Emmie Blake
George Smith groaned as he removed his horn-rimmed spectacles and rubbed his tired eyes. This was hard work, far harder than he had ever imagined. He glanced through the window and noticed that the sky was already brightening in the east. Another day was dawning, the deadline for his dissertation loomed ever closer. He looked down at the papers scattered over his desk and glanced at the title page: Mythology and the Human Condition. His sandy hair flopped over his young face as he carefully scrutinised his work so far. Despair welled up. He wondered why he had ever decided on that topic. It was something his psychology tutor had suggested which, at that time, seemed an attractive proposition. Now, though, he regretted his choice. Wearily he turned to his computer once more and read his latest piece of work.
The Judgement of Paris
When one looks at the activities of the Greek gods, it is possible to see evidence of arbitrary and irresponsible behaviour. One example of this is the story of Paris, a Trojan youth, who was set a near-impossible task by Zeus, king of the gods. A golden apple had been thrown down by Eris, goddess of discord, with the instruction to give it to the fairest goddess of all. Three goddesses vied to be granted that accolade: Hera, wife of Zeus, Athena, goddess of war, and Aphrodite, goddess of love and sexuality. Zeus, not wishing to be involved and risk causing further discord on Mount Olympus, selected Paris for the task. The three goddesses paraded before the young man to reveal their beauty but, such was their desire for that title, each also offered a bribe to influence his choice. Hera offered him vast kingdoms, Athena skill in warfare, whilst Aphrodite offered him the world’s most beautiful woman. Paris chose to give the apple to Aphrodite who, in return, gave him Helen, wife of King Menelaus of Sparta. This action triggered the Trojan War, which lasted ten years and cost countless lives.
There are several points for consideration at this point with regard to human nature. Firstly, Zeus’ reluctance to accept personal responsibility. Secondly, the significance of the golden fruit being an apple, a symbol of temptation in many cultures including, from a Western perspective, the biblical story of the Garden of Eden. Thirdly, there are the three bribes: Hera’s offer of wealth and power, Athena’s offer of military skills and glory and Aphrodite’s offer of love and sexuality. In the following pages, using psychological insights, both past and present, we will consider each of these in greater detail but, it is suggested, all of them point to one basic instinct: desire, the gratification of deep personal longings above all else. Does that hold true of all humanity and, if so, what are the consequence for the well being, or otherwise, of society?
At this point, George stopped typing; he could do no more, his mind was now fumbling for the next coherent thought. He looked around his bedsit, noting the bare walls, the minimal furniture and the absence of any clutter. Everything was just as he liked it: clean cut and under control, just like his life. He had no inclination to socialise nor to form relationships. ‘Too messy,’ was his opinion. He liked to keep to himself, avoid any distractions and to keep himself pure. A verse from Scripture, learnt as a child at Sunday school, came into his mind. ‘I thank you Lord that I am not like others.’ He smiled smugly as, stretching upright, he stumbled over to his narrow bed and collapsed onto it. In the distance a cockerel crowed as, falling asleep, he swiftly entered the world of dreams.
George was standing in an empty, spacious office, high up in a tower block. He looked far different from his usual self. His hair was slicked back and he was wearing a smart suit, with a neatly folded handkerchief tucked in the top pocket, and sporting a purple tie. A huge, shiny mahogany desk stood in front of him, the rich carpet felt good beneath his feet and a well stocked drinks cabinet stood against one wall. The room reeked of opulence. He looked out past the desk and through the plate glass wall. Far beneath him, the city of London spread out, like a toy town, but it was the distant horizon that captured his attention. ‘What opportunities might lie beyond?’ he thought. He shifted uneasily in the empty office. ‘Why did the CEO summon me?’ he wondered. He heard the door open and swivelled round.
Mr. JR Richards, fat and sleek like a well groomed cat, stood in the doorway,
“Ah! Young Smith. Good that you came so promptly. I just had to pop out to deal with a problem down the corridor.”
George gulped, he could feel sweat breaking out on his brow. ‘What did the old man want?’
“Sit down,” the CEO said, indicating a large leather chair in front of the desk. “Glass of whisky, perhaps?”
George’s eyes widened. ‘What was all this about?’ He sat in the chair and warily accepted the offered drink, waiting for whatever should come next.
“Well, I expect you’re wondering why I sent for you?”
He nodded.
“I’ve had my eye on you for some time, my lad, and am very impressed with your work. Very impressed indeed. It’s creative and concise; you get things done.”
