...the anchor...the ever steadfast and unwavering defender who will...not give way...even with...unwarranted deception.  Duplicity...to what end...my...young warrior...prince?  The value...of honor...though failed...is to what cost?  Yet with thought...the comparable failure...the first...the most precious...was mine."



Bewildered she continues.  "He would not yield.  Three times round the walls, he chased...me... and then turned to fight upon the fourth.  If not for his child, he did not yield, why did...he not?  In hollow victory...what did I leave?  Coldly, even his child I ...took...everything...yet again.  But why...once more?  Of the many others, why, for this single deed, is there no contentment to the thought, which repeatedly consumes me?  Yet constantly I am pricked to do so.  Persistently, the image is unbidden, yet once more, expectantly, I wait:  for him.  With the certainty, he will come...soon.



"So too, his ever present companion, his talons* like none other, waits.  Always waits:  awaits his touch, waits and constantly watches, though for some reason, in this instance, his appearance is untimely, earlier by seconds.  Yes...as expected...it has happened...yet again, the unseen door has opened and will soon close, but whose unsightly talons* press that which when turned causes the bolt to be released from some hidden entrance and brings them both forth from the blinding illumination...to stand once more...before me?  On the other hand, is it otherwise, am I the one repeatedly summoned to stand before them?  To what end?  Mine?  Have I become...mordantly sardonic?



"But of course, behold, predictably the inescapable babe, of illusory sweet innocence approaches, as if timely summoned, repeatedly, to this moment.  Yet previously he has at all times been the first to appear and only for this instance, he is the second.  Always offered as the ever-beautiful vision, which slyly conceals the incomparable might he wields with peaceful abandon.  This youthful prince of destruction, arriving with the promise of more or the guarantee of certain death:  so fetchingly armored, ever so guilefully sheathed, inevitably, so deadly a blend and perpetually young is beckoned:  here, once more, but by whom?  Were I to believe, if, he were mine, I swear, he would always be so.



"Repeatedly, with unpretentious audacity, the still to be born, instantly appears from the shining portal, striding forward, stepping heedlessly, as on a well-worn path, to face me with unassuming impudence!  But then again, I envy the temerity of the alluring apparition of ruin.  Why, with each successive visitation, do I reflect upon the ever-growing conception, that as I stand beside the one I willfully took, if given the possibility, that I would discard my cold arms to watch and hold him as my own?



"To decide so, I would be shattered.  While he is Another's, it is the thought, of, holding my own, my, little one, in my arms, which in some way comforts me:  my little one.  Are my arms or the seemingly gentle arms of the child's the most deadly?  I should perish...upon...the thought.  I must perish the thought...or...perish.



"Then again, the time is late, the ritual communion between the two shall soon occur.



"Undeniably, once more, the gaze of his almighty escort differs, ever more than slightly; for now his jewel like eyes burrows discernibly further and deeper.  Keener and sharper than previously, they have become all encompassing; and, most intrusive.



"His attentiveness to the little one has changed as well, for now he stares not only upon the phantom that walks through all matter and mortals as if upon a whim; but for reason unknown, has turned his piercing eyes to me; if by appearance, calculating my worth.  With each random tear that has fallen to the sand, after each has touched soil, his eyes return, to me, as a cue.  Why am I now the heart of his recurrent attention?



"If I so cared, it is the thought of promise, that I would do the same, for my kindred spirit who would otherwise be lost.  Yet who cautions, "I must not soon forget?"  Forget, forget whom...my brother?  No, to the contrary, willingly, I would curse the far shooter^, as he cursed my highest.  With my silence of the danger, he will never wake! I am the one harried, to remember this moment repeatedly.  Could I forget this moment?  Why is the thought unlikely?  Once more, I brood...who originates the thought.



"Today, even the once shrewd Odysseus thoughts have altered.  Before, he relished the delight of revenge, letting none escape his anger.  Now inconsolably he sits in his tent, crying as Achilles did over his loss.  Drinking and cursing himself to no end while repeatedly muttering the nonsense of drunken mortals, that he would no longer seek unmerited reprisal upon Hectors child at my behest.  Poor fool, mortals have always killed one another and but given the notion, will continue to do so.



"I mirthfully ponder his words, "Never again shall I harm nor kill, what in time shall be mine."  Absurd.  Uttered madness.  When reminded, shall I enjoy his theatrics when I whisper those words?  But then, of all mortals I have most favored him...he has always been true to his word...perhaps, that is better left unsaid.



