Happy, Ever After

 

 

I am – I was – an Eastern European mail order bride. Estonian, to be precise.

There, that got your attention, didn’t it?

Well, all right – I’ll admit I met my husband through Facebook… which is more prosaic but equally true.

I’m Eliisabet; Liisi for short. I speak Maltese like a native – but my naturally platinum blond hair gives my foreignness away… although some people assume that I dye it because… since I live alone in Qawra, I “must be a prostitute”.

These charming people also assume I am a godless whore. Actually, I am – I was – Greek Orthodox, but I lapsed. My neighbours get on my nerves, so I keep myself to myself… and add fuel to their fires.

Out of the corner of my eye I see twitching curtains and moving venetian blinds. I note the intake of breaths when I walk into the corner shop to ask for stuff in a Senglea accent. You can’t blame me. I lived there for ten years, and my then husband insisted I learn and speak the vernacular, because his mother did not understand English, go figure Estonian.

In the end, it was the possessiveness of his mother that led me to leave him. I was bent double with pain because of what later turned out to be a ruptured appendix – and he was on the phone with her, and kept pushing me away when I was frantically showing him a note on which I had written Hospital! Then, when he rang off, he grabbed me by the arm and dragged me to the car, all the while saying that I knew his mother came first, and that I was cheeky to dare interrupt his conversation with her.

He dared me to leave him, saying that I was a stupid dunce who would never manage to find a job.

So I left him, and hid in my sister-in-law’s summer flat for a couple of days (she is the only one who ever gave me the time of day). I went job- and house-hunting, and landed both within the week…perhaps because my sister-in-law and her friends prayed over me – perhaps not.

As soon as I moved into the spartanly-furnished studio flat, Iona did a whip-around among her friends and got me some flatware, cutlery, bedding, curtains, books, an ancient fan, an old radio and an even older television set – and even some knick-knacks to make the place more welcoming. The rent was low, so I did not complain to the landlord about there being only the bare necessities.

And then, it began.

The key would jam in the lock, and when I opened the door, I would hear footsteps sprinting toward the veranda. The curtain would move slightly, and then…nothing. I always kept the entrance and balcony doors locked, so nobody could have come in from either of them.

I would smell cinnamon and cloves. The next day it would be lavender. The day after it would be tea rose.

Clothes I’d left on the lines in the veranda would be folded neatly, and the breakfast mug and fruit salad bowl I’d have rinsed out and placed on the draining board would have been dried and put away in the hanging cupboard.

Once or twice, the kettle was actually whistling when I managed to open the door – but it would stop as soon as I moved toward the kitchen.

Iona got me new curtains, courtesy of the charity shop. I was too tired to hang them up – yet sure enough, when I got back home from work on the morrow, each pair was just where I had intended to hang them. Moreover, there was a tiny glass Christmas Tree ornament that had not been there before, on the desk beside my laptop, where I couldn’t fail to notice it.

Once, one of my male work colleagues called with a Care Package. He said he was feeling hot and bothered, and I thought it was an excuse for him to get his togs off. I switched on the fan, and opened the window to let the breeze in – and yet he sweated profusely, still. He kept putting his index finger between his shirt collar and neck, and moving it backward and forward.

That was weird. Iona used to say my place felt like a second home. At one point, he gulped down his glass of orange juice, and said he had to leave.

I knew at that moment that this had to stop. I knew I was sharing the flat with a spirit being; but as long as I felt comfortable, I did not mind. But what if ‘something’, anything, happened to any of my guests when this entity did not take a shine to them?

Mulling over what I could do, I risked losing my sanity – or what there was left of it. Because meanwhile my husband had traced me, and told me I’d better get back home…or else. I countered by filing for legal separation, with a view to applying for divorce later. He didn’t like that at all.

In the end, I wrote a letter thanking my unseen friend for the kindness shown to me, and asking whether I could do anything to help with the “eternal rest” clause. I left the letter face up on my bed, and on my return home, I found it on the kitchen table. So I knew it had been read. There was no reply, written or otherwise.

I was at the office when the phone-call came. My husband had been to my flat, kicked in the door, and thrashed the place. He even ground the glass Christmas Tree into the kitchen rug. The neighbours of the flat below assumed he was fighting with me, because they heard “voices” shouting; one male, one female.

