Mrs. Grace and Me

If you think that I was somewhat arrogant about my own intellect in relation to that of the girls and women I knew, you'd be right. But in youth most of us think we know the answers to all possible questions, and if everybody did what we told them the world would be put to rights. It's only later in life you discover you don't have all the answers, and in fact you're no longer even sure what the questions are.

That aside, Mrs. Grace's interest in me took on a subtle form of guidance. My reading over the years had been somewhat serendipity. Gradually she led me to more structured reading and I virtually became not only her friend, but her private student; so much so that by the end of the first year of our growing friendship she was teaching me Greek and Latin which, she said, would enable me to read some ancient texts in their original language.

By that time I was heading for my final year at high school, and it was then that the conflict at home heated up. I was doing poorly in most of the subjects that would lead to my fulfilling my parent's ambitions for me, but with history and geography in particular I was doing extremely well.

My relationship with Mrs. Grace came in for much of the blame, but they did not go as far as trying to forbid me to visit her. It wouldn't have worked anyway because my life had become so intertwined with hers. If her library was paradise, she was the angel in paradise.

I had spoken with Mrs. Grace about the conflict over my future, and she had said nothing very much at the time, except to say that it was obvious where my future lay.

As I later discovered she at some time when I was not present spoke to my parents about me. What exactly was said I don't know, but whatever it was, my parents, if somewhat grudgingly, finally agreed to my taking university subjects in line with my own wishes.

* * * * * * * *

On the one hand it could be said that I'd developed a close relationship with Mrs. Grace. We were frequently in each other's company and we shared interests; she even suggested I stop calling her "Mrs. Grace," and called her Asha. On the other hand I knew virtually nothing about her more intimate personal life.

Apart from me she seemed to have no other acquaintances or friends who called on her, yet she must have had some association with her university colleagues.

There was one time in the week when I couldn't visit her, and that was when she went off on her Sunday afternoon jaunts. As I've already indicated, if Asha was not the most beautiful woman in the world – whatever that may mean – she was certainly one who drew your attention; and so along with other residents in the Grove I suspected that she went to a lover. Little did I suspect how close I and the Grove residents were to the truth, although that truth turned out very differently from our salacious imaginings.

That she was married, or had been, I was certain. This knowledge came from the one photograph she had on display. It stood on her desk in a silver frame, and it was obviously not a professionally posed picture but a snap shot that had been enlarged.

Two lines of soldiers stood facing each other with swords raised to form an arch. Beneath the arch was a young man, handsome in his army officer's uniform, and his bride who was unmistakably Asha.

Since Asha chose not to talk about her private life, I felt I could not ask her, but I was extremely curious. Where was her husband; where they separated? Divorced? Was he dead?

* * * * * * * *

My high school career came to an end. This coincided, more or less, with my eighteenth birthday. A modest party was held to celebrate both events, and the guests, mainly uncles, aunts, grandparents and some family friends, including Asha, came bearing gifts.

Asha's gift to me was a beautifully bound copy of Homer's "Odyssey" in Greek.

There was a long break before I was to begin university, and during that time, between preparing her lectures for the next academic year, Asha continued to tutor me.

This preparation included going with her to performances of Sophocles' Oedipus Rex, and Oedipus at Colonus (in English).

I shall not deny that the more time I spent with Asha the more sexually attracted I became. I can remember the first time this attraction was heightened.

Asha's cottage had become almost a second home to me, and it had long been my habit, instead of ringing her front door bell, to go round the back of the cottage and simply walk inside. On the afternoon in question I had gone round the back of the cottage and had been brought to a halt by the sight of Asha lying on a banana lounge under an apricot tree.

There was a book lying beside the lounge together with a pencil. She had a habit of making margin notes in her books. Asha had obviously dozed off in the warmth of the afternoon. She was wearing what I can only describe as a longer version of the singlet (or camisole) she wore when out jogging.

