THINGS AREN’T ALWAYS WHAT THEY APPEAR TO BE C 2012 JoJo

Twice a year, the C.B.C. (Canadian Broadcasting Corporation) runs a writing contest for Canadian writers only, and the first prize is $6,000.00 so you can imagine, there are thousands of entries contesting this prize. I entered four, but we won’t hear the results until mid February, and frankly I don’t think I have a snowball’s hope in hell of winning because the caliber of writing it superb – in fact, a great many professional writers go in for it, so what hope have I got, right? Anyhow, I’m positing one of my entries on here, and ask you to keep your fingers crossed that I come in at least 4th ($1,000 prize).

THINGS AREN’T ALWAYS WHAT THEY APPEAR TO BE
C 2011 JoJo

The events I’m about to relate happened circa 1960.

I was born and raised in Brazil. My parents were British, Dad an Anglican Priest (same as Episcopalian), my grandparents and two uncles were missionaries, so you could rightly say, my background was very strict and religious. I was taught from birth, to judge my fellow men and women according to the dictates of the Church and not to see any farther than beyond those parameters.

Dad’s ministry was to a small British and English speaking community in the town where we lived in Brazil.

It’s been my experience that when the British emigrate to a foreign country, they clump together in tightly knit communities. There is always a British School, British Club, and British Church. They seldom ever integrate with their host country – at least this was how it was in Brazil. Even though my sister and I were born and raised there, my parents strongly discouraged us from ever dating Brazilian men – in fact, neither of us ever did.

Although Dad lived there for 40 years, it would never ever have occurred to him to take out Brazilian citizenship. He was English born, and remained so for the rest of his life.

Molly and Andrew Callaghan were members of Dad’s Parish. Molly was a lovely, vivacious English girl, tall, slim, with black curly hair, blue eyes, and a sparkling personality. I often wondered what on earth she saw in Andrew. He was a dull, effete man I personally found extremely unattractive. He had pale blue eyes, a sallow complexion, and a mouth that always seemed to be wet. If I caught his eye looking at me, he’d run his tongue over his lips – frankly, he gave me the creeps. When he laughed, he sounded like a donkey braying. Everything about him repulsed me.

Like so many British living in Brazil, Andrew was under a 4 year contract with a British owned company. This entitled him and Molly to a 3 month paid for vacation in England every 4 years, at the end of which, his contract was automatically renewed for another 4 years. Most British people usually spend their working lives in Brazil, then retire “home” in England, even after having spent most of their lives living in Brazil.

Molly and Andrew lived in a beautiful house with a large garden. I’d often get invited there for an afternoon of Bridge and every time I walked up the pathway to the front door, I’d mentally note what a gorgeous garden they had, courtesy of their gardener. There was a purple bougainvillea climbing up the trellis on the end of a wide, gracious veranda, and a huge Jacaranda tree which in the summertime, bloomed with magnificent red flowers.

Molly obviously loved roses – a profusion of them bloomed in many of the flowerbeds. There was also a Jasmine tree in her garden which, when it bloomed emitted a delicious scent I used to inhale greedily as I walked up her path.

Andrew and Molly enjoyed a lifestyle, waited on by servants, they could never have afforded in England.

They had no children, and when asked why not, Molly always acted defensively. “We don’t feel children are necessary in our lives.” Pretty soon, people stopped asking.

I remember seeing Molly sitting on the porch of the cricket club, cuddling a cute little baby boy. It was a joy to see how much love she lavished on someone else’s child. Her hand gently stroked his downy head, while she murmured softly to him. Every so often, she’d grab his chubby flaying hands and bring them up to her lips for a gentle kiss.

“Molly,” I said to her on this occasion “You’d make a wonderful mother.”

Her eyes swung around and saw me. I noticed they’d misted over with a longing she quickly masked. “No, no I wouldn’t,” she replied altogether too briskly. “I wouldn’t have the patience to deal with children.” But I wasn’t fooled.

She always struck me as acting in a motherly fashion towards Andrew.

“Andrew dear, you’d better put on a cardigan, it’s getting chilly and I don’t want you to catch cold.”

“Has your headache gone away darling? Are you feeling better now or should we go home so you can get some rest?”

“Darling, it’s getting late and you know how you need to get enough sleep, so I think we should go now.”

One day we received an urgent message from Molly – her mother in England had become seriously ill so she was to return there immediately.

Back then, people in Brazil didn’t fly to England, they went by ship. Planes crashed far more often than they do nowadays and the fact that a young woman in our community had been killed in an airplane accident, made us all edgy about opting for this form of travel.

So Molly chose to go home by sea rather than air travel. This entailed a 3 weeks voyage, but leaving Andrew behind, Molly prepared to set sail on the S.S. “AMAZON.”

Many of us trooped down to see her off. In those days, you were allowed on board, and we congregated in her stateroom, where hugs were exchanged, and she graciously accepted our good wishes for her mother’s full recovery.

“All visitors ashore please, all visitors ashore,” intoned a man’s voice over the loudspeaker system.

After fond farewells, we went down the gangway and watched as preparations were made for the big ship’s departure. Passengers had been given streamers to throw from the decks down onto the pier where they fell in a profusion of coloured paper. The ship’s horn sounded loudly four times, while loud upbeat music blared over the loudspeakers.

Molly stood on the deck, smiling and waving over her tears – a tiny figure in a multitude of people.

The gangway was removed, the bow and aft lines were cast off and tossed into the ocean, where they were winched up into the huge vessel. Slowly, the ship was pulled away from the jetty by tugs, and we watched and waved until it left the harbour.