Then, they heard a thud just outside their door, and when they opened it, they saw my husband lying there in a pool of blood, with his skull caved in and his neck broken. I had a clutch of alibis; and so the verdict was “accidental death caused by a fall”.

Nobody else ever came to do my housework again, and yet there is an all-pervading sense of peace in the flat, about which everyone comments.

Just the other day, I discovered that a Maltese woman had been murdered here by her German husband…

 

 

Abjad jew Iswed… mhux Griż!

Leħen Is-Sewwa 02/08/2014

 

Mela darba, kien hemm skultur Ċiprijott jismu Pygmalion. Fettillu jonqox statwa tal-avorju ta’ mara li iżjed tard, issemmiet Galatea. Ġara li ffissa fuq l-istatwa u xtaq li kieku kellu mara eżatt bħalha. Din hi storja tal-Mitoloġija Griega, u hi ħaġa minn awl il-dinja li Ovid, fix-xogħol tiegħu Metamorfosi, jgħid kif l-alla Afrodite għamlet li l-istatwa ssir tad-demm u l-laħam.

Mela dak l-iskultur fil-veru sens tal-kelma kellu mara mhux talli eżatt kif xtaqha talli eżatt kif riedha u kif ħoloqha. Fil-letteratura nsibu eluf ta’ stejjer fejn il-mara takkomoda lir-raġel, jew għax tħobbu, jew biex ma titilfux.

X’inhu li jagħmel relazzjoni waħda tajba u dejjiema?

Qamet polemika dwar il-film imsejjes fuq il-kotba Fifty Shades of Grey. Uħud qed jgħidu li se jkun suċċess, filwaqt li oħrajn qed iħeġġu li jsir bojkott tal-fim għax mhux aċċettabbli. Il-ħelwa hi li hawn min qed jinsisti li dan hu biss fantasija, u li ma fiha xejn billi wieħed iqatta’ nofs siegħa (anzi iżjed) f’dinja tal-ħolm. U hawn, is-surrealiżmu tal-kummenti tikber, “għax films hekk jgħinuk tibni relazzjoni”. Il-kotba ma qrajthomx, imma qaluli li allaħares kellhom jiġu taħt idejja biex indurhom għall-qari tal-provi u l-editjar, għax kieku ntertaqhom.

U allura x’fihom dawn il-kotba u l-film pornografiċi u kontroversjali? Dorothy Pilarski, kittieba u ġurnalista mal-Catholic Register, u xandara fuq Radio Maria [Amerika], tkellmet sew fuq dan is-suġġett, iżda ħegget li jsir bojkot.

Li tgħid lin-nies biex jibbojkottjaw il-film ma taħdimx. Min ma kienx sejjer jarah xorta ma jmurx; u min kien sejjer ma jkunx jimpurtah mill-bojkott. U hawn Mata m’aħniex imdorrijin induru bit-tabelli madwar it-teatri biex inwissu li xi film hu oxxen.