The singlet had ridden up her thighs and I could see she was naked under the garment because there was a hint of blonde pubic hair visible. The neckline of the singlet was lower than the ones she wore for jogging, and along with the usual vision of her breasts there was extensive cleavage on display.

What I felt as I stood gazing at her bore no resemblance to what I had felt with Mavis and Louise or my fantasies about Mrs. Patterson. It passed through the sexual to something deeper; a yearning for a fulfillment I had never experienced before. I wanted to know her – yes, in the sexual sense – but more, much more than that.

The emotions were complex, but I suppose they can be summed up by saying that I knew at that moment I loved her deeply.

As that realisation began to dawn on me Asha stirred and looked as if she was about to wake up. Not wanting to be caught staring at her I hurried into the cottage and started to browse blindly through the books, my mind too full of the newly experienced emotions to be able to take in what I was looking at.

I had, as it were, crossed a frontier in my relationship with Asha, but at that time I thought it a hopeless crossing because as far as I knew Asha had her Sunday afternoon lover, and she had never shown any interest in me beyond a desire to teach and guide me. In any case there was the age difference, and along with that, I still wondered what had become of the handsome army officer she had married.

As I saw it Asha and I could never be more than friends; very good friends perhaps, but nothing more than that.

When I began attending university I was of course majoring in Asha's department, Classical Studies, and the History Department. Being a first year fledgling I did not attend Asha's lectures or tutorials since she dealt only with the second and third year students. However, I continued to get private coaching from her and I still borrowed her books.

Being a first year student and therefore all knowing, what I have called "coaching" was more inclined to become argument as I disputed points of interpretation with her. That was not a wise move if I hoped to win the argument since in her subject she was a rough equivalent of an intellectual Gorilla Thoms, although I must say she struck her blows very gently.

I sometimes wondered if she knew how I felt about her, but if she did she gave no sign. She was always warm, friendly and encouraging, but there was that little distance she kept between us.

* * * * * * * *

It was during my second year at university that what I always think of as "The Great Revelation" occurred. The marriage mystery was finally exposed, but in what for Asha were tragic circumstances.

It was on a Friday evening and I went to her place to borrow a book on Greek syntax. By that time Asha's place had almost become a second home for me and so as usual I simply walked into the cottage via the backdoor, and it was to find Asha sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee and the wedding photograph before her on the table; she was weeping.

I'd had little experience of weeping females – or weeping anybody for that matter. I wanted to say something, and so ineptly I asked a question to which the answer was obvious.

"Is there something wrong?"

She looked up at me but it was as if she wasn't seeing me and she said, "He's dead."

"Who...who's dead?" I asked.

"David."

I knew of no David in her life, but then I knew very little of anyone in her life. I thought it might be her putative Sunday lover, and so I asked cautiously, "Er...who is David?"

"My husband."

"You're...you're husband?" I stuttered.

She rose slowly and said, "Hold me Trent...hold me...I need someone to hold me..."

I went to her and put my arms round her, holding her close. She seemed to want to bury herself in me as she said in a muffled voice, "It's been so long, so long for him...oh...oh Trent..."

"What happened?" I asked her softly.

"Not now Trent...not now...later...soon I'll tell you...I've never told anyone...but not now..."

I don't think she fainted but I felt her body sag against me and I picked her up in my arms and carried her to the couch in the lounge. There I sat beside her and held her hand. Her eyes were open but it was as if they were seeing nothing; she was far away seeing – what? A wedding day with soldiers making an arch with their swords; a handsome new husband; their love making; what was she seeing, what was she feeling?

We stayed like that for a long time until finally she seemed to become aware of things around her. She tried a pallid smile and said, "I'm sorry Trent, you are just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"I...I...I'm glad I am here...here for you Asha."

"But you didn't know David, so why should you..."

"I know you Asha, and that's enough."

She touched my cheek with her hand and said, "Yes...yes...I suppose it is."

I wondered where this David had been all those years, why had he never appeared as part of her life.