‘Praise indeed,’ George thought, relaxing slightly.
“I think you’re the right man for a little job I have in mind - well a big one actually. I want you to take control of our European division; there are plenty of opportunities there but it needs more of a push. I need someone with fresh ideas and drive. Someone like you.”
George sat up sharply, he could hardly believe his ears.
“You want me to be European Director, sir?”
“I do,” he paused, before adding, “Mind you, there’s a job for you to finish here first. Are you up for it?’
George edged forward eagerly. “Yes sir!”
“It’s that department of yours. I’ve decided that, without you, its work schedule could easily be incorporated within another division. It will be far more cost effective; your team is no longer required.”
“Pardon, sir?”
‘Your team, all six of them; without you, they’re surplus to requirements. You’ll have to break the news to them yourself.’
“But ..but,” George thought of his co-workers, each with their own need of the work. “All of them?”
“Everyone one of them. You’re not squeamish about it, are you?”
“No, oh no,” George hastened to reassure his boss.
“That’s good. Because if you can’t do that, you’re not the man I thought you were. The Europe job will have to go to someone else - and you’ll be out on your ear as well.”
George swallowed hard and squared his shoulders. He wanted that promotion so badly.
“Don’t worry, sir, I’m your man.”
He walked back to his own office with a heavy heart. He knew that this decision would bring heartbreak and hardship to good workers, but their fate was already sealed. He reached his own department. Heads turned and looked enquiringly at George as he walked past their desks. They knew he had been summoned to ‘the top floor’ and the significance of that was not wasted on them. He entered his own private office and slumped into his chair. ‘How am I going to break the news to them?’ he wondered.
As he sat there, however, images of the promotion filled his mind. He saw himself sitting in an office similar to the one he had just left, a man of power, with thousands of workers under his control; his power stretching across the continent. Most enticing of all was the prospect of a huge increase in salary. A different lifestyle beckoned. ‘I’d be mad not to grab this opportunity,’ he thought. With his head full of visions of glory, George re-entered the main department and broke the news to his colleagues. There were outraged shouts, lots of tears, and dark mutters of “Wait until the union hears about this!” George, though, found he was unmoved by their pleas. They were now nothing to him. His desire for wealth and power had consumed him, his own well-being was paramount. Nothing was going to stand in his way. The promised crown of the European Division had bewitched him.
George stirred in his sleep. He rolled over and murmured before settling down again. The scene changed.
From his vantage point at the top of the hill, he could see across the plain to where a vast army waited, the sunlight glinting on their weapons. The feathers on his plumed hat danced in the breeze and the medals on his chest jingled together. His horse moved skittishly but he soon brought it back under his control. He looked towards the wood-capped hills on either side of him and nodded in satisfaction before nudging his horse forward to face his own troops. They stood resplendent in their red uniforms, clutching muskets or pikes. All of them could see that they were hugely outnumbered by the army that lay before them, but the men stood firm, proud and ready to do their duty come what may. George’s eye was caught by a sudden movement in the front rank. A young soldier, little more than a boy had dropped his gun. The man looked up nervously as the great leader approached him.
“Soldier, what ails you?”
“Sorry, sir,’ he mumbled, “the gun just slipped.”
George noticed the tremor in voice and body. He smiled sympathetically.
“Like you, I was once young and new to the battlefield. Yet when the fighting started, I no longer felt alone - nor afraid. I became just one part of a mighty force, disciplined and efficient, gaining strength from those around me. You will find the same. Be of stout heart.”
A voice from the ranks cried out, “God Bless the General, our great leader.”
The cry was taken up by the ranked forces. “Huzzah for the General.”
George smiled before waving his hand to still them all.
“Men from the Shires, today we face a formidable foe. But do not despair. All will be well. I, George Midlander, pledge that I will lead the charge. I will give you victory.”
Cheers rang out again. Then he nodded to the trumpeter. A bugle sounded, drums beat out their steady rhythm and, as one, the soldiers advanced down the hill toward their foe.
The watching army started to march towards them. As his troops reached the foot of the hill, George gave the signal and his men charged. The opposition ran to meet them. Gunfire cracked across the field as, alongside his fellow officers, he rode into the mêlée. George had long overcome his early nervousness at going into battle and, no longer troubled by the bloodlust that had once threatened to be his undoing, had become a veritable fighting machine. His keen eye selected his first victim. With one slash of his sabre, the man was cut down. George charged through the battlefield, striking down all who challenged him with no compunction. Men fell before him. He paused briefly and looked around him before signalling for the retreat to be sounded. His troops fell back, fighting as they went. The enemy surged forward; but this was the moment for which he had planned.
