Pearls and Presence, Chapter Two- Forbidden

The Accuser lives here with me, and I don’t know how he got in except that I must have left a window open. I don’t like him here, but at least he keeps his distance most of the time. I have come to tolerate him. Only I don’t like that he always watches me, and sometimes he walks with me. He is often nearby but rarely speaks. Occasionally he will offer a brief suggestion. I feel that he is waiting, but I don’t know for what. I accept him because I don’t know how to make him leave. Usually he does not scare me. Only sometimes I do wish he would leave. Other times I am glad for a companion in this vast and empty place.

Why am I lonely?

~*~

          Knowing that she must protect her vineyard from her neighbors’ prying hands, Mara rapidly moved through her morning routine. She changed quickly into a tan, cotton dress which flowed gently to her ankles, sprinkled with tiny yellow rosebuds so small that it was difficult to tell what they were unless one looked close.  She glanced in the mirror, stood tall and approved of her dignified and courtly appearance. Although she was a very beautiful girl, she never thought so of herself.  She knew she was decent, presentable, with the appropriate touch of pride when she lifted her chin. She accepted her appearance matter-of-factly, nothing more and nothing less for this princess of the light, for she did not ever allow herself the luxury of arrogance.  Such reserved and simple self-perceptions were reinforced by her long, voluntary solitude on the island.

          Therefore Mara took no more time looking in the mirror than was necessary to pull her waist length, golden-brown hair into a high bun, secure it firmly with pins, and then hastily splash her face with cool water from the wooden basin which she had placed on her nightstand.  She rushed out of her room with an air of graceful hurry, flying down the steps to the kitchen.  She pulled up a stool and ate quickly, as she did not want to face her unwelcome visitor without the basic sustenance to rebuke him.

     Then she pushed open the front door and allowed the morning light to greet her with the kiss of the salty ocean breeze. She was drawn out by the sound of waves as they applauded her appearance. The sunlight made a faint golden halo around her head where it struck her light brown hair from just the right angle.

          The day was warm and the sun was bright.  Clusters of giant white tugboat clouds moved across the blue sky, reflecting their images in the pools of water that had formed in some nearby marshes.  Already, many birds out on the water were diving and scooping up beaks full of sea life to bring back to their young.  Turning her face away from the sun, Mara shaded her eyes and spotted the intruder in the north garden, leaning over a large cluster of white blossoms.  He appeared to be examining their leaves, and a small pile of uprooted roses sat in a cart behind him.

Even from a distance, his charisma and attractive physical features were apparent. His name was Achor. He lived in the valley neighboring her home, and he was the keeper of the idols, those lifeless objects which were the source of Mara’s shame.

She had never learned why Achor first came to her island, except that his purpose in life was to follow her around in close observation of her every move, accusing her of things and questioning her motives. There was a great deal left to criticize, after all.

He especially liked to remind her about the idols he saved for her in the Valley. She didn’t like this topic and refused to discuss it with him. It still brought her great inner pain and turmoil. Occasionally he would offer a brief suggestion about returning to visit the idols for worship, and that always made her feel deeply conflicted. He would remind her that she had not worshiped at those altars in so long, and he would look at her with condemning eyes. And her heart would threaten to break again.

His eyes were always knowing, charming, searching. And they made her completely forget her own Divine inner power.

Achor was a gentleman, despite his sometimes irreverant disposition. But there was one exception to his gallantry- when he pried into her vineyard of white roses it was the only time he directly opposed her wishes and invaded her personal space. Just as he was doing now. Otherwise he never too closely imposed himself where he was not wanted- he knew better.

He made it obvious that he didn’t like her white roses and often searched violently among them, pulling off the ones he didn’t like. He was looking for something- she wouldn’t ask what, she would just order him to get out. And he did- only to return at a later time when she least expected it and her guard was down. She often forgot to shield herself from his influence.

She hurried over the sandy grass to her rose garden, her dress billowing in a sudden gust of soft sea breeze.  There was a warning in the air even now, but she ignored it in her haste. As Mara approached him, she made a mental note not to think of her dream.  He could not read her mind, but Achor was very skilled at reading her face, and she knew the dream would translate as fear in her expression. 

He didn’t look up from the flowers in front of him when Mara spoke.