Little did any of us know the enormous changes this trip would make to Molly’s life, and through association, to ours.

The ship stopped at ports up and down the Brazilian coast, as well as those in foreign countries on the route back to England. Passengers went ashore not only to engage in sightseeing, but also to phone home, or post off letters and postcards.

Soon word filtered back to us from fellow passengers on Molly’s ship. She was having an outrageous affair with one of the ship’s officers. What shocked fellow travelers was that she made no attempt at being discrete, but openly flaunted the fact that she’d fallen madly in love with her handsome officer.

She embraced and kissed him in public. They kissed and cuddled on the deck, in full view of other passengers. We all got to hear about it, including Andrew.

The British community closed ranks around Andrew, harshly condemning Molly in absentia, for her outrageous behaviour. My parents discussed it in hushed tones. We’d all liked Molly and felt bitterly disappointed in her.

Like most close knit societies, there were golden rules set in stone – woe betide anyone who broke them. By having a blatant affair with an officer, Molly had broken the most sacred one of all – wives do not cheat on their husbands in such a careless, blatant manner. I think her infidelity caused a ripple of unease among other couples – was anyone going to follow her example?

Eventually Molly’s mother recovered, and to no one’s surprise, she returned on the same ship. Once again, she carried on her affair with the ship’s officer with total abandonment. Once again, fellow British passengers reported her goings on, reinforcing in all of us, how thoroughly shocked and disappointed we felt about it.

Andrew obviously felt he had to take action. So he flew up to Recife, Pernambuco, which was the ship’s first port of call in Brazil, with the intention of taking Molly off the ship and bringing her back home.

He did not succeed – Molly steadfastly refuse to get off the ship, So thoroughly humiliated, Andrew flew back home, alone. The ship arrived back in port, but Molly didn’t get off – she only disembarked one port of call later.

Finally she came back to Andrew and into a society that completely ostracized her for having broken one of its golden rules. Wives did not cheat on their husbands, especially in such a blatant fashion.

I was as harsh in condemning her as everyone else. I didn’t like Andrew, and thought him a weak, ineffectual and a very effeminate man, but heck alive, he was her husband, she had married him, and I strongly felt she owed it to him to be a faithful devoted wife. This is how I’d been brought up to believe, and I really adhered to those principles with every fibre of my being.

I ran into Molly downtown one day, and was all set to shun her. She grabbed my arm. “Jo, please have lunch with me? I really need a friend right now. Please?” she pleaded.

Reluctantly, I agreed. We went to a restaurant and ordered our meal. I said nothing, silently condemning her. As far as I was concerned, she couldn’t say anything to justify what she’d done.

“I hardly know where to begin,” she said hesitatingly.

“You had an affair Molly, a blatant affair with that officer and you made no secret of it either.” My words sounded harsh, even to my ears.

“Jo,” she said reaching across the table and taking my hand. “Things aren’t always what they appear to be.”

“How can you say that?” I protested indignantly. “Everyone knows, including Andrew, that you cheated on him.”

She winced. “Yes, I had sex with a man I fell in love with – for the first time in my life.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, thoroughly bewildered. “Didn’t you ever love Andrew?”

“That isn’t it,” she replied. “Until I met Bob … I was a virgin. My marriage to Andrew was never … consummated. He was unable to … perform, and after several failed attempts, we gave up on it.”

She lowered her head and began to sob quietly into her serviette. I hurried over and knelt down beside her chair, putting my arms around her. She clung to me as if her life depended on it. I had a tight knot in my throat and a deep sense of guilt and shame. I had been one of her detractors – I had voiced my opinion about her behaviour when she was being discussed, volubly and without mercy.

“Molly, didn’t you have the least inkling that Andrew was … unable to …?” I asked hesitantly.

“No, Jo, I didn’t. Andrew claimed he wanted to wait until our wedding night – out of respect for me.” She choked on her words.

“I thought it proved to me how much he loved me that he was willing to wait.”

There was a pause “So why didn’t you have your marriage annulled once … it became obvious he had a … problem?”

“My mother talked me out of it. She kept telling me that I had to give Andrew a chance. Then we came here to Brazil, and of course, nothing changed.”

“Then I met Bob, and oh Jo, it was incredible! For the first time in my life I understood how things should be in a marriage, but had never been in ours. Bob is everything I could’ve ever wanted in a man, and I love him heart and soul.” Molly’s face broke out into a radiant smile and she glowed.

I paused. “Then Molly … why did you come back to Brazil?” I asked gently.

Tears sprung up in her eyes. “Because I had no choice,” she said bitterly. “I don’t have any money of my own, and Andrew gave me a deadline – if I didn’t come back to him by that deadline, I was on my own, he said. He wouldn’t give me a penny.”

“So what are you going to do now?” I asked.

“I’ve written to Bob, telling him I want out from this marriage. I’m hoping he will come through for me.”

Bob did come through for Molly and sent her passage back to England.

Molly and Andrew got divorced, and the day her divorce became final, she married Bob in a quiet Registry Office in England. Her mother didn’t attend the wedding, but by that point, Molly didn’t care – she was blissfully happy with the love of her life. Sadly, she cut off all association from people in Brazil, so I lost touch with her.

But this experience completely changed my outlook on life. Never again did I presume to judge and condemn anyone on appearances alone, or on the basis of how society views the rights and wrongs people make of their lives, and above all, I’ve never felt I had the right to do so.

My philosophy in life became very simple: I only know what’s right for me, but wouldn’t presume to know what’s right for anyone else.

Things aren’t always what they appear to be.