1. F’films bħal dan, is-sesswalità ma tibqax rigal mingħand Alla, iżda ssir arma mistmella f’idejn dak li għandu poter fuq il-mara; u dak li hu pervers jintwera bħala normali, jekk mhux ukoll ta’ gost.
2. Films bħal dan jagħtu l-idea li dak meqjus normali hu ta’ dwejjaq jew ikrah, u wkoll jirridikolaw l-intimità u l-iskop tal-att konjugali. Filwaqt li l-assoċjazzjonijiet tal-psikjatri jiddikjaraw li xi azzjonijiet huma “mard psikotiku”, f’dawn il-films ma jitqisux hekk.
3. Il-film jagħmel il-mara agħar minn biċċa laħam; l-umiljazzjoni qatt mhi sabiħa. Qatt m’hemm xejn “sabiħ” fil-kattiverja u fil-vjolenza, la fil-kamp tal-battalja, la fuq il-lant tax-xogħol, u wisq inqas fil-kamra tas-sodda.
4. Il-pornografija tkisser il-familji. Aħseb u ara meta magħħa żżid il-vjolenza. La ddaħħalx lifgħat f’ħobbok.
5. Is-sess qabel iż-żwieġ mhux romantiku, iżda ħażin.
6. Jekk int ġenitur, qed tagħti eżempju hażin ferm lit-tfal.
7. Jekk tiftiehem ma’ martek jew ma żewġek, jew ma’ sħabek, biex tmorru flimkien “għall-kurżità”, tkunu ressaqtu lilkom infuskom lejn il-ħażen, meta int suppost tkun dawl għall-passi ta’ dawn in-nies.
8. Meta tara l-oxxenità sseħħ quddiem għajnejk, tkun poġgejt lilek innifsek f’okkażjoni dijabolika u ta’ dnub, li bħala Nisrani suppost li qed taħarbu.
9. Meta tisma’ kliem ħażin iżarżru f’widnejk waħda wara l-oħra, bla ma trid tiftakarhom… u forsi tużahom ukoll.
10. Raġel li jixtieq juża u jabbuża minn mara, xorta jkun qed jagħmel delitt, allavolja wara forsi jiksiha bid-deheb. Billi tikkollabora ma’ raġel vjolenti, ma tkunx sirt daqsu, iżda ssir tapit tiegħu.
11. Tingħata l-idea li s-sess huwa ġugarell li tużah kif u meta trid, flok li hu xi ħaġa qaddisa.
12. Tinsiex li jekk tmur tara film bħal dan, tkun qed issostni l-magna tal-ħniżrijiet li jsiru biss biex jimlew il-bwiet ta’ min jagħmilhom.

Tħallix lil min ibellgħek ir-ross bil-labra!

Flying Dove

IN THE TIME of K’ang Hsi, one of the early Ch’ing Emperors, in the quiet village of Wanhsien, lived a charming little girl whose name translates as Flying Dove.

She was a lonely little girl, because, since she walked with a limp, none of her peers wanted to play with her because she could not run fast enough to keep up with them.

So one lovely spring day, Flying Dove decided to start making herself useful by going to the river to fetch water for all those people in the village who had no one else to do it for them. She was going to start doing this by means of two large clay urns hung at either end of a yoke she would carry on her shoulders.

Flying Dove’s family was very poor, and so her parents appreciated the fact that sometimes, the people whom she helped used to give her a piece of fruit, or a handful of rice, or an egg, in order to thank her for her aid.

One of Flying Dove’s jars had a tiny, hairline crack down the side; but there was nothing she could do about it, because her family could not affords to get it mended. So she always lost some of the water on her way back, because since she limped, and the water was heavy, it took her a long time to return to her village. But nobody minded, just as long as they had enough water in which to cook.

With her conical hat pulled well down in order to protect her from the sun, Flying Dive made the journey to the river and back about five times a day. Everybody was amazed that such a frail-looking girl had such stamina.

When the next spring came around, Flying Dove realised that something beautiful had happened.

On the left side of the path leading towards her village from the river, there was a profusion of flowers in all the colours of the rainbow. Breathless, she hurried home to tell; her mother about the beautiful sight.

Her mother, usually such a sad person, clapped her hands with joy for the first time in years, and all the people in the village came out of their homes to see what the matter was.

They all went to see the miracle that had happened on the track; and then the wise man of the village explained to them that the dribbles from the cracked clay pot had watered the ground and caused the seeds to sprout.

What’s more, he said, he had realised that Flying Dove, because of all that exercise, no longer walked with a limp; her own kindness had caused her to cure herself.

However, although she could now run even faster than the other children, she did not waste time playing; instead, she encouraged them to be like her, ever helpful to others. Soon afterwards, the villagers had only to scratch the ideographs for their names on their water jars, and leave them outside the house; laughing, happy, united band of children used to leave for the river in along procession to fill them up, without even once complaining…. And all with a “spring” in their step…

Behind the name: David

Who is Saint David?

Many people think that the daffodil is a flower that “for some reason” must be worn on the first of March. The reality is rather different.

The story is told that during a battle between the Welsh and the Saxons, it was difficult to tell from the clothes, or from the physiognomies of the fighters, who was friend or foe. The Saxons were counting on this, and they were actually gaining ground.

