Background
Synopsis: A story of a woman born with masculine physic and mind who is narrating episodes of her life from high school days to the middle age. How her persona developed and who she looked up to for
|
You may or may not know the story behind this Latin Term I have used for this chapter. Allow me to tell you what I read:
After the crucifixion of Jesus, the apostle Peter was on the road to Rome and the risen Jesus
confronted him. Terrified Peter not believing a dead Lord's presence, uttered:
"Quo Vadis"? Translated as, "Where are you going?
Annoyed by Peter's lack of faith, Jesus sarcastically replied:
"Romam eo iterum crusifigi."
Translated as: "To Rome to get re-crucified."
The term I am using here is to indicate that I am questioning my alter ego, "am I also heading out to that unknown world to get metaphorically speaking, re-crucified?"
Well; that's what happened on that day when I woke up with the sound of doorbell buzzing. I woke up and shouted, "Hold your damn horses; I am coming out."
I splashed water on my face and got into blue jeans and a shirt and opened the door. There was a McDonald's brown bag left on the porch, I got out to see who left that bag and notice the rear of a police vehicle at the end of that long driveway.
My heart skipped a beat and a sliver of hope jumped out of my suppressed emotions.
"Candy! My darling is coming back to me." That was the joyful reaction to that episode. However, it lasted only until I picked the bag and went inside. Eagerly, I tore the bag and found breakfast package with Pancake and Sausage patties with the usual condiments. I was hoping for a message that would have freed my feelings from the tight grip of that stoic personality dominating my psyche.
I checked the bag again but there was no indication that Candy wished to communicate with me. "This is an act of charity and not love." My alter ego brought back the binders upon my psyche. I was hungry and coffee was warm. I ate the breakfast without much ado. As I picked up the bag to toss it in the trashcan, I notice a handwritten note on the bag. It was written is a poor handwriting and I at once realized that the note is not from Candy. She had such a beautiful cursive writing style that her notes with an ordinary message, I saved in my journal and read again and again. When one is in love, I guess the person takes leave of the reasoning and logic. The message was from the Patrolling officer who did not give name. It said:
"I thought you may be hungry and have no ride to the town; I will check on you again."
I wondered about it and felt that Candy must have made sure I am getting the basic necessities to survive. My persona ruling at that moment stopped me plunging into that depressive mode of amorous thinking which is the hope of recovery of lost love generates. It sternly warned:
"She ain't coming back; understand this and plan the moving." I got the marching orders, and I went to my room and began taking stock of the situation.
"Do I have a destination in mind? If yes, what do you know about it? Get this lined up and then we will think about how to get there." That was the conversation between me and the guiding mind. I thought of riding to the library and get help. It was past 11 am and I got out to run the errands on my bicycle. I pulled travel books on places in Southern California and made notes about the cities I had heard about from Candy. She knew the nuance of life in most of the Los Angeles, San Diego and San Francisco areas. By the time I finished checking out the books, it was 2 PM. I returned home and sat out on the porch. My mind now was thinking of one thing only:
"Quo Vadis."
Repeatedly I evaluated options and the obstacles I may face. Am I going to find what I am looking for; the freedom to discover who I am, or is it going to get a second time nailed on the cross? I must know what to do as soon as possible. In three days, all utilities would be shut off and then what choices do I have other than going back to mom's household?
I was lost in this futile mental exercise, then two vehicles approaching the property distracted me and I got up. From my location I saw a woman and man in the rear sedan and a well-dressed younger man in a dark blue SUV stopping at Anton's garage. The driver of the SUV opened the door and walked to the couple in the rear vehicle to say something. He then walked towards me, leaving them in the vehicle. After reaching the porch he spoke in a well cultivated voice of a professional person:
"Is Mr. Anton Poulous at home?"
I never knew Anton's last name and a silly notion of playing hardball, came over me. I responded in tone that conveyed my reluctance to give information:
"I don't know any Poulous and don't know anyone else in the neighborhood by that name."
He pulled out a paper from his breast pocket and handed over to me and said:
"This is the proof that he lived here."
It was some sort of a legal document with address of the property and other descriptions.
The man said:
"He has to be living here and this is a copy of the land-lease shoeing the property transferred to him." Does your father have a different name than this?
