Upon Reflection

Liz squinted through the bright sunshine that belied her mood. Last night they had argued, again. Today she was going shopping and tonight she would prepare Saul’s favourite meal. Liz’s mother was coming to visit in only a few weeks and she would need every reserve of her husband’s understanding to cope.

Saul, selflessly gave her his love, time, sympathy, and, most of all, patience, but for how long?

A bright shaft of glaring light suddenly shattered these sombre thoughts. It came from an antique shop across the road. In the front window stood a mirror.

They had no need of another mirror, but this was strangely appealing, with all the attributes Saul loved, dark polished wood with a living sheen, a vibrancy all its own. There was no label indicating the provenance or price. Could she afford it? Turning the large brass door handle, Liz tentatively entered a different world.

Instead of a hot, dusty, crowded street, the shop was cool and spacious, full of dappled sunlight. Suits of armour vied with antique chests and polished brass coal scuttles. Walls festooned with paintings; the occasional tapestry thrown in for good measure. The remaining areas were dominated by furniture: divans, chaises longue, dining tables, display cabinets, writing desks, pianos, and harpsichords, all dating back many decades, even centuries.

She was no expert but had a ‘feel’ for authenticity. Everything surrounding her emanated a sense of time, history, and events. Many of the items would be worth hundreds or thousands of dollars. Any hope of making a purchase now seemed naïve. Feeling rather childish, she turned back to the main entrance.

“There are some quite modestly priced items here, if you would allow me.” Liz started, her heart pounding. In a small wall niche, stood an immaculately dressed man of indiscernible age, average height, dark, thinning hair, and a clipped moustache. He looked, and spoke, as a character from a 1920s film set. The voice was warm, welcoming, but just as clipped as the moustache. He seemed to read her thoughts. “That mirror you were looking at, sold for hundreds of thousands only a few decades ago, now, alas, there are few interested buyers.” He waited expectantly for a reaction. Liz felt uneasy, the reference to her looking in the display window was particularly unnerving.

“You were watching me?” Her tone suggested an accusation rather than a question. He smiled reassuringly.

“Oh, not in any salacious way, I assure you. Understanding people is a great asset in the antiques business. Sometimes my customers have no idea what they themselves want. I pride myself in being able to discover something with that special quality they are seeking. These are not merely inanimate objects for decoration or ostentatious display; they may truly affect one’s life in ways beyond our imagining.’ He paused, ‘It was not your intention to come browsing for furniture and yet you were drawn here by an antique mirror. So, what are you truly seeking?”

It took a few moments to gather her thoughts, having never heard anyone philosophize about furniture before. “I’m not seeking anything. Your, your………” she hesitated, trying to find the right phrase, “pop psychology is best left to your own thoughts if you want to attract customers.” She began walking towards the main door.

He stepped forward, not quite barring the exit, but taking up sufficient space to make her pause. “I apologise for having offended you in in any way. Edward Donneally, at your service.”

Perhaps it was the sincerity of the apology, the proffered hand, or the winning smile, but she became more at ease. Liz lightly reciprocated the handshake, surprising herself by giving a slight bob of her head almost as though greeting royalty. Edward Donneally appeared to be only a decade older than she yet radiated the calm and serenity of a loving grandfather. “Please, allow me to make amends for my faux pas by telling you about the mirror. It has an interesting provenance.”

Given closer scrutiny, it was even more appealing than she imagined. The base and frame were made from the same type of highly polished wood etched with intricate patterns.

“This is cedar, unusually a type originating from the southern Mediterranean well over two thousand years ago. In fact, the Phoenicians built their ships from it. How it came to be part of the mirror remains a mystery. It is said to have been owned by Louis XVI at Versailles, later coming into the possession of the emperor Napoleon. It appears in an 1820 furniture inventory of the Villa Borghese in Rome.”

Liz realised that she would never be able to afford such an amazing object but was curious. “How long has it been here?”

“It depends how one looks at it I suppose?” Liz found the vague response irritating.

“But surely you your records show when it became part of your stock?”

“Oh, yes of course. I keep meticulous records which show that this mirror has been sold and then re-acquired several times over the last few decades.”

“Surely with such a number of buyers the chances of it returning to the same shop are phenomenal.”

“Indeed, they are.” Edward Donneally agreed, before asking sotto voce, “Are you superstitious?”

“I like to think of myself as down to earth.”

“Well, it seems the mirror likes it here. As though it uses the shop as a sort of perspective on the world, reaching out to people it finds interesting.”

Things were decidedly becoming strange. “I really don’t think I could afford it.” As she moved for a second time towards the door Edward Donneally simply took a step back and gave a slight, but courteous, bow.

“May I ask what you feel its current value may be?”

Liz was taken aback; the mirror would surely be much more than she and Saul could afford. “I don’t know, really, I suppose thousands maybe tens of thousands.”