“Excuse me,” she said firmly, planting her feet and crossing her arms defiantly. “I would have been out here sooner, but I didn’t realize you would be meddling in my garden today. As I have said before, you are not welcome to work in my vineyard. I don’t want you in my rose bed. These belong to me and they are mine."

“Goodmorning Mara.” His voice was flat, as if he was too caught up in his work to pay her any attention. He was examining a white petal closely.

Achor pulled off the cluster of white roses he was studying and threw them into the cart with a dismissive gesture, then moved and lifted up two more from a neighboring plant nearer to the fence.  He continued to scrutinize them carefully, turning them this way and that in his tan, skillful hands.  

Mara bent down to move the cart away from him. He glanced over at her movement, and then his gaze drifted slowly from her head to her feet and back again, then returned to linger on her face- he studied her with the full attention of curious eyes. Then he lost interest and returned his attention to the work at hand. 

Mara stared at him in silence for several minutes, feeling violated and tapping her foot as she watched him ravage the flower.  She instinctively knew that he was waiting for her to do or say something, but she didn’t know what. The lack of conversation began to bother her even more than the unspoken tension between them.  She wondered if Achor knew something new that prompted him to raid her garden with such blatant irreverence.  

She uncrossed her arms and placed them on her hips, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Just as she was about to muster the courage to order him away, he finally broke the long tense silence.

          “I came here today because I heard you crying out in your sleep.”  He stood up to his full height, straightened himself and ran his free hand through his black hair. He threw the crushed roses he had been holding into the cart. As he stepped out of the rose bed, he wiped his hands carefully on a towel draped over the side of the fence with the grace of a proper gentleman. Then striding towards her purposefully, Achor closed the gap between them and looked down at Mara with an expression of feigned concern. Tilting his head, he arched an eyebrow and asked, “What was wrong?” His handsome eyes were very dark.

          Mara hesitated and looked away. His air of chivalrous gallantry was daunting and made it hard to think.  She didn’t realize that she had been crying out loud in her sleep during the night.  But as she could see, Achor already knew the truth, and so she decided beat him to the admission.  “I had the dream about a storm again.” And the man in white came for me this time- she instinctively knew she should not mention Him, because that part made Achor violently jealous. She would never speak of Him again.

          He sighed, a spark of worry flashing in his eyes, and he quickly turned his face away from Mara towards the ocean.  “I thought as much,” he said, an unusual hint of uncertainty in his voice.  Mara pushed back loose strands of brown hair out of her face as she followed his gaze out towards the bay.  Then she looked back at him, observing his strong profile against the light of the sun. She thought of the wild and regal man who she saw in her dream.

She recalled the mysterious boat she had glimpsed last night- or did she only imagine it? She wondered briefly if Achor had seen it, and what he would do if a visitor came to Empire Island. She shivered at the possibilities.

After several seconds of gazing out towards the bay, Achor turned back to Mara, a masked expression on his face where there had been worry moments earlier.  “I suppose,” he paused and gestured with one hand to her garden, ”I suppose you really should reconsider turning over this vineyard to my care. You are obviously under too much stress managing all of them. It seems you are not capable of handling them.” He pointed accusingly at her roses.

          Mara lifted her head proudly, snorted arrogantly at his suggestion and reacted in anger to push away Achor’s hand just as he was sweeping it in the direction of her rose bed. 

          The minute her fingers brushed his, Mara knew she had made a huge mistake. It was always anger that got her into trouble with Achor. It was innate fear of his opinion that made her lash out at him, and every time that happened shame had the last word in their conversation, just as it did now.

With an animal reflex he moved his hand so that he was gripping her wrist firmly, her small hand open towards him in the graceful pose of a beseeching prayer. He held it there tightly for several seconds, looking right past it and boring his eyes into her own. He was taking some of her dignity and power away. He remained silent in order to cultivate her shame and bring his own strength to fruition.

Their eyes were locked in battle- time stood still, and there was an aura of light glowing around Mara even as his knowing gaze penetrated into her soul. She held his look with equal intensity, refusing to break away. She knew better than to resist him, and knew to bide her time with learned patience. When he looked at her like that she knew he could see way down into her fears, where her shame was. And these were the opportunities for him to learn about her weaknesses. 

