The Old Storyteller

Of course, Jacques didn't know about her abduction or how it ended. She debated what to tell him. She had already talked for hours and it was nearly time for her evening visit to the children, to read to them and tuck them into bed. She felt that she was making some progress with them and that was too important to her to risk it by being late. She asked Jacques to take her back to her flat but asked if she could see him again the next day.

That evening, having had the chance to talk, she felt more relaxed than she had since this nightmare began and it showed. During her session with her children she actually laughed and played silly games with them, something she hadn't felt able to do before. Janice, keeping her watchful eye on them, noticed how much better Bridie seemed to be and thought she must tell Michael when he came home. Michael was deliberately staying away from the night-time ritual to give Bridie space to reconnect with the children and was usually seeing Bridie during the day. She had yet to ask to see John though she knew he was nearby and working with her husband, something she found it hard to get her head around.

The next day she went back to Jacques cabin. For a while they talked about nothing in particular, drinking coffee and looking at the view. She suddenly realised that the view she was looking at was the one that Jacques had been looking at when he had seen her with John. Her attention thus shaken she turned the talk to more serious matters. She told Jacques about the fiasco of her ignoring her children. He looked grave and she flinched and began trying to defend herself. Jacques stopped her with a raised hand, smiling sadly.

"That's just your self-image you're trying to protect. You don't need to explain yourself to me. You understand how you got yourself into that state, that's the important thing."

His understanding and forbearance helped her to open up further. She went on to tell him about the terrors of her kidnapping and how she had ended it, about the nightmares she had been having. She had the feeling that Old Jacques would understand that too. He was able to reassure her that it wouldn't be a mental health problem unless it persisted for a long time or got worse. Everybody suffered after events like that. Images and emotions would recur at times throughout her life but their power would fade. It was only if time failed to temper the edge or if she persisted in some destructive behaviours she was unable to control that it would become abnormal.

"In the meantime," Jacques said, "what is important is to open up about your thoughts and feelings and I would recommend professional help. Staying buttoned up about your feelings is very likely to make things worse for you. It's not something you can just do once. It's like gardening. Through hard work one can turn what might appear to be a wasteland into a beautiful flower garden but even then you have to do a little light weeding."

Bridie had to smile at the thought of her mind as a beautiful garden. She was sure about the wasteland though.

"It's not just the kidnap and what I did to escape. How can I deal with my marriage, my children, my lover and the trauma all at the same time?"

Her rising voice ended in a wail of agony.

***************

Michael

It was obvious that Bridie was struggling but recent signs were hopeful. Janice told me that Bridie had been able to laugh and play with the children. I bumped into Jacques (though I suspected it wasn't quite by accident on his part) and he told me that Bridie had been to see him. After opening up about the dire effects of her kidnap and what she had had to do to escape she finally accepted the advice to seek continuing therapy and that she was hopeful that it was working.

Although I had been seeing Bridie each day I had, as advised by the psychologist after her ordeal, been avoiding any serious conversation about the future - specifically our future together. Nor had I yet told her that 'my son' was actually John's. There seemed little urgency as the current children's care arrangements were eminently satisfactory (to me at least) so I was surprised when a week or two later Bridie approached me and asked for a serious discussion about the future.

I tried to suggest that she perhaps needed more time but she was adamant and said that her therapist approved. Obviously the meeting needed to be private but she asked if we could meet on neutral ground. As the weather was good I suggested the same spot where I had taken John. When we were settled, and the waitress had served us and left, she started the conversation with a surprise statement.

"I need you to divorce me, Michael."

I had been intending to raise that myself as gently as possible and I was both pleased and astonished that she had broached the issue so firmly and directly. I did wonder what her thinking was, however.I cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at her but didn't speak.

"I'm broken, Mike," she said. "Too much has happened and there are too many horrible things floating around in my head. Well, perhaps 'floating' is the wrong word. That sounds calm and tranquil and that is the opposite of what is really happening. Savage jolts, blinding images, desperate guilts, paralysing fugues where I lose touch with everything - all these and more are swirling and fighting inside me. Too I am utterly exhausted. I don't have the strength. I need to withdraw from the exterior world. In another age I would withdraw to a nunnery but I have decided to go and stay with a friend. Someone who has no agenda except aiding me to find my way back."

"And your children?" I asked mildly.

"They had already almost forgotten me and they will do so much better with you. I couldn't take them the way I am now and it will be a very long time, I fear, before I heal."

I didn't disagree. Even before the latest traumatic events she had been swift to abandon them to me. She had never even bothered to find out if they were mine or John's. Was she a bad person? No, I didn't think so - not in the sense of malice at least. There was just something missing in her. Now, fairly or unfairly, with her mental frailty I wouldn't be comfortable for her to be responsible for them.

"Where will you be?"

"For the moment I don't want anyone to know. Does that bother you?"

"For the moment I think it may be what you need. Don't let it become a permanent isolation though. We may no longer be lovers but I will always care for you."

There was really nothing left to say for now.

"Are you going to speak to John?"

"Do you mind if I ask you to tell him?"

I agreed and she rose and left the café. That was the last time I saw her for some years. Disheartened but relieved, bitter but breathing deeply of the first free air I had felt for some time, I made my way back to 'my' children. I wondered what arrangement John and I would reach but I was confident it would be alright. Did I still love her? I still cared for her, but her emotional hold had faded away like smoke now that I saw more clearly. For the first time since I met her those many years ago I saw her as she was. It was such a shame that she had to be broken first.

***************

EPILOGUE

Jacques was sitting out on his deck looking out over the prairie towards the little stream thinking about how this had all started and his foolishness in telling that story. He sat quietly as the sun dipped below the trees. He saw something moving through the tall grasses. He couldn't see too well these days and he waited as the figure closed. When he could finally see the figure clearly, he just sat and stared at the glory that was her hair.

"Can I stay?" she asked.

"Do you think it would be safe? I'm only eighty-three, you know, and you're a very pretty woman."

"Oh, I think so," she smiled.

"Did I ever tell you that my grandfather sired my father when he was ninety-two?"

"Are you sure?" she asked with a grin.

"Oh yes. My father wondered the same but it was true."

"I'll take my chances."

"So will I." smiled Jacques.