Our Eternal Curse I (2 page)

Until this moment, Julia had
given very little thought to her upbringing.  She had simply assumed every
child endured a foundation such as hers.  Having nothing to compare it with,
she never questioned her sad and lonely childhood, but the memory of the expressions
on the faces of those enslaved Germainians gave her parents’ vindictive malice form. 
It cried out to be stopped.  It was obviously extremely abusive and very wrong.

For the very first time, Julia
wanted to ask her parents why they did it.  But, even if she could have found
that kind of courage, they would not have been able to answer because they were
merely perpetuating generations of hurtful behavior.  They bullied Julia from
dawn till dusk because they had been bullied from dawn till dusk.  Their
destructive behavior had been thoughtlessly passed down to them by their
parents, their grandparents, and their great grandparents.  They did it because
that was simply all they knew.

They did not question why they
were never encouraging and always critical.  They did not query why they picked
on Julia’s appearance, her behavior, her ability, and anything she achieved. 
They did not stop to think how their criticism would become the self-disparaging
thoughts which shaped her life.  It simply made no sense for them, or Julia, to
question the people who were, and had been, their very measure of truth.  After
all, when parents and grandparents said “summer was hot” and “winter was cold”,
they were, without exception, hot and cold respectively.  When they said “fire
burns”, it burned and also hurt.  When they said “rain is wet”, it was never
anything other than wet.  These measures of truth extended to a million other
things, big and small, so why would Julia or her parents question any of the
horrible things said about them?

Just like her parents, these
years and years of nothing but negative messages, heaped one on top of the
other, served to mold Julia into the lonely, defensive, insecure creature she
became.  Starved of human affection, Julia naturally compensated by seeking
contact with other living things.  But forming emotional attachments to the
mice, cats, or squirrels that lived in the groves simply exposed her to another
kind of parental torment.  However hard she tried to conceal her little
secrets, both her mother and father positively reveled in hunting them down
simply to beat them to death with sticks.

The inevitable feelings of loss
taught Julia to associate love with pain at a very early age, but it was remembering
the loss of her only human companion that brought back vivid images of true
suffering.  Only when she revisited the death of her beloved baby brother did
Julia truly understand the source of her total fear of commitment.  Almost too
painful to think about, Robertus was a robust little boy who smiled constantly
and Julia had loved him completely from the moment of his difficult birth.

Spending all of her time caring
for him, raw instinct compelled Julia to protect the boy from the mental
persecution of her parents.  They had absolutely no objection to her carrying
the child in an old strip of calico sacking slung from her shoulder as she
tended the olive trees.  They simply did not care because they couldn’t be
bothered to invest more time in another brat themselves.  As they often said,
“We have wasted enough of our time raising you!”

When the fever passed through
the olive groves, it took Robertus and hope with it.  Days of nursing the
burning child could not prevent him from leaving, and as he passed away, Julia
lost the ability to trust love.  As far as her mother was concerned, this was
just one more thing Julia could not do right.  In a heartless attempt to end
the “blubbering”, she told her distraught daughter to “toughen up” and
"don’t be so sensitive”.

Her father said nothing as he
looked on with contempt.  He was simply angered by the loss of a potential
workhorse and the thought of having to sire another with a woman he hated.  For
the sensitive and innocent Julia, it merely served to confirm her belief that
she was incapable of achieving anything.

In an unfortunate case of very
poor timing, the olive merchant with the rough hands came on his annual buying
trip soon after Robertus’ passing.  Julia tried to hide from him but, as always,
he found her.  Knowing how determined he was, she had even placed her threadbare
picking blankets under a tree on the very boundary of their grove.  She hoped
it was far enough away from their mud, straw and dung-built storage shed.  She
hoped that he would not have the time to find her as she pulled the ripened
olives to the ground, but that was false hope.

While still wracked with the pain
of losing her baby brother, she tried to explain where the merchant had put his
hands, but her parents simply told her not to tell lies.  Unable to resist the
chance of delivering one more negative slight, her father added: “Why on earth
would a man of his standing want to touch an ugly Medusa like you?”

Although nothing could have been
further from the truth, Julia believed him completely.  Even though years of
working in the olive groves had built her a beautifully-formed, strong
sun-bronzed body.  And even though that most feminine body supported a beautiful
head with a clear-skinned face set with translucent blue eyes, long eyelashes, full
pink lips, and high cheek bones.  And even though all of that perfection was
framed sweetly by strawberry blond hair which flowed with a natural wave over
her shoulders, Julia’s mind was so distorted she simply could not see any of
it.

A soft brown birthmark was her
only real blemish, if it could be called a blemish.  Her mother said the
slightly darker band of skin, which looked like a broad shadow around her
wrist, “was the place where the Medusa clung to you during those miserable
hours of labor”.  Out of pure spite, she told Julia: “The Gorgon had tried to stop
me from spitting you out because you were just too stupid to be born.”

Along with the rest of her body
and mind, Julia learned to despise her ugly birthmark.  But the truth was, it
was one more delicate facet which added to her overall charm.  She was the kind
of woman who, had she been born in a city, would have commanded the sort of
attention that may have given her at least a chance of seeing herself as others
saw her.  But Julia’s mother and father simply had no use for a beautiful
daughter with a healthy self-esteem.  All they needed was a strong body to
harvest olives; a boy would have been far more practical and her father never
forgave Julia, or her mother, for denying him one.

Unfortunately for Julia, this deeply
flawed vision of herself meant she had absolutely no expectation of finding
love.  ‘How could she?’  ‘Who would want someone like her?’  And, cloistered in
her lonely olive grove, Julia would never learn to develop the feminine wiles
that beautiful woman usually acquire.

