The Well of Truth by Elizabeth A. Gould

Author:Elizabeth A. Gould
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: SparkPress

Burning Down the House

GRACE LOOKED OUT OVER THE BEACH, WHERE LARGE pieces of driftwood lay scattered like bleached and broken bones. On her way down to the water’s edge, she picked her way through glossy ribbons of bladderwrack and decomposing fish carcasses. Why have I come back here?

An unexpected gust of wind kicked sand into her face, which felt like a personal affront. She hadn’t been back to this beach since the day that Jack asked for a divorce. She spat on the ground. Why can’t I accept that the marriage is over? Why can’t I move on?

With a strong wave of emotions moving through her, she longed for the safety of a sheltered place to sit down and process her thoughts. Remembering that, as a child, she loved making huts out of waterlogged branches, she set to work creating a makeshift refuge. But once she got inside the rickety structure, she was overwhelmed by the scent of damp decay, which only made her feel worse.

With her chin resting on her knees, she closed her eyes to listen to the waves. But what she heard instead was heavy breathing, raspy and asthmatic. Alarmed, she looked up to see a woman marching across the sand toward her. The stranger, who wore a blood-red sari, had kohl-lined eyes and vermilion sindoor smeared across her forehead. She waved at Grace and flashed a toothy smile. And then she raised her sinewy arm and knocked down the driftwood hut. Surrounded by the fallen pieces of wood, Grace sat motionless in the sand, transfixed. The fierce woman produced a ball of red yarn from her pocket and began walking in a clockwise circle around Grace, unspooling the wool as she went. Finally, she raised her arms to the sky, invoking the names of Grace’s maternal ancestors, “Berthe, Cora, Ellen, Sophie. Lend your courage and strength to break the chain.”

Then, with a gleeful chortle, the woman struck a match and lit the ring of fire. Grace shook as an intoxicating fury seeped out of the pores of her skin. While the woman clapped and cheered, Grace raged, slashed, and screamed at all the bitter memories that haunted her, stopping occasionally to vomit up a dark brew of undigested anger. Wilder than the wind and more dangerous than a riptide, she had become a bearer of destruction. This is it. I am being totally and utterly annihilated.

The flaming sun crashed flamboyantly into the darkening sea. Grace fell down on the sand. Very slowly, the sea advanced, gathering up her lifeless body in its white, foamy fingers. The tide rocked her in its healing arms until the first light of dawn, when it gently deposited her wet body back on shore.

With saltwater and fire pulsing through her veins, Grace raised her dripping head to thank the wild woman who had saved her life by introducing her to the transformative power of sacred rage.

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