So David, who was a Monk, bent down and plucked the plant that was closest it happened to be a leek. He told his fellow countrymen, the Welsh, to wear a leek in their helmets so that it distinguish them from their enemies. It was a typical “lateral thinking” idea; a tiny one that made all the difference. The fact that he was a Man of The Cloth meant that the soldiers obeyed him, no questions asked.

Did this really happen? No one will ever know but it may well have.
These days, on Saint David’s Day (Dydd Gyl) March 1 the day of his death, which is celebrated both as a patriotic and cultural festival by the Welsh around the world, and not only in Wales, people wear the stalk, flower or a bit of leaf from a leek plant. It is not a moveable feast. However, 2006 was an exception: the feast was officially celebrated on February 28 by Roman Catholics and on March 2 by the Anglican Church in Wales, since ‘ days are not celebrated on As Wednesday, a day of penitence and fasting.
Saint David died in 589AD (some references give the date as 601AD). The reasons that a daffodil is used sometimes instead is because in March, these flowers (which are similar to those of the leek) are easier to find then leeks and anyway they smell slightly less pungent. However more importantly, one notes that the relationship between leeks and daffodils goes beyond mere similarity; they have like names in Welsh, Cenhinen (leek) and Cenhinen Bedr (daffodil, literally “Peter’s leek”). The date was declared a national day of celebration in the 18th century.
Women and girls wear Welsh costumes. This costume consists of a long woollen skirt, white blouse, woollen shawl and a typical Welsh hat.. on the Menu is, of course leek soup.
The story of Saint David is a very interesting one. It is also said of him that he once raised a youth from the dead. There were several occasions when, it is said, upon his passing, springs of water used to flow along previously arid ground.
But that is not why he gained the name Aquaticus. He and the monks of his Order, based at Glyn Rhosyn (St David’s), in south-westWales, were supposed to have drunk only water, and their Rule included hard work, study, and worship. They were also vegetarian.

They wore animal skins, and worked in the fields without oxen; “every man his own ox”. David made speaking severely restricted. Monks were to pray, silently if not aloud, at all times. After supper, the only meal of the day, they prayed for three hours before going to bed, then awoke at dawn.

He is said to have founded ten or twelve monasteries, including the famous Glastonbury (he was the first to build a chancel to Saint Joseph of Arimathea’s wattle church), Menevia and Croyland. The first hagiography-cum-biography of him was written by a son of Sulien, bishop of St. David’s, who was called Rhigyfarch, towards the end of the 11th century. This Welsh monk wrote Vita Davidis around 1094, five centuries after David’s death.
He is buried in St David’s Cathedral, Pembrokeshire. Pope Calictus II decreed to Medieval pilgrims that two pilgrimages to St David’s sufficed one pilgrimage to Rome, and three pilgrimages to St David’s equalled one to Jerusalem.
He is said to have been born around 520AD, near the town that today is of course called Saint David’s. His mother was called Non. She is also known as Saint Nonna, and may have been the granddaughter of king Brychan. She was living as a nun when she was raped by a Sant (or Xantus) his father, who was enthralled by her beauty. So David spent his early childhood in her convent, at Ty Gwyn, near Whitesand Bay. Non is the patron Saint of the sexually assaulted. Her feast Day is March 3. Some traditions hold that Non and Sant were married, and that she only became a nun when he died.
David’s father was the son of Ceredig, King of Ceredigion. David was educated in Cardiganshire, and later went on a pilgrimage through south Wales and the west of England.
During the Synod of Llanddewi Brefi, held in the village of the same name, when he stood up to speak, one of the men in the milling crowd was heard to exclaim “But we won’t be able to see or hear him!” whereupon the patch of ground upon which he was standing became a tiny hillock, so that everyone could do so properly. A white dove came to sit on his shoulder (some say at his feet).To this day, Holy Pictures depict him in this stance; preaching on a hill, with long hair and a beard, and the dove perched on his shoulder, holding a miniature cathedral in one hand and a leek in the other.
On that occasion, he was unanimously elected primate of the Cambrian church, when the incumbent primate, Dubricius, resigned in his favour.
When he later went on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, after a vision. He is said to have travelled with two companions, and the patriarch of Jerusalem, John III, consecrated him Archbishop.
The Welsh take Saint David’s Day very seriously; a poll conducted by the BBC for Saint David’s Day in 2006 found that 87% of the Welsh wanted this feast day to be declared a Bank Holiday, and 65% of those polled were even prepared to sacrifice a different bank holiday to ensure this. There are many variants of the name Daviod, some of these are: Daffy, Daffyd, Dafydd, Dai, Daid, Dave, Daven, Davey, Davi, Davidde, Davide, Davidson, Davie, Daviel, Davies, Davin, Davis, Davon, Davvy, Davy, Davyd, Davydd, Davyn, Degui, Dewi, Dewid, Dewm, Dmui, and Taffy