Susceptible and exposed, this
flawed vision was going to trick Julia into giving her heart, like a lamb to
the slaughter, to the very first man who showed an interest in her.  This same
flawed thinking was going to lead her all the way to Rome where her inherent genius
would lead to great wealth and power.  It would also lead her to corrupt that power
and, in time, it would lead her to bring the Roman Republic to its knees.  But
before all of these calamitous events could happen, she had to endure just a
few more lonely years of suffering in the olive groves.

The day was already warm as
Julia left the hut at dawn.  In her 16 years of collecting water she had never
encountered another human being in the groves but on this day she was stopped
in her tracks by the sight of a stranger sitting alone by the well.  Much to
Julia’s fascination he stared into a square of white material as though it held
some magical meaning and she found the scene totally captivating.  He was older
than her but still beautiful to look at.  She stood motionless drinking in his
powerful presence with unknown parts of her mind coming to life.  His hair was
so soft and fine that it moved in the warm gusts of air like powder.  His
intelligent eyes were a very pale blue, his skin was also pale almost white and
the emotion that this extraordinary being awoke within Julia was pure pleasure.

Moving his head slightly he
caught her image in the corner of his eye and in a moment he was upon her.  The
fabric he held and the pail she carried were flung from their hands as his full
bodyweight collided with hers.  When her mind caught up with what was happening
Julia found herself lying on the hard earth with a dagger at her throat.

Speechless with tears welling in
her eyes she stared up at the Godlike being wondering if this would be her
end.  Until this moment Julia would have welcomed death as a means of escape
from her misery but not now.  She had glimpsed pleasure just for a second and
she wanted more.  It was hard to accept that the man who inspired her will to
live may also be the means of her death.  He stared deeply into her eyes with a
wisdom she had never before witnessed.  He could clearly see that Julia was no
assassin — her eyes were pure, innocent, unable to kill.  Releasing his grip he
moved the blade away from her throat and while standing, he helped her up in
one easy movement.

“
Julia,” she babbled.  “I live a short distance from
here, I come here every day at this time to draw water for my family ...”

Touching her lips gently with
his hand, he stopped her in mid-sentence with a wonderfully disarming smile. 
Retrieving the abandoned pail, he walked to the well and filled it
effortlessly.  Bunching the purple edge of his white toga in one hand, the
stranger dipped it into the crystal clear water and gently wiped her face.  It
felt extraordinary.  Julia had never been touched in such a tender fashion and
when he spoke his voice seemed hypnotic.  She was unable to understand his
words but their rhythm inspired feelings of comfort, which continued even when
he switched effortlessly to her local dialect and spoke again.  “My name is
Sulla,” he said.  “Lucius Cornelius Sulla, at your service.”  Then making a
small gesture with his hand he pointed to a tree and added, “Sit with me.”

Julia walked willingly as he
took her arm and led her gently towards a very old olive tree.  Placing his
dagger on the ground as he sat Sulla brushed against something sharp in the
dust.  Lifting a small flint arrowhead he ran his thumb gently along the jagged
edge before tossing it away.  Holding out his empty hand he beckoned for Julia
to join him.

Although it was early in the
morning the shade from the heavily laden branches was very welcome and Julia
let herself be guided into the shadow by his side.  Completely overcome by the
importance of her newfound companion, Julia spoke hesitantly.  “You are Sulla
the great General.  I have heard of your many campaigns and I even saw you
once.  You were riding with the army of Gaius Marius.”

Looking thoughtfully into the
distance Sulla paused before saying in a soft almost menacing voice, “Yes Gaius
Marius.”  Then changing the subject he asked, “But what of you?  Tell me about
you and your life, Julia?”

“
I have no life to speak of,” replied Julia
believing it absolutely, but he seemed genuinely interested so she went on to
explain her existence in the groves anyway.

As Julia spoke she observed his
interest and could not understand why.  Here was the great Sulla a full Senator
of Rome, the most powerful force in the world, talking to her a plain,
unintelligent peasant girl with nothing to offer; but it felt wonderful to
communicate with someone who showed an interest, so Julia simply sat without
moving for many hours.  Much of the time he spoke in a language which she could
not understand, but Julia was happy to simply follow the pulse of his voice
nonetheless.  At the end of his monolog, Sulla crumpled the white thing he had
been staring at earlier, into a ball; tossed it on the ground and offered Julia
his hand.

It had not been difficult for
Sulla to convince Julia to leave with him.  She seemed somehow resigned to the
fact that it was inevitable.  Habit told Julia to return to her family but when
he suggested they travel together she simply accepted his hand and wandered in
the direction he dictated.  Through the olive groves they walked until they
reached the old Roman road and there, by the trees which lined the Via Aurelia
stood a wonderfully ornate chariot with a giant black charioteer holding the
reins.  It was clear that both were possessions of great status and the horses
champing at the bit were the finest she had ever seen.  Behind the chariot
stood ten mounted officers in full military regalia and the bright red
horsehair plumage above their helmets reminded her of the army she watched in
this very place all those years before.

Julia could see that Sulla was
their hero and they loved him in the same way that Marius was loved by his
men.  She assumed that there must be a bond between fighting men something that
only military men who make wars together can understand.

Sulla seemed to give up looking
for whatever it was he had mislaid and helped her climb aboard.  As Julia
mounted the first vehicle she would ever travel in, she imagined her father
coming to look for her.  He would find the full pail of water standing in the
spot where Sulla left it; he would have no idea what happened because there
were signs of a struggle, but no dead body or blood trail.  A search of the
area would reveal no clues to her whereabouts and she believed her angry
parents would view the mystery as a mere inconvenience, nothing more than the
annoying loss of a hard worker.