The Goddess of Jealousy

Usually, I like to read and write stories that illustrate some point with a touch of irony or humor. I have always hated stories that are intended simply to depress the reader. I have made it a rule to avoid that type of writing.

In this case, I have violated this personal rule. I am not sure why, really. The story sat in a folder on my desktop for several months. I guess I just need to get rid of it.

Be forewarned that this story is totally devoid of any humor.

You are not going to feel good after reading this story.

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The Holy Daughter caught me with my wife, in love's embrace. We had been touching each other.

Yes, it was wrong, but we had been married for less than a year, and we were still intoxicated by the newness of our love. My wife and I labored together in the Gardens of Indivia, away from the fields – away from the decaying stench of torn and decaying body parts – away from whimpers of those offenders who were being punished for various sinful acts and thoughts.

The idea that my sufferings could be multiplied to what they are today seemed impossible.

I had hoped this work to be easier than our usual routine, but found it actually to be backbreaking work; moving heavy rocks, digging in the dry hard ground, carrying large casks of water from the wells. We fertilized the flowers with burned remains of those who had been judged and sentenced. We sifted bone fragments from the ground with our raw fingers. We had been scratched and ripped by thistles and shards all morning.

Yet, towards the middle of the day, the peaceful solitude of the garden gave us a strange re-invigorating energy. Quite abruptly we found ourselves completely alone, in an obscure corner of the garden.

My wife lifted her hood and veil. A soft and knowing smile played upon her lips. She titled her head suggestively, and then reached out her hand to me. Sharp desire overcame my judgment. For a brief moment, amid the flowers and ferns, the reality of our morbid existence faded.

We touched each other.

The risk should have been small. But on that particular day the Holy Daughter had chosen, in a spurious moment of her boredom, to leave her lavish palace, seeking amusement. From the high walls of her garden, she saw clearly what we had done.

I knew at that instant, when I heard the guard's shouting, that my loving wife had led me to a terrible threshold. Together, in all innocence, we had crossed, and abruptly fallen. In a moment, we had changed from torment's witness to its victim, and would now directly experience the inhuman brutality of the Holy Daughter.

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Within moments we had been seized by her guards and brought to the center of the square. The other workers were called to watch as we were forced to kneel. The Holy Daughter circled us. She walked unhurriedly, savoring our shame.

"A pretty boy. And girl. Why did you touch each other that way? So offensive! Worse yet – you committed that disgraceful act within my Mother's garden! How dare you!"

Tears poured down the face of my wife. She sobbed silently to herself.

"Ohhh – she cries!" the Holy Daughter giggled. "The pretty girl cries! How delightful!"

Although I knew I risked instant death, I spoke, "Fair Priestess, spare her!"

"Why should I? Give me a reason!"

To respond to her was insolent, but I continued. "Because I love her, your Holiness. You so often speak of love."

"Yes, I do. I believe strongly in love." The Holy Daughter softened. "Love is holy."

"She is my wife!"

The Holy Daughter paused. "Wife? What is that? You mean – she is the ugliness that perverts your soul? But you are wrong. You are stupid! She is not ugly at all. She is very beautiful. Ohhh – so stunningly beautiful! Tell me the truth! Is that why you love her? Gaze upon me now. Is she more beautiful than me?"

I raised my eyes briefly. I was struck by how young the Holy Daughter actually was. She was merely a child. But what penetrated me even more than her refined features and unblemished skin was a horrible look of spitefulness and smugness that hid any possible beauty she might have possessed.

I sought to spare my wife from the Holy Daughter's obvious intention to mutilate and disfigure her. "No Gentle Priestess. She is ugly compared to you! Your great beauty is beyond all compare. It is not her outer beauty I love, it is her inner soul."

"Ah. You love her mentality, not her physical appearance. I see." For a moment, the Holy Daughter looked disappointed. She brought her slender finger to her lips for a moment of contemplation. "I don't know what to do about this. I must confer with my Mother…."

I looked down, trembling violently. I could not raise my eyes again without her explicit invitation, without straight away being killed by her guards.

"I will confer with my Mother," she repeated. "I will take your attractive wife with me, for a short time. My Mother must see her. And you -- you will continue to kneel here until we return," the Holy Daughter ordered.

And I obeyed, agonizing on my knees in the baking sun for many hours. The torture! The images in my mind were so profoundly terrifying that I offered no resistance, and made no attempt to move, until the pain in my knees consumed me.

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Eventually they came back. My eyes were locked downward. I could see their shadows in the sand.

"You loved her for her mind", the Holy Daughter said gently. "A pretty boy, in love with a pretty girl. So -- we did not touch her beauty. In fact, look! We have further adorned her. Look! Now! You see? Her beauty remains!

There was a moment of hope in my heart as I looked up, into the face of my wife.

It was true, they had spared her beauty, but as the realization of what they had done to her instead must have paralyzed me, or I would have surely screamed in horror at what I saw.

In my mind, after all these years, I still scream at that ghastly moment of realization.

"She suffered, yes," said the Holy Daughter. "But her suffering and death was not my goal. You should understand. I did this – not to punish your wife. How could I willingly cause this pretty girl such pain? After she shed tears for me?"

The Holy Daughter raised her voice, so that the others standing in the square could hear clearly. The spectators gaped at my wife, tiny trickles of dried blood on her face. They all stood silently, reeling in the awfulness of the moment.

"Listen, and learn! Love is so precious. It is the most valuable thing in this world." The priestess spoke softly, sweetly, reasonably. "That is why I can never share that love with any of my subjects, and require all my subjects to love only me."

She turned to me, touching me gently on my head. "You freely gave your love to someone else. And so we did this. Not to punish her. But rather – TO PUNISH YOU!"

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It is true that I had first been attracted to my wife for her beauty. We had kissed and touched in defiance of all laws. I had been utterly consumed with desire to stroke her skin, play with her hair, and feel her breath against my cheek. Within the complete misery and despair of our existence, we had found hope for occasional moments of relief. We had discovered a false faith that mercy still existed – lived a delusion that love could survive the cruel jealousy of the world.

My darling! My adoration! My wife! If only I had lied, and claimed it was really your beauty I loved. They would have certainly believed that lie. They would have certainly scarred you into a hideous and revolting monster. But I would still have you. I would still love you.

Unfortunately, I had told the Holy Daughter the truth. It was not my wife's beauty I loved, but her soul.

Blinded. Each eye replaced with a polished jewel.

Yet worse, the permanent blindness was just the means to their dreadful ends. As I looked into the face of my wife, and the slackness of her expression, the limpness of her limbs, the terrible truth became immediately clear. The palace surgeons had removed my wife's eyes, and then destroyed her brain with their malevolent tools. They had cut into her skull through the eye sockets, taking and killing her mind, leaving her beautiful body still breathing.

I did not love my wife for her beauty.

Indulging herself in her diabolical jealousy, the Holy Daughter had taken from me the thing I actually loved.

Hmph... about time a life lesson was taught. Sad to say I enjoyed this story however depressing it was. Good job.