PeriscopeI'm through!
"It's strange we can make language our slave!" Disciple held the
frost-laden bicycle bar and felt its 'warmth'.
"It's involuntary, when emotions overpower your soul."
"I am hearing something. Do you hear it too? It sounds like something
from inside the house." Disciple pointed at the house they stood by.
"You don't have to worry whether I hear it or not. What does the
voice tell you?"
"You bastard, I am through!"
And now it was master's turn to smile and laugh out loud. It puzzled
the disciple.
"What's so funny here? Or am I going mad?"
"We have all gone mad, son. You get along with my spell, inch by
inch. A master mustn't have anything better to be happy and proud of
than seeing his student improve, I think."
"And that's not all. I am hearing some more."
"I know. Why wouldn't you share them with me?"
"There's a stake in your fat, black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through."
And then they both fell silent. Disciple raised his voice again.
"I want to know whose lines are these."
"I am waiting for Sylvia Plath to answer my bell ring."
"Do you think she will answer?"
"She might. Or she might not. Who knows?"
"Isn't that waste of time?"
"No it is not. Especially when we are in an inspired place."
"I don't think I got you clear enough, master."
"You are holding her bicycle. The bicycle that took her to the
campus. And this house had belonged to W. B. Yeats. When she bought this
house, she took it as a good omen."
"Thinking of her literary works, I guess."
"Exactly. Her life was a flop anyway."
"I heard her father died when she was merely eight. I wonder what
made her so arrogant about father."
"I see it little differently. Her arrogance is because she missed the
company of her father. Are you hearing anything more?"
"Yes I do," and the disciple continued:
"But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look And a love of the rack and the
screw.
And I said I do, I do."
"I think she referred to her husband Ted Hughes too. Because Ted was
always in black from head to toe. And remember 'Mein kampf' is also the
title of Hitler's autobiography. Hitler almost annihilated the Jews.
When she badly needed father's company, he left the world. So she found
it very hard to survive. She did not know whether it was bad or good.
Sylvia likens the relationship between her father and her to something
between a German and a Jew. She saw herself as a Jew."
"Now what's its relation to Ted?"
"That's the interesting part. She was attracted to Ted, because he
reminded of her father. Whatever the feelings she had for father, it was
just the same for Ted too. Tell me more of what you hear; it will
explain."
"If I've killed one man, I've killed two-
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year."
Master paused awhile for the disciple to think over the lines he
recited. He wanted to listen to disciple.
"Did she have Electra complex? I mean father-daughter bond?"
"Probably yes. Father's absence made her attraction even stronger.
She tried to dig out her father in Ted. But obviously it was not
possible."
"And the result, she got frustrated like hell?"
"It turned out worse, because she was a poet. That disappointment was
too much for her to handle."
"What sort of a disappointment?"
"Hard to spell it out. But I feel a poet should never marry another.
There is no emotional balance." "Don't you think Sylvia had a
psychological issue?"
"It should have been worse, if she didn't write them down. Every
thought, I mean."
"And Ted destroyed them."
"Not all, my son, not all. He published some of them. Put yourself in
his shoes, you would do the same. Everyone of us has dignity, come to
think about that. Ted was no exception. But I think Sylvia was more
courageous. She had the stomach to expose her face to the oven and let
it take her life but slowly. Just imagine that!"
Disciple nodded and couldn't think of anything to respond. His hand
still rested on the bicycle bar feeling its warmth.
"Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through."
Whether he remembered or heard the line once again, the disciple had
to wonder.
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