Children take part in school concerts going by the generic name eisteddfodau. This is the plural form of eisteddfod, the umbrella term for a festival comprising literature, music, song, drama and other performances. The term derives from eistedd, “to sit”. This tradition dates back to at least the 12th century, to a poetry and music celebration held by Rhys ap Gruffydd of Deheubarth at his court in Cardigan in 1176. There was a time when this meant a half-day of school for children across the land; nowadays the custom varies according to the instructions set out by each school’s administration. Just for the day, girls are allowed to wear National Costume.
St. David is the only Welsh saint to be canonized in the Western Church to date, and he has been the patron saint of Wales since the 12th century. In South Wales there are more than fifty churches dedicated to him.
Highlights of his life include:
His birth was foretold to Saint Patrick (about 373-464) by an angel 30 years in advance.
An angel appeared to David’s father and told him that when he went hunting the next day, he would kill a stag and find a fish, and a beehive. The stag, said to eat snakes, represents Christianity’s conquering Satan (the serpent); the fish represents Saint David’s abstinence from alcohol; and the bees represent wisdom and spirituality.
He was born during a storm that was so violent that a local ruler who planned to kill Saint David was afraid to make the journey to the place, overlooking Saint Bride’s Bay, south of today’s Saint David’s Cathedral.
David was baptized at Porth Clais by Saint Ailbhe, who may have been Non’s nephew.
He is said to be King Arthur’s Uncle.
Movi, the blind monk holding David, had his sight restored as soon as the baby was baptised.
He went to school at a monastery called Hen Vynyw, or Henfynyw, in Cardigan.
One story tells how a golden dove was seen flying, with its beak to David’s lips, teaching him the Psalms.
In Welsh he is known as ‘Dewi Ddyfrwr’ (David the Water Drinker).
He was ordained a priest after studying under the Welsh scribe St Paulinus, a disciple of St Germanus of Auxerre, who was also the mentor of the Irish Saint Patrick.

There is a similar legend concerning that of Movi concerning Saint Paulinus, who had been blinded after crying for a long time; David touched his eyes gently and he could see again.
David’s association with water is further indicated when it is said he cleansed the foetid water at Bath and turned it into warm, healing liquid.
David presided over two synods.
He is said to have fasted, drinking only water, for several days, very often.
Out of jealousy, some monks tried to poison Saint David’s bread, but Saint Schuthyn rode out from Ireland on the back of a sea monster to warn him, and Saint David blessed the bread, counteracting the poison.
He made his monks pray from evening on Friday until dawn on Sunday, with only an hour after Saturday Matins for rest.
He ordained that anyone wishing to join his Order had to wait outside for ten, in harsh and dire conditions, “so that he might learn to die to himself”. In fact, to say “my book” was considered an offence.
He devoted himself to works of mercy and practised frequent genuflexions. One of his self-inflicted penances was immersion in cold water up to his neck, during which period he recited scripture.
He is the Patron saint of doves, poets, and Wales.
Collaborated with Saint Columba, Saint Gildas, and Saint Finnegan.
He was active in fighting against the Pelagian heresy (Pelagius was a British holy leader who denied the Catholic doctrine of original sin and was declared a heretic and excommunicated in 417 by Pope Innocent I).
He remained at Menevia until his death.
Pope Callixtus II canonised David as a Saint in 1120
Saint David is mentioned in an Irish Catalogue of the Saints of 730, and an Irish Martyrology of 800.
The Flag of Saint David is black with a yellow cross.