George gave another signal; a clarion call sounded, and serried ranks of calvary swooped down from their hiding place in the surrounding hills. They closed in, trapping the enemy between themselves and his forces, cutting off any possible retreat route. His own men ended their feigned retreat. They turned and re-engaged with the enemy; the battle was soon ended. Men lay wounded, dead or dying on the battle field. The few remaining enemy troops stood sullenly by, their weapons thrown on the ground. George’s cunning strategy had ensured victory. His men swarmed around him, cheering again and again. He rose in his stirrups, his chest heaving from his exertions, acknowledging the accolade. A smile illuminated his face. Once again his military prowess had prevailed, his reputation had been further enhanced. Life was good!
A church bell rang out its morning call. George grunted, his eyes flickered briefly open before closing again.
When he next opened them, he saw a party in full swing. A crowd of people, all dressed in their best finery, milled around in a high-ceilinged ballroom. A banqueting table stood at one end whilst a set of patio doors opened at the other onto spacious grounds, lit by colourful fairy lights and lanterns. Waiters circulated through the throng offering glasses of champagne to the guests. As George turned to take one from a passing waiter, he caught sight of his reflection in one of the many mirrors. A slim, fresh faced youth stared back at him, smartly clad in dark trousers and a tuxedo jacket. ‘Scrubbed up well tonight,’ he thought, ‘No-one need know it’s all borrowed gear.’
At that moment, there was a disturbance at the door; some latecomers were arriving. A small group of revellers, led by a striking couple moved through the throng. The man was much older than his partner whom he held tightly against his side. George was completely mesmerised by the woman. ‘She’s absolutely gorgeous,’ he thought. The young woman was indeed exquisitely beautiful; her petite features, crowned by dark curls, topped a perfectly formed body. Her off-the-shoulder dress sheathed her body smoothly as she glided round the room, greeting people as she moved amongst them. As she raised her hand to take a proffered drink George noticed, with a pang of regret, that she wore a wedding ring. He watched as her husband gave her a flamboyant squeeze before moving away to engage in serious conversation with a group of important-looking men.
The woman looked around and then headed directly towards where George was standing. He glanced around. He was the only one in that corner of the room. ‘Can she really be coming to talk to me?’ he wondered. As she drew closer, he noticed that her smile had slipped and her blue eyes held a sadness within them. He smiled warmly at her.
“Hello, I’m George.”
“Hello George, I’m Helena. It’s good to meet you.”
He felt tongue-tied, and desperately tried to find something to say to her. But she made it easy for him.
“Tell me about yourself? What do you do?”
He gulped before answering. “I’m studying for a Masters Degree, in psychology.”
“Are you indeed?” She tilted her head provocatively to one side. “Perhaps you’d like to analyse me?”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly do that. I would have to spend a lot of time with you and ask some very personal questions.”
A sad smile appeared on her face. “Well, why don’t we make a start? The garden is a beautiful and tranquil place. Why don’t we go there to talk?”
George could not believe his ears. This absolutely gorgeous woman obviously wanted to spend time with him, an impoverished student. Was she being serious?
She must have read his mind, for she laid a hand lightly on his arm. The touch set his his body tingling.“Come on.”
“But. But what about your husband? Won’t he mind if we go out together?”
A note of bitterness came into her voice. “Oh. He’s far too busy trying to impress that group of bankers over there. He won’t even notice.”
George glanced to where she indicated. Certainly the man seemed very preoccupied. Meekly he let Helena guide him through the throng; no-one seemed to notice them as they headed for the doors.
They entered into the stillness of the garden. A rich scent of roses hung in the night air and a multitude of stars shone brightly in the deep velvet sky. Helena tilted her head back and inhaled deeply. “Ah. That’s better.” She took a few steps forward before turning back to him. “Come on!” She held her hand out to him.
With a furtive glance behind him, George followed her along a paved path through the grounds. They passed the flower beds in silence before moving across the grass towards a large weeping willow; its branches sweeping down to the mossy earth. Without hesitation Helena reached out and parted the leafy curtain, revealing a wooden bench leaning against the trunk. She turned and looked at George, who was staring in astonishment. She laughed, a silvery sound that was music in his ears. “I found this seat many years ago, when I was brought here to play while my parents talked business with the owners. It became my secret hideout.” She sat down and patted the seat beside her. “Its all right, no-one can see us. We’re quite safe.”