She broke into my thoughts saying, "He was a good man and we loved each other very much, and then his life was destroyed."

I wanted to question her but I had enough sense to see that it was better to let her talk when she was ready, and so I sat on with her, still holding her hand.

After a while and in a very low voice she said, "He was destroyed trying to make it safe for others."

Puzzled I risked a question.

"What was he doing?"

"Clearing mines from a war zone."

"What?" I asked, taken aback by her reply.

"Clearing mines," she repeated. "There had been a request from that country for help in clearing mines and David was with the Engineers and a specialist in mine clearance."

She began to sob again and said, "He trod on one."

"And it killed him?"

"No...no...not then only now."

"I don't understand," I said.

"He...he lost both his legs, and he only has...had the stump of one arm left, and he was blind in one eye. They saved him but...but...he couldn't come home...couldn't come back to me. He...he was just a torso and a head really."

"Where has he been?" I asked, horrified at the vision of someone who was simply a body without limbs.

"He has been in" (she named a veterans hospital that I knew cared for the servicemen and women who had been completely broken physically or mentally in wars).

"Was he....did he still...?" I didn't know how to ask it but she seemed to know what I wanted to ask.

"Yes, he still had his mental faculties, and that was the terrible thing."

"Terrible?"

"Yes, he could remember how he had been - how we had been and he could still feel...feel what he used to feel."

"You mean how he felt about you?"

"Yes, it was still there and he felt...felt as men feel but could do nothing about it. When I visited him I tried to help him."

I suddenly realised and said, "That's where you go on Sunday afternoons?"

"Yes, to see him...to help him."

"To help him?"

She looked at me for a moment as if wondering if she should go on. Deciding she continued, "You see he still had his genitals. He often said it was about the only thing he had left that worked properly and so I...I...I helped him."

She didn't need to go on. I had a vision of her sitting across this limbless man, his penis in her vagina as she met his sexual needs.

There was a long pause as she seemed to go off somewhere in her mind again. When she broke the silence it startled me.

"He wanted to die; he told me not to visit him...to divorce him and get another man, but...but..."For better, for worse, in sickness and in health," she quoted quietly.

"How strange it is," I thought, "that these days when people break up their marriages for the most selfish and even trivial reasons, this woman who had very good reasons for seeking a divorce, would not do so for the sake of marriage vows, or was it more than that; she had loved him."

She continued, "This past couple of months I could see the changes in him. He couldn't...couldn't do it with me any more and he seemed to be fading away. I think he was willing himself to die. I spoke to some of the hospital staff and they said it often happened like that and no amount of medical or psychiatric help made any difference; they just want to die, and they do."

She fell silent again, and the silence seemed to hang heavily in the room. Then she asked a question that took me by surprise.

"Was I selfish Trent?"

My thought was, "How in hell could she have been selfish? She had stayed married to David; she has visited him regularly; she had even helped him sexually; how did that qualify as selfishness."

I asked, "How were you selfish, Asha?"

"I didn't want him to die."

"But...but of course you didn't want him to die, none of us want the people we love to die."

"No Trent, we sometimes need to love them enough to let them die. Do you know they told me at the hospital to stop visiting David. They said...said it was my visits that were stopping him from dying."

"But you didn't stop."

"No; was that because I didn't love him enough?"

I must admit that I was out of my depth. It seemed to me she had given all that love could give and I couldn't comprehend how she believed she hadn't loved him enough.

Not knowing what else to say I said, "Perhaps you loved him too much."

She made no response to this. It had grown dark but no move was made to turn the light on. It was as if the darkness matched the grief that Asha was feeling and which I shared on her behalf.

So many words – so many useless clichés that people use on such occasions came into my mind and were discarded. Such grief as hers demanded silence. The healing of the wound was distant.

I sat with my arm round her. We sat on in silence, and in that stillness I came to know for certain how much I loved this woman – loved her for the love she had given when many would have turned away in revulsion – had given and given until this time when there was no more need to give.

