The Three

There were three of us. Three Sisters. Not such an extravagant idea, after all. There are many families that have three female siblings. Not so many nowadays, because families are smaller, but still. I suspect we thought it cool that we were three sisters, all girls. We might have shared sisterly secrets and clothes. Maybe we would have gotten into a lot of mischief. 

Except none of that was possible for the three of us. We were merely a tenuous web of sisterhood but more than a web, it was a shell we rattled around in.

Don’t worry. There is no need to pity us. Pity our poor mother. Not because she never had a boy baby to christian with the original name of John. No. Pity her for what happened in her life. Then show the lady some respect. We’re telling our story to prepare you for our mother’s, eventually.

People always called us the Furies. Because there were three of us and three of them. Also because there was a resemblance between the behavior of one trio and the behavior of the other. Furies, also known as the Erinyes, 

were three goddesses of vengeance and retribution who punished men for crimes against the natural order. They were particularly concerned with homicide, unfilial conduct, offenses against the gods, and perjury.

(https://www.theoi.com/Khthonios/Erinyes.html

Erinyes. We three, the modern manifestation of the three fearful sisters, like this name better. It just has more of an exotic ring to it, don’t you think?

The same web site as quoted above says this, and it could be relevant here;

The Erinyes were similar to if not the same as the Poinai (Poenae) (Retaliations), Arai (Arae) (Curses), Praxidikai (Praxidicae) (Exacters of Justice) and Maniai (Maniae) (Madnesses).

That is where we really DO get angry. Furious, even. It is as if there were never a way to justify retaliating, cursing, justice seeking, or insanity. (The latter once having been very unscientifically and selfishly diagnosed in the past.) Basically, the message until recent years has been calm down and take like a woman. Right?

Call us Furies if you like. That might help set the tone better. Because as even back when the Greeks were inventing their mythology, women were strong, bitter, fearful deities. They could be used to punish somebody, like mercenaries nowadays. As girls, maybe we were called the Furies by somebody wanting to show off erudition in the area of Classical Studies. It shouldn’t have stuck. That was not fair.

The Fates. Perhaps you could be convinced to see us as the Three Fates who were believed spin, weave, then cut the fabric of life? Who, we might add, are responsible for creating life according to this myth, not the God who came lots later. Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos - those aren’t our names, although Corina, Laksmi, and Antía are. (At least one of the last three names is a pseudonym.) we are seen as less confrontational than the Furies, but it’s still not a good idea to mess with us. If we’re of one mind, it means we’re acting as our mother had wished us to act, and with her voice in our ears, we are less loud but still fierce.

We Fates are not vindictive nor do we hire ourselves out. We act according to the proper order (cycle) of things when we control the labyrinth of living. We are extremely strong, as the Romans - who called us Moirai - knew. Sometimes we even topped Zeus. That’s just a small indication of our strength that requires no weapon, just tools for constructing and undoing life. A person’s life string begins to unravel when Destiny chooses. That seems to provide comfort to some people.

Now that our ‘sisters from another father’ have been acknowledged, we can tell you about our particular features. We can start with age differences, which in our case are most relevant. Corina is four years older than Laksmi, who is sixteen years older than I am. To be precise, Corina is twenty years and four days older than I am. We never lived under the same roof. I think she was already married when I was born. But what do I know? People told me the versions they had and the ones they wanted me to believe. (It wasn’t that long before I had a niece - yes, a niece - who could have been my sister. After all, one year apart is more reasonable than twenty, is it not?

I hate that niece. I hate my other niece, her sister. I also hate Corina for having them, for foisting them on me as if they were going to be normal nieces. They were not. They are not, and as such my nights, my days, my twilights, all are haunted. They are the shadows of the Furies, the Erinyes, and they are worse than blood. Their snarls and nips cannot be healed. Eventually, they can begin to ooze.

So does Corina qualify as my sister? My mother always said so, but I never could convince myself she didn’t see me as one of her daughters. Twenty years’ difference in ages? She was like the older mother to whom I had come later in life. At least I got to see Corina somewhat frequently, for a few years. Then she moved far away. She wrote to me a lot, though. More mother than sister, but still.

Not sisters, not really. We weren’t really sisters. People told us we were. We were also Furies, but the took a while.

The next sister or pseudo-sister is Laksmi, who never showed her face to me while she was alive, except on three occasions. Suffice it to say the first time she was ‘just some lady’ and we weren’t introduced. She was nobody, although my sharp auditive capacity picked up the name Ruth. A common name in our mother’s family.

So, yes, Ruth was my non-sister. We met again during visiting hours. I tried so hard to talk to her, but only saw gray marble inside her. I have never seen a photo of her, so cannot describe the woman fourteen or maybe sixteen years my senior. Birthday unknown to me. Secret sister. I am furious at you for keeping your secret, at Clorina too, and at our mother for letting you leave my life before I was born. You see, I had to live as an only child, unable to claim my sisters, who had known each other.

But the last time I saw her, which was the third time, Ruth and I looked into opposite pairs of eyes that were the same. At noses of same size and shape, at our mother. The one a few steps away, in her coffin.

Ruth, I am angry that you never wanted to talk to me like I had wanted to talk to you. About something, perhaps. Or nothings. You should have come to find me, but I meant nothing. We were not sisters. Our mother never knew that. In her head, she had three daughters, one never mentioned and two really too far apart to be siblings. Plus, when Clorina came home, abandoned by her hateful daughters my nieces, the pain that wracked her body had transformed her into a mummy on heroin or morphine. Skin made of parchment made of death.

Trying to mourn a mother-sister who had never defined herself in the world was not easy. It was our mother’s mourning, but she deserved to be accompanied.

The above hasn’t been the entire story and I think it was still sufficient for you to comprehend why the nomenclature of Sisters didn’t ever fit us. We resented not being able to live up to the myths and could only identify with the rage we felt at not loving each other or knowing each other as sisters should.

Seeing that I am the only one of the three left, it may be up to me to establish our legacy. If I proclaim that we are the Erinyes, the Fates, then I will need to continue my furious journey until the end, which is near. My daughter, Ardora, might be able to take up the torch. That I cannot predict. She does have quite a mouth and quite a temper…

If, on the other hand, I am able to rework our image, the image of The Three That Weren’t, the non-sisters, I can put aside the Furies classification. I never wanted to walk around gritting my teeth, lashing out at everybody physically and verbally, doing harm. If I redefine the three of as as Moirai or Fates, then I will be the only Fate remaining. My two (much) older sisters have left me to do the dirty work, which means I have to snip everybody’s thread of life. When I am not at all the violent sort. Plus, I am in complete control now, no competition.

I hate my sisters! Where are they when I need them?