"Yet he moans to whoever will listen that he lives the same event repeatedly, though that each varies faintly from one to the other and swears  today's occurrence is like none other.  Crying to all that each time the child is disposed of he once again will come to stare in his eyes and face him.  What twaddle!  In his apprehension, the remaining paragon of the Achaeans is so like a god!



"He has always been contentious, but even so, quite insightful.  Never has he stayed his hand for vengence, but now vows to refrain and in no way again insert himself between the child and I should we contend again.  The very thought!  Another promise, made to be broken?"



Mother continues as Father can only silently stand.  Mrs. Agapp has once more grasped the cautious looks both Christine and I have shared towards Father.  As she inhales, her slight smile fades as she closes her eyes and shakes her head, side to side, as she red faced turns away from Fathers searching eyes and whispers to herself, "Egho dthothey lanthasmeni katenfthunse, kai ashamedly, exhei paixtei Jester...o anoetos.  (I have been misdirected, purposely, and ashamedly, have played myself...the jester...a fool.")



Her quick glance towards the amused Aeron D. confirms her supposition.  None of this is coincidence; she must play the hand dealt, in this game, the deck contains fifty four, she has been but one of two wild cards, the card of opportunity, the necessary trump!  I smile at the pleasurable thought my sister cannot control.  It is my sister's mischief!



Mother continues unaware that she now has garnered more than the sympathetic ear of her recent antagonist.



"How droll, as if this single-action, were to exactly occur once more.  But wait...the young tempest once more draws near.



"How strange that this time he is preceded with the fragrance of the gods, though the delicate scent is noticeably sweeter.  Perhaps Odysseus's observation is indeed farsighted, that yet again, this occurrence is unlike all others.



"Conceivably, it is so, for even his shepherd with talons extended now presses forward, more forcefully, as in watchful expectation.  Besides the moment, what shall this bird of prey eagerly seize?  What is of value, which he can grasp?  Only glistening tears have intensly captured his gaze, as if they were of consequence.



"If only for that, the moment is bare, save for the...spirits..who now come to face each other.



"The one, who now stands naked beside me, lovingly understood the unwarranted cursed madness of my priestess.  Miserably, my repeated reward to him was dealt with uncaring disdain and was equally unjust:  the laurel to him, a most cruel death.  Candidly, both were deserving of more while I gave less.  No.  For the one I did nothing.  For the other, I have been most cruel.  Yet, as of late, I so frequently have, but why?  Petulance?  Truly, I have fallen further than my thoughtless brother has.





"Soon, this inexplicable child of ages will ackowledge the other with a burst of tears and upon his touch, will again disappear.  Yet, repetively, almost willfully, he ignores me.  Odysseus's is no fool.  Always his instincts have been keen.  He relives the same moment as I do.  If such is the case, shall the touch of this child's hand, end in the same manner again?  If I were to intercede, would it be otherwise?  Strange, that as I consider this, that his guide would grow anxious.  Stranger still, the thought, which if I stayed the touch it would be of greater importance.  That in return all this would finally end.  To stay the touch this would end but to what conclusion.



"To intervene, to what effect would the alternative carry forth?  Extraordinary, that upon my muse his companions massive wings extend as if he were to shelter the child himself; and now, before my eyes grows in stature.  The bond between the two is evident; each cares for the other, if only by appearance, one more than the other.  Aquila pales to this creature.  What Aquila brought to Olympus was a gilded cupbearer.



"This one brings, no, he brings nothing, he offers, with his heart, as does the warrior he watches and guards:  the slayer of inconsistent devotion.  What loyalty and commitment to those whom sought my counsel and protection have I offered?  Am I as lost in this madness as Odysseus?



"As Odysseus?  No, not as Odysseus.  It is the opposite.  My ever-sagacious mortal would refrain!  No.  I must consider the obvious.  On the one hand, he has never stayed his hand.  Revenge is his nectar.  On the other hand, only in this matter, I have always stayed my hand, but not out of revenge, no, to the contrary.  Curiosity.



"The walking spirit repeatedly refuses to ackowledge me,and  turns his attention only to the other.  The other?  I have avoided his name repeatedly and have never been concerned, until now.  I have been ...

         

* talons...this also means the remaining portion of a deck of cards after a deal has been made.

^Far shooter... another name for Apollo and his archery

skills.

* talons...it is the part of the lock that the key presses when turned and which causes the bolt to slide out.