I replied giving him the same information to annoy him:
"Anton Poulos is not my father's name and I don't know anyone with that name lived here in this neighborhood."
Man was bit annoyed as I wanted to by my gaming him, and said:
"You better come out of this nonsense; I will have Sheriff here if you don't want to cooperate."
I got bit alarmed by his tone and thought maybe he is from that expert group that was to join the investigation of Anton's death. I said to man:
"I am not playing game; I don't know you and you have not even told me who you are. How then I am to give you the information?"
He pulled a business card and gave it to me and said:
"You are smart; I should have introduced myself. Now you know who I am then let us get it over quickly. Is there anyone else living here, if Mr. Poulous is not present?"
I decided to tell him what I knew. I said to Mr. Cohen, Attorney at Law:
"I think Anton you are looking for is dead and his wife, my mother has left the state."
"Dead you said? When that happened, and when and where did he marry your mother?"
"He died a month and half ago and my mother was his Common Law Wife of four years." I had heard Mr. Roy saying that to mom when they were planning strategies for claiming the property.
"That makes a whole lot of a difference to the facts of the case."
He spoke to himself, turned around and went back to the couple sitting in their car. I watched them discussing among themselves and then they all walked towards me.
The woman had a gentile and kind face and the man appeared to be a nice person. He smiled and held hand out to me to introduce himself:
"I am Dimitry Popova and this is Molly, my wife. She is related to your father Anton by way of his uncle who owned this property."
I did not say anything about my relationship with Anton and said something appropriate for the occasion to show my ignorance of the issue at hand. Molly came forward and held my hand and said:
"You maybe, you are related to me, and I am delighted to meet you."
I did not blurt out any misleading information as I generally did in the past, to avoid conversations with anyone I did not feel comfortable with. I simply smiled at her and did not take my hand from her grip. She kept holding my hand as we walked in the house. There was nothing to sit on, so they just stood there looking at the interior sections. I remembered Mr. Roy's instructions and gently pulled hand and went in my room to retrieve the business card of firm that was dealing with that business. I gave it to the attorney Cohen. In few minutes he told the couple that he was heading out to the law office of mom's attorney and contact them later and was gone.
They asked me few questions about Anton's death and mom's relationship with him. I gave them as little information as possible and let them assume I was his daughter. After going around the property they came back to where I was sitting on the porch. Molly again held my hand and asked me if I would like to go with them to eat supper. I liked the two seniors and Mr. Popova reminded me of my Pappy. He was a true gentleman of bygone days and appeared like a person who enjoys talking to strangers. I had not spoken to anyone for a long time and felt like chatting with them also. I learned that they were from a small town located in the outskirt of Los Angeles, California. He had recently retired from the government job and they wanted to move out of California because of the stress of living near a mega-city. Now with the loss of income, they did not wish to deplete their savings and were keen on moving to Colorado in Meeker area where Molly's ancestral homestead was a long time ago.
In real sense, as I learned later from mom's attorney that Molly may be the true owner of that real estate property, we were living in. It seems there was an error in the earlier searching for the next of keens of Anton's uncle. When the legal advertisement came out, Molly and Mr. Popova were in Greece visiting long forgotten relatives. It's the information they collected in Greece revealed to Molly that she was the closest relative of Anton's uncle and Anton was a possible relative, and not a confirmed direct relative of the dead uncle. Now that the presumed nephew was dead, the rest of the fight was unnecessary. However, mom's case of being a common law wife would have made a legitimate right to challenge Molly's claim and a cause of a possible delay in the transfer of titles and the legal bills would have made property not worth fighting for. A simple solution to get this settled was to pay mom off with a reasonable sum, get a non-claiming agreement. I believe that was under negotiation on that day. My being considered as a possible, second in line claimant, they perhaps wanted to get more details from me, and the dinner invitation maybe was a way to accomplish that goal.
I went with them to the same Diner where I met Candy. I stood out and looked at the area where police waited in the shadow of the large Oak. Somewhere in a remote corner of my heart, my hopes to see her one more time was struggling with my ego that did not want me to be a weak warrior who was preparing to take on challenges waiting for people like me. The purpose of this resistance movement is to fight for freedom to live peacefully, happily and be protected from those powerful governors of our lives in our country. These are rich and powerful groups, many use Biblical scriptures which they don't really follow but use it selectively, to take away the fundamental human rights. They have assumed that some divine entity has given them the power and rights to dictate to every person who does not accept their ideas of righteousness and the moral codes, which their religion tells them as the only true word of their god. They make rules, pass legislatures based not on the constitutional bases but on the basis of their religion regardless of harm it has historically done to others. These are the people who forced Candy to walk away from true love that was sacred to us.