So she abandoned her uncertainty and stared back at him boldly. She called on her self-worth and goodness and channeled the image in her dream of the Rescuer in white.

This was not the first time he took advantage of her contact with him, nor would it be the last. He never once touched her first, it was always her move- this enemy of hers could not have access to her being without her expressed consent. And so many times she thoughtlessly gave him permission to overpower her by her own careless choices. For some reason she could never remember that reaching out to him in anger always ended in more pain and regret. And like a snake waiting to strike, he always took full advantage of it.

She had made the choice to connect with him, slapping his hand in animal fear, and now she knew the price would be a little piece of her dignity. So she waited until he was satisfied, until he had taken what he wanted from her steady gaze. This was how he possessed her soul, piece by piece, one mistake after another.

But the moment, though powerful, was ever so brief, and though their eyes remained in combat, Achor slowly released his grip. Mara jerked away and cradled her offended hand close against her heart, still staring back in offense. The hole he left in her spirit filled with arrogance now. She found her voice and spoke in a tone that defied her fear. She raised her chin higher and spoke loudly.

“I don’t need help with my vineyard. I want to work alone! Alone! This is why I came here in the first place, to keep my white roses to myself.”  She couldn’t keep a hint of desperation from her voice.  “There is nothing wrong- I have a harmless, reoccurring dream.  Nothing will ever come of it, and it has nothing to do with you! Nothing.” 

Flustered now, Mara bent down and picked up the last uprooted flowers near her feet, throwing them into the cart without even looking.  She continued to glare at Achor with all the malice she could muster as she shook the dirt off of her own hands and walked hastily around to the other side of the cart. 

Anger was unbecoming and unnatural to her bright blue eyes and courtesan face. Achor could read it like a hawk and knew just what to say.

          “You know you can’t keep this up forever, it’s too hard for you to do this by yourself. You mismanage the white roses and make so many mistakes with them...” Achor’s voice trailed off as he considered his next words carefully.  “You really should reconsider sharing your vineyard with me. I know exactly what to do with them.”  He smiled victoriously, seeing Mara’s discomfort at such a remark, then qualified his suggestion by saying, “I’m worried about you, that’s all. The gardening is too much work for you to handle by yourself. This vineyard is too great a burden. You should let me advise you- let me get involved. Let me help you tend your white roses. Give them to me.”

          “No. They are not for you, they are for Someone else.” Mara found her strength from the sound of the sea and the salty breeze it sent her way. She pictured the man in white, walking towards her, and felt that He was affirming her resistance to such a temptation. “No, Achor. There is no need for worrying and no need for your advice or your help. I have told you before- I don’t want you in my garden. I want you to leave my vineyard alone. My white roses are none of your business, they are mine to give to whom I choose.”

In her fear Mara added haughtily, “And now all the ruined flowers must be discarded of properly,” she gestured angrily at the cart beside them. She avoided any more eye contact with Achor as she lifted the cart up on its wooden wheels, because she was afraid he might see the doubt in her eyes. She clenched her jaw with stubborn determination as she lifted the cart, preparing to walk away.

Achor moved out of her way with a low bow and then grabbed his hat, which was resting on a nearby fence, and donned it with a sweeping arc of his arm. He looked closely at her as she continued her rebuke.

“I will take this to the beach and give them a proper burial, and I don’t want you to come with me. You are forbidden!”  She knew he would retreat now, because he never followed her when she rejected him.

“Ah! Forbidden, am I? Just so.” Achor found this choice of words to be comically delicious, and it showed up in the satisfied grin which spread across his handsome face. He reached up to tip his hat to her, nodded slightly and turned on the full force of his charisma. He spoke with exaggerated respect, “Yes, ma’am. Forbidden. As you wish.”

She felt utterly violated by his easy compliance. Mara turned her back to him and felt she had somehow lost the battle, because without a doubt he would return again with more temptations.

And as she turned from him, she heard him say in his genteel manner, “I will see you soon, Mara.” He arched an eyebrow and laughed softly to himself as he watched her walk away, narrowing his gaze and nodding his head. He would indeed be back- just as soon as she started to miss him. She would always long for the forbidden fruit of his presence.

~*~

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Join me next time for chapter three! 

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With gratitude for all my readers- 

Rebecca