And What is Your Cage?

Sometimes in life we are where we don't want to be.  A place we didn't choose with people that bring pain not gain.  Gradually, we can become a person we never meant to be.   At such times we feel such a longing to be who we were meant to be.  Breaking free of that cage is a hard process but we all have just one life, no rehearsals allowed. 

And What is Your Cage?

Jane was a slight woman with a nervous twitching face. Her emotions seemed out of control and her facial features changed like the flickering of a bulb that is about to go out. Kindness then suspicion then a wary unguarded look followed by a look of triumphant glee and then a completely miserable expression would take its place. Each fleeting look would only be there for an instant, just long enough for you to register the expression, begin to react to it, and then it would be gone. If this were not enough her body was equally tense and ill at ease. She would be sitting on the sofa then she would stalk around to make a dramatic point, her arms gesturing wildly. Her feet dancing like a thoroughbred horse on the carpet as if anxious to be somewhere else. The whole impression was of a person who had lost track of their real self and like a projector gone wild, simply vibrated with random motion.

Jane is a friend of my friend Karen. My contact with her had been spasmodic. Karen had mentioned her a few times and I’d gathered Jane had marital problems. Then one day things had reached a climax and Karen had turned up on my doorstep with Jane beside her. Jane’s husband had thrown her and the two children out of the house. She had been taken in by a neighbour but was in a terrible state. Shaking with emotion she recounted what had happened. Her husband was having an affair, not unusual here in Greece, but he also wanted his freedom and had for some time.

So for the past five years his strategy had been to make Jane leave him. He had gradually become more and more cruel as his intention was continually foiled by Jane’s long-suffering devotion. Even now when she described his latest attack, between her tears she admitted that she still, even now, loved him. He had damaged her arm and she’d had to go to hospital. He’d offered her half of their shop, in the town, if she gave him their daughter. He didn’t want the boy, as he looked like his mother! Only the daughter! When that didn’t work he attempted to have her certified incompetent by some doctor friends of his.

Karen had taken Jane to a solicitor for advice, as things had become so traumatic. Unfortunately this had been reported to Jane’s husband and he had phoned Karen and threatened her. After he had finished Karen phoned me in tears dreadfully upset. He’d even threatened to come to her children’s school and create a scene, telling everyone that Karen was crazy. It seemed the appropriate explanation for him that anyone who did anything he disproved of must be crazy. Karen had brought Jane to us and as she paced and fidgeted and quivered with emotion I felt a deep sadness. Karen whispered to me, “she never used to be like this. Living with him has changed her, she used to be so calm”. There was a sweetness about Jane even now. She was Swiss and at first her Greek husband had been everything she sought. They lived here in Greece but had spoken German in their home for the first five years of their marriage. Gradually he had instigated changes. Only Greek could be spoken now. Criticisms grew over the way she looked, the cleanliness of the house, the food she prepared. Nothing was good enough. It all sounded frighteningly familiar to me. Another friend of mine had been married to a similar case. He had been so loving, so kind, but after the wedding his behaviour had gradually changed. It began with words. How fat she looked. How could she say such stupid things in front of others? Why was the house such a mess etc. etc. At the end of eight years when he actually started hitting her, she felt she really deserved it! The depletion of her own self-worth had been gradual but with daily drip feeds of acidic comments she too became convinced of her low station. However, Jane’s parents were coming from Switzerland in a matter of days for two weeks holiday. It seemed good news in the midst of a life torn with arguments, bitterness and awful moods.

Unfortunately her husband, true to form, threw her parents out of the house and cursed them dreadfully. They fled back to Switzerland where I reckon Jane’s husband thought they would take her as well. Jane didn’t go she stayed. Karen doesn’t talk to her anymore. She’s angry that Jane is back playing happy families. Jane’s husband bought her a beautiful vase as an apology for his behaviour. Jane accepted his apology and his vase. Karen says she can’t stand it any more. Three years of being the shoulder to cry on has been enough. So Jane is more alone than ever with one friend less and her family in Switzerland totally bemused.

Yesterday when I was standing in the school Assembly someone came up and put their hands over my eyes from behind. I turned and it was Jane. Bouncing from one foot to the other, expressions fleeing across her face in succession. What has happened to the real Jane, what will she become, what does the future hold? I see a desperation, a loneliness behind all the movement and I pray that sweet Jane finds an easier path.

Here in Rhodes people keep birds in cages. They like the beautiful sound they make, singing to the sky beyond the bars. It seems strange that their owners don’t realise most of a bird’s beauty is in its ability to fly. Not surprising then that people too, having captured the thing they love, bind it, cage it, make it into something else, then cease to love it at all.