Chapter 25: Bliss

Is it better to wallow for a day in bliss, or wander for a lifetime in woe?
Perhaps, the more apt question, does one really need to ask?

A Fool's Book of Wisdom

She sat stiffly wrapped within the rigid embrace of the wooden rocking chair and stared blankly out her bedroom window, her mind lost in silent contemplation of how different her life was from the one she envisioned as a child. As a girl, she believed she led a charmed life and dreamed of the day her handsome prince would come to claim her heart, then carry her away to their happily ever after. Instead, as a young woman, she lost her childish notions of happiness and love one bright afternoon. Her treasured hopes and dreams ripped away from her along with her innocence. It was at her weakest moment that Helen allowed her anger to take control. She shuddered at the memory of her blind rage and the power of the storm it released. In less than a minute, the sunny day turned dark, the sky filled with roiling thunderheads. In less than two minutes, the first raindrops fell, pelting the carnival revelers and causing them to flee. In less than five minutes, the carnival grounds became deserted and the single bolt of lightning raced from the heavens, pierced through the canvas tent and bore through a man's heart. Those five minutes decided the course of Helen's life. Those five minutes tested her character and found her unworthy of the power entrusted to her. With the knowledge afforded by her years spent in penance, Helen looked back and for the first time, felt the true horror of what she caused that day.

"No matter what he did to me, I did not have the right to take his life. I wonder if he had a wife and children. I gave no thought that my actions might affect others. I acted as a child does when it is hurt and struck out blindly without thought. What he did was vile and wrong, but he did not kill me. Others have suffered the same horror I did and survived without seeking vengeance. Others used the goodness of their souls to forgive. Instead, I used my power to exact my revenge. I guess the fates decided my face should reflect the ugliness of my blighted soul. I have no right to bewail my unrequited love. All these years I paid lip service to my crime, but never did my heart accept my culpability. No wonder I have not found forgiveness. I never asked for it. I allowed hatred to fester in my heart and I wallowed in self-pity. But, Khalid ... Oh, Khalid. You are the other half of me. The two of us destined to meet and be together. I have no one to blame for my life alone, but me. And, now I understand the worst thing I did that day is that I condemned you to that same fate. A lifetime alone. I am so sorry for everything. I am such a fool."

At that moment, the last blocks of the wall around Helen's heart became dust and disappeared. The woman wept, but not for herself. She wept for the murdered man and she wept for Khalid. She wept for Khalid and remembered.

For years following that fateful trip to the carnival, Helen kept her heart locked away from the world. She performed the rituals required by her power and used her gift of healing as needed, but she refused to feel anything for the people with whom she had contact. It was not until her travels brought her to Persia that everything changed and her carefully built wall cracked.

"It did not take much, either. It only took looking into your eyes and my defenses began to fall apart. It only took you, Khalid. Just you." She mused sadly.

One day after dismissing her guide, Helen set off to explore the city of Tehran. The woman donned robes similar to those of the native women, but instead of covering her face with a veil, she shielded her face from view within the folds of a deep hood attached to the shapeless gown. From her previous forays into the city, she knew of the city's three different sectors and decided to avoid the governing sector. An unescorted woman walking down the street would attract unwanted attention and Helen wished to avoid any unnecessary confrontations with the Shah's representatives. She spent the morning wandering through the residential quarter and marveling at the dwellings there. The gold domed roofs, lush gardens and tempting fountains amazed Helen with their beauty. Continuing to walk along the same narrow, crooked street Helen found herself standing in the central square of the business quarter's bazaar.

She slowly spun about taking in the sights visible to her eyes down each of the narrow arcades, which branched off from the square. The woman frowned at the seeming chaos of the marketplace and wondered how she would ever successfully navigate the maze of shops without losing her way, while still finding the items she wished to purchase. Her back ached, her feet burned and she felt sticky from the oppressive heat. She scanned the shops lining the square and bit back a sigh of relief as she spied an outdoor café. She slipped into a seat at an empty table. A waiter quickly arrived and without lifting his eyes to Helen's face, began speaking in halting Russian. When Helen cleared her throat, the man stopped and quickly resumed his speech in a faltering attempt at French. At last, Helen took pity on the man and stopped him with a single word in Farsi. A look of relief shot across the waiter's features and he shyly raised his eyes to catch a glimpse of the foreign woman seated at the table before him. Helen resignedly watched as the man's curious eyes widened and his mouth gaped open. The curious sparkle left his eyes, replaced with horrified shock and revulsion. But, Helen found that she had to give the man credit for his nerve, as he remained standing before her, his eyes lowered once more, waiting to take her order. There had been other men, who after taking in the sight of her face turned and ran. Helen inwardly sighed. She made a weak attempt to distract her feelings away from the hurt his reaction caused and ran her eyes over the length of the waiter's body. This time she did not restrain her sigh as his loose, dark brown robes revealed nothing of the man beneath them and, thus, provided her with no diversion from her misery. Her eyes moved over his lowered head, his face hidden behind the cascading tendrils of his long, tightly curled, black hair. The only plainly visible part of the man was his hands. She studied his filthy fingers with their chipped and grime encrusted nails. He held his hands, palm-to-palm, with steepled fingers before his waist without trembling. She grimaced at the thought of him touching her food, but knew she would find the same at any café she visited here. She clenched her teeth as her stomach rumbled a protest, calling out a hungry demand for food. She sighed and without glancing at the tattered piece of grimy cloth that served as a menu, she rattled off her order of mast va khiar [Author's Note: yogurt with cucumbers, ] khoresht-e-fesenjan [A/N: chicken in pomegranate sauce] with a side of nan-e barbari [A/N: Persian flat bread] and shole-e zard [A/N: rice pudding] for dessert. She requested the man bring a pot of elma cay [A/N: apple tea] or if that were not available, a cup of kahve [A/N: Turkish coffee, ] while she waited for her food. He bowed slightly from the waist to her. With a sigh of relief, he turned and hurriedly withdrew to the kitchen.

With a swish of rough brown fabric and a shadow, which passed swiftly by her table, Helen found a cup of thick, hot kahve placed before her. She nursed the strong brew and listened to the sounds of the marketplace around her. As the waiter served each passing course, Helen could feel the air thickening with the man's building tension. Her attempt at allaying his fears with gentle words of thanks failed and she felt his sense of unease grow ever stronger. Realizing she could do nothing to convince the man she did not possess the evil eye, she ate as quickly as she could, making no pretense of enjoying the food, only wishing to finish and leave. The food sat heavily in her stomach as she rose, removed a few coins from a pocket hidden among the folds of her robe, tossed them onto the table and quickly left.