Queen of Hearts
to everyone who believes in love
Judy was the second of four daughters to a tailor and his wife. She lived in a small apartment next to a church on the group floor with her parents and Pamela, 20, Rachel, 17, and Abigail, 15.
Judy was not the most beautiful; that would have to be Rachel, whose bright emeralds against raging fire rendered the most mesmerizing glow able to devour every passion’s poet. Judy was not the most thoughtful; that would have to be Pamela, who blew sugary breezes and swept ambrosial streams together able to remove every scar of solitude. Judy was not the brainiest; that would have to be Abigail, to whom golden streams conjoin into green rivers that flow towards the embraces of the boundless blue able to dwarf the limestone and the steel. For eighteen years, it seemed to Judy she was meant to be second in every regard, but that, as she saw it, could not bring her down: the spring sprouts, the summer splashes, the autumn leaves, and the winter flakes outside the small window in her room had the entire world in display; those free spirits by the church she fed every now and then and her long-tailed neighbour who escaped whenever Judy knocked on his door, they filled her days with all the friendship one would desire; and the boy next door – well, is he not the only one by whom Judy needs to be loved?
#
Eighteen years to the day, for girls grown up listening to the chimes from over their windows it was a time to hear each other’s confessions. The sisters waited outside the kitchen for their turns; Judy tied her hair to the back, sipped a little water, and sat upright in her chair.
‘Do you have any story to tell?’ Judy asked with a squeezed smile, involuntarily tilting her head to the side.
‘I’ve tons of stories.’ Abigail said, ‘What kind do you want to hear?’
Judy pulled her head straight and frowned. ‘It’s a confession; why don’t you start with your sins? Do you have any?’
‘Who doesn’t?’
Abigail smiled, but upon the sight of her sister’s grieving bafflement she seemed to have contracted Judy’s ailment.
‘It’s the squirrel.’ Abigail said, ‘You know the squirrel that lives in the tree just outside? Last week I threw a branch at him, and, and…
‘It just stopped moving. I was scared. I thought I killed it. For a second I thought God would no longer love me, no one would, but then, then all kinds of feelings rushed into my head and bashed my conscience with but one voice “If anything had changed…”’
Looking into those sapphires washed by compassion, Judy was appalled. It is but a game, the confession, isn’t it?
‘All of a sudden the squirrel stood up again. It ran behind the bushes, but with a limp. I knew if anything had changed it would be me, it would be me who no longer deserve to love. I no longer deserve to love because as I failed to pray I lost my faith, in life…’
Judy opened her arms and led Abigail close to her heart. She felt there was not much she could otherwise do. She was only certain that a condescending pat on the shoulder would nullify the trust the sisters shared, and that a contrived whisper, however sweet and tender, would wound Abigail with another wave of compassion the heat from which she, if not her sister, could not withstand.
The only thing Judy prescribed was silence. She knew words, touches, nothing could heal like an earnest heart pounding next to the one it beats for day in and day out.
#
Enthusiastic, Rachel jumped by Abigail and swayed the door shut. Her vitality stroke to Judy as somewhat bunny-like, for lack of a better word, the thought of which alone lifted Judy’s spirit. To Rachel, Judy’s half-done, half-undone hair style was not exactly the match for a light grin briefly drawn on a heavy face, not the match for any face an 18-year-old should wear. The moment of perplexity lasted well longer than Rachel was able to spill out her scripted question.
‘Birthday girl, want some sinful stories?’
It did not sound right, not to Rachel; to Judy, in contrast, the question reminded her that it was an occasion to dispel, to relieve, not an ordeal to torment or to distress. She quickly wiped the concern off her temples and, for the first time that day, laughed.
‘Can’t we talk about something delightful, some good news you haven’t told anyone yet?’
The confusion of the last hour still hung over Rachel’s head, but at her age she had already learnt how to follow the flow and not to worry where the spring lies. It did not take Rachel any time to pick the news she had meant to break any time for the past two weeks from the top of her pile of girlishness.
‘There is one.’ Rachel said as she pulled her chair closer to Judy, ‘I’m going to America next month.’
‘America?’
‘I’ve signed a modelling agency two weeks ago. They are sending me to New York next month; then maybe London, Paris… Aren’t you excited?’
Judy wanted to say no, but she soon discovered that ailment is not the only thing contagious when it comes to love.
‘Of course I am.’
The blossoms on Rachel’s face opened as she reached behind Judy, undoing the braid. To Rachel, there was hardly anything more captivating than the long, natural wavy hair of her sister falling along that soft skin on those fragile yet unyielding shoulders, the sight of which somehow evoked a transient sense of melancholy.
Whispering over Judy’s shoulder, Rachel said, ‘But I think I’ll miss you, all of you.’
For a second Judy wanted to say that the world is small and that they would still see each other, albeit not as often; then, she realized it was not the missing sight of the family that was the most torching.
Judy held Rachel’s hands in hers and said word by word, ‘Love is not measured by the physical distance but by the closeness of hearts.’
#
If anyone ever wonders what the aftertaste of mint mixed with chili would be, Judy’s lingering obsession with a muse’s touch on her hair while Pamela took her seat pretty much said it all. Pamela knew only cheerful news would warrant distracting her sister at that point.
‘I’m in love.’
What a magic word! Judy, she was also smitten. Never self-conceited, she still felt raging roars running through her veins, invigorating every inch of her body, every inch of her body ready for the touch of Jonny, the loveliest boy next door.
‘I’m in love with Jonny.’
For a full half minute Judy was reassured that her feelings were real; she could even hear herself telling the world she was in love with Jonny. But it would not be a beautiful story if it were not a true story, and it would not be a true story if it were not a sad one – Judy’s teeth biting her lips had never lifted from that cherry red.
‘We’re planning to move out soon.’
Judy never thought love would be perfect; she knew life is fond of irony – just what kind of a sense of humour! Then again, is it not a kind of relief? What is ‘love’ anyway? Is it food, is it water, is it something we cannot do without? – Judy had a sigh, and it drew the line. She stood up from her chair and smiled at Pamela, her eyes full of hope, her hair strong and resilient.
‘Congratulations!’
#
Twenty-six years later, Pamela is happily married to Jonny; they have three kids. Rachel had a successful modelling career and has transformed into an actress. Abigail is a professor of zoology. Judy works for the church charity; she has spent years in Africa, Southeast Asia, and Latin America, helping poor children with education. Some of her first students have already joined her cause. To many, Judy was the first one that loved them; to Judy, their love is all she ever would wish for.
True love is heroin. Do it once; your heart will long for it for life.
Jiulin Teng
Sunday, 12 February 2012
Stockholm Sweden