Asha stirred slightly and said, "I think I'd like to be alone now Trent but would you visit me tomorrow, I'd like your company again."

I understood that she had so many things to work through in her mind and so I rose to leave.

"Trent," she asked faintly, "would you kiss me?"

I bent to give her a virtuous kiss on the cheek or forehead, but she moved so that our lips met. They were soft, warm and salt with her tears, and putting her arms round my neck she held me to her for a few seconds and then releasing me she said, "Thank you, Trent."

I left her still sitting in the dark as I went home to tell my parents what had occurred.

* * * * * * * *

That night I had nightmares that involved Asha having sexual intercourse with dead bodies. Several times I awoke sweating and relieved that it had only been dream, but on going back to sleep the dream was repeated.

In the morning I wondered how it had been for Asha. My first instinct was to go and see her but my parents got in ahead of me and so I waited until their return. They were both very sympathetic but I don't think they really understood how things had been for Asha.

Outside Asha's place stood a grey car; the funeral director had arrived. They were in her study making the funeral arrangements and Asha seemed relieved to see me. Normally a very capable woman she now appeared lost and confused.

In soothing tones the director was trying to sell her the most expensive funeral his organisation provided. "We all want the best for our loved ones and I'm sure you want the best," etc.

Asha looked dreadful, as if she hadn't slept all night, which was probably the case. She seemed unable to take in what the director was saying, and she looked at me helplessly.

I'd had no experience with funerals and their directors, but I said mildly, "Perhaps Mrs. Grace can visit your establishment and we can decide then what's best to do."

Asha said, "Yes...yes...Monday morning."

The director looked somewhat huffy but beyond that he made no objection, and so it was left at that. He departed knowing that at least he'd hooked a client.

After he'd gone I sat down and Asha said, "Thanks for rescuing me Trent. I didn't really know what to do. I know I should be able to..."

"Well let's work it out," I said. "Did David ever say he wanted to be buried or cremated?"

From that moment on I seemed to become embroiled in all the business and administrivia that seems to go with death and funerals.

A few people, mainly from her department at the university, came to offer their condolences, and since most of them knew me by sight they must have wondered what a second year student was doing organising things. I wasn't sure why my self, but Asha seemed happy to leave me to it.

Wednesday was the day of the funeral. Asha's lectures and tutorials had been cancelled for the week and I didn't attend lectures, spending most of my time with Asha, or if not with her, racing off on some business on her behalf.

David's body was to be cremated, and the service was held in the crematorium chapel. I found myself sitting next to her in the front pew. Behind us sat perhaps twenty to twenty five people, including my parents, some university people and a representative from Veterans Affairs.

Not having known David I didn't expect to be deeply moved by the service; I was there for Asha. It was not until right at the end of the service I became involved in a meaningful way.

It was at the end of the service and we were asked to sing, "The day you gave us Lord is ended." I couldn't claim to be a regular church attendee but I knew that hymn as an evening hymn, not a funeral hymn. Now I saw new meaning, perhaps a meaning the writer did not intend, but for me it was there.

David's day had ended, ended like the lives of so many young men and women, and like David so many who would carry the scars, physical and psychological, of their war experiences. In a sense David had ended his own day, no longer wanting to live the life of a limbless body.

"So be it Lord." I was not given easily to tears, but they came then.

As the service ended and the coffin passed through the curtains to its fiery end I glanced at Asha. She had not cried since I had come upon her in the kitchen, but now the tears were streaming down her cheeks. She took my arm and we went to what was called "The Annex," where tea and coffee were served.

I brought Asha a cup of tea and then stood back as people came to her mumbling their condolences.

As I stood looking at her I had a sense of wonder that she had, as people say, "Stood by her man" even to the end. Not only had she stood by him, but had continued to be his lover.

I thought then, and still think, that David willed himself to die as much for Asha's sake as his own. He had wanted to free her from the bondage of his ruined body and life; wanted to free her to begin life with another man.