I pulled myself from that dueling with the unknown entities in my mind and entered the dining area and joined them. I sat in opposite to Popova couple in the booth and, unexpectedly a new venue of opportunities opened for me at the table. After ordering ritual was done, Molly leaned forward, grabbed my hands and said:
"I am not sure why I feel like I have known you all my life. There is something about you that takes me back to my early married days; you resemble my son who was about same age as you are. We lost him in the Vietnam war in 1974."
Hearing those words, my mind that was still lingering in the memory lane and conflicts with the establishments, got such a jolt that I gasped for air, and recovering from that I said:
"I am so sorry! When did he died?"
"October 3, 1974, 11 p.m." She replied.
Molly was still holding my hand and I saw tears welling up in her eyes and felt her hand trembling. I gently squeezed them in a sincere empathy. Suddenly something occurred to me that shook my rejection of the reincarnation theory that I had heard and read about. The subconscious message that popped up: Your birth date is October 3,1974, 11:05 a.m.
I immediately recovered from that moment and did not think much about the matching of the time of death and a birth of a child. However, I couldn't ignore Molly's sentimental and sudden affection for me. The time and place was not conducive for me to pursue that line and I remained somewhat less than enthusiastic to that artificially formed relationship. I must have felt that there may be some link to the property business.
I wondered later in my life if there is any connection between these two events of two individuals: one dead doing his duty, and the other showing up here for a lifelong duty of staying alive.
At the table, when I mentioned that my birth date and the date of their son's death were on the same day, they looked at each other and Mr. Popova exclaimed:
"My god; you were born at the same moment our son died!"
I replied: "Not really; I was born in the day; at 11:05, and death occurred at 11.00 a.m., only dates match."
He replied: "That is the Vietnam time; The US is 12 hours behind Hanoi Vietnam time."
I was too immature then to give much credence to that two events matching and did not react to his discovery. However, at that matching of timing of two events became beneficial to me; it opened a door to my destiny. I felt like the legendary 'Alice' escaping from the room with no doors. We ate dinner in relative silence and returned to my home. The resemblance and that date-matching had a profound emotional effect on Molly, which she displayed without restrain; more than her husband did. Mothers perhaps have a longer attachment to the memories of children and that goes beyond their grave. Psyche of fathers must be forming with less emotions. Is it because they have more practical ways to take death of a child and as a result, don't look for the departed ones in the others who resemble to their offspring?
Molly and I got bonded in a strange way. To me, she replaced mom with more warmth and affection. Mom had hard time doing that. I was not used to that sentimental journeys in the parental affairs. Dealing with Molly on that evening, I had hard time conjuring the necessary emotions suitable for an affectionate reunion, matching that between a mother and a son. At the end, she asked me if I would have breakfast with them as they were returning to their home neat Los Angeles, California. I honestly was getting tired of that opera like episode, but I had no heart to deny her that last pleasure of pretending she is having a meal with her departed son. I agreed to go along, and we set a time for 9 a.m., and I turned in after watching them leave.
It was late in the evening and darkness in the house made my aloneness more depressing. I went to my bed, changed cloths and finished the bedtime toiletry routine and fell in the bed wide awake.
"What is happening to me?' I asked a question.
"Are they hinting at something obvious, or there is a catch to this affectionate hugging and a kiss on my forehead?"
My ever-suspicious ego got on the defensive strategy. How can strangers become your own parents upon an accidental meeting? What is this emotional motif decorating the proverbial magical mansion for me to get in and be locked up for life?" All sorts of thoughts about the danger awaiting me were dominating my mind. I never had to deal with such a personal decision making. What to do with those wonderful and kind people? I couldn't get replies or advice from any source to the question: "Quo Vadis? Where are you going.
Mental fatigue and sleepiness forced me to leave all that thinking to another day and I entered into a dreamless stupor, and dead to the world.