George sat nervously on the edge of the seat. He was aware of a fierce, unbidden current surging through his veins. Helena turned toward him. “Now, my little psychology student, has anyone ever told you what a kind face you have?”
Dumfounded, he could only shake his head in denial.
“So,” she continued, “let me tell you all about me - and then you can give me your verdict.”
“Well. It doesn’t actually work like that,” George said.
Undeterred, she continued, “I was born into a banking family; my parents were always more interested in business matters than in me. I was sent off to boarding school and then to ‘finishing school’ in Switzerland. They never asked me what I wanted to do. The family that own this place were close friends of theirs, that’s why I often came here. This bench was my favourite spot, away from them all. When I turned eighteen, I was introduced to James, my husband. I never loved him; he was just a way to get away from my family and be my ‘own person’.” She paused before continuing sadly. “Only it never worked out that way. He just wants me as a decorative asset, someone to help grace his social life and influence his business contacts. I’m not allowed my own friends nor to go out anywhere on my own. He’s a very controlling person.”
George was at a loss for words. He wasn’t used to such candour in anyone, especially someone he had only just met. He reached out and patted her hand gently.
To his amazement she seized it and placed it over her heart. “See. Can you feel it? My heart is unloved: broken and discarded.”
In truth, he could not feel the beating of her heart because of the pounding of his own. He moved his hand tentatively, gently cupping her breast within it. He could feel the softness of her warm flesh through the thin fabric of the dress. She moved closer to him, turning her face towards him. All thoughts of her husband vanished from his mind as he swept her into a powerful embrace. His lips pressed down towards her soft ones.
A veil of darkness fell over his eyes. Helena, the garden, and the bench all disappeared. George groaned as he opened his eyes onto the bare walls of his bed-sit. “God! How I wanted that woman!” he exclaimed. His loins were ablaze, sweat stood out on his brow and his body ached as if with a fever. He lay trembling; his body and mind shaken by what he had experienced during those few hours of snatched sleep. After a few moment, he stumbled across to the kitchen and switched on his coffee machine. He made his way to the bathroom and stared in the mirror at the wild eyed youth who confronted him; he almost did not recognise himself. He splashed cold water over his face before returning to his desk with a cup of coffee. He ran a hand over his stubbled face as he tried to make sense of it all.
His mind raced up and down various avenues of thought before he came to the sad conclusion; he was indeed no better than anyone else. The same desires that he had identified and condemned in others were also running through his own body. The yearnings for glory, wealth and lust were as true of him as of anyone else. George felt shaken to the core of his being. He dropped his head into his hands. ‘What am I to do now?’ he wondered. He could carry on as before, denying all emotions and desires. Or he could allow them free rein, using other people purely for his own gratification. The realisation dawned that there was a third way available to him; he could acknowledge the truth of his recently acquired self-knowledge and, recognising his shared humanity, live as honestly as he could.
In the meantime, though, there was the matter of his dissertation; it had to be finished by tomorrow. He reached for his computer and started typing furiously as one idea flowed into another. He reached for his textbooks, typing in relevant quotes and references. As the sun started to set, the work was nearing completion. George paused for a quiet moment of reflection before finishing his work.
Humanity is prey to all sorts of emotions which can destabilise the ego and threaten society. People have recognised that this desire for self-gratification, in its many forms, is dangerous and so, from earliest times, have used the power of story to contain it. What can be named loses its sting. We should be thankful for the many myths that can be found in every culture around the world; they help to protect ourselves and those around us from harm. These ancient stories fulfil their purpose exceedingly well and society is much healthier as a result.
George stopped and re-read his final paragraph. He smiled as he saved his work to the computer. Standing up, he stretched and headed for the bathroom. Thirty minutes later, freshly showered, shaved and with a change of clothing, he headed toward the door. He shrugged himself into his coat and picked up his wallet. Leaving the building he headed off towards the Student Union Bar. ‘Time,’ he thought, ‘to do some living.’
Emmie Blake has been writing for many years but it was only after her retirement that she began regularly writing short stories. Since then, she has had three pieces published in an Anthology as well as winning several regional story competitions. During her professional life she worked variously as a counsellor, educator and activist as well as an ordained minister. She volunteers in her local community and is actively supporting people seeking sanctuary in her part of Wales (UK). She and her husband enjoy their rural life together, gardening and walking their dog in the surrounding hills.
Credit: Dan Goodfellow