Edward Donneally smiled, “Call me a superstitious old man, certainly older than you may imagine, but I feel this mirror has chosen you. And you, Madam, have certainly chosen the mirror. I am happy, nay insistent, that a sale is made within the limits of your financial standing. After all, given its history, the mirror is likely to be back here one day and there will be a further sales opportunity.”

It was agreed, Liz barely believing her good fortune. Details for payment and delivery were exchanged. Once again on the point of leaving, Liz spotted some writing on the base of the mirror that had been previously hidden in shadow. “Can you tell me what this means?” Edward Donneally followed her gaze to where the words, “patet mentis visionem claram”, were inscribed.

“Ah, yes. This is a Latin phrase, the most accurate translation would be ‘Clear mind, clear vision’. It is said that when one has a mind clear of all other thoughts the mirror will reflect one’s true self at that point in time,” he proferred a knowing glance. “Not being a believer, you probably would dismiss such a thing out of hand?” Liz was intrigued.

“At that point in time?”

“Yes, you would agree that we are never really the same person. Our circumstances make us appear as though on a spectrum varying from angelic to monstrous. Age and experience changes each of us from almost one moment to the next. The mirror is said to give a portrait of one’s situation in life at the time when one gazes into it, but only with a completely clear mind. A meditative state, as it were.”

“Is it true?” Liz couldn’t believe she had asked the question. Edward Donneally did not seem to find it odd in any way.

“Only you can answer that.”

The mirror arrived at precisely two o’clock, being carefully positioned in the library under Liz’s supervision. The latest acquisition would blend well with the mahogany bookshelves and writing desk. Liz settled down with a book whilst she awaited Saul’s return.

 Saul arrived home looking worn out. She wondered if this was due to the previous night’s argument. Her greatest fear was to lose him and yet she could not seem to prevent herself from behaving in ways that pushed him away. For Saul it had been a demanding day. Returning home, he fervently hoped Liz would be in a buoyant mood. The purchase of the mirror promised a calm, happy evening together. Or so it appeared.

Saul was impressed, an expression of awe on his face as his eyes wandered over his wife’s gift. “It looks really expensive darling.” This was not an accusation of over-spending, but more gratitude mixed with amazement that such a piece of furniture would be in his home.

To celebrate, the pair opened one of their ‘special’ wines, from a small collection of bottles purchased on their occasional overseas trips. This, together with the after-dinner brandy, had them giggling by the end of the meal. Saul was grinning like a Cheshire cat as he read the inscription, “Patet mentis visionem claram, translates to ‘clear mind, clear vision’.”

“Now you’re just showing off, just because your parents could send you to private schools.” Although Liz said this with a grin, Saul immediately became concerned. Any discussion of parents inevitably led to memories of his wife’s unhappy past. He tried to steer well away from this.

“So, tell me again, what did this, er, Edward Donneally, say about the phrase?”

“Oh god I can hardly think straight after that last drink. If I remember it was that standing in front of the mirror,…….er, yes, now I remember, standing in front of the mirror with a clear mind will reflect a true image of the person.” She smiled mischievously at her husband.  “But don’t even think about it, it’s superstitious nonsense. Also, we hardly have clear minds after drinking so much.”

“I’m not too sure about that. If anything, alcohol lowers our inhibitions, it leaves our minds open to new ideas. Come on, let’s give it a go.” Liz tried to protest but Saul was already gently coaxing her out of her chair.

 “OK, on the count of three we hold hands then look directly at our reflections, agreed?” Liz nodded assent, “One, two,” a dramatic pause, “three!”

Neither wanted to say they believed the story, but seeing their normal, everyday selves, was almost an anticlimax. “Well, there we are” said Saul, no change, either the story is false, or we are just normal people with nothing to hide.” He said teasingly.

“Don’t forget we are supposed to have clear minds.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot.” Saul snorted, “Let’s close our eyes for a couple of minutes and let our minds go blank.” This was the most relaxed they had been in each other’s company for some time. Liz had no desire to break the mood.

They took a few moments to suppress their laughter, to calm themselves. It was Liz who looked first. Saul heard her sob. Opening his eyes, he looked at his wife before seeing their reflections. When he did, he too almost sobbed. The people in the mirror had only a superficial resemblance to their everyday selves. Liz had an angry scowl; her jaws were clenched, and her eyes reflected distrust, pain and loss. Saul looked frightened, nervous; deep lines of worry were etched into his face with sunken, dark-rimmed eyes making his reflection appear to be years older than his real age. They had been given an image of reality that no one else had ever been privy to. Neither spoke, each trying to understand what they had seen. They went to bed in silence.

In the darkness, Liz spoke first. “It’s my fault. I can’t help it. I just can’t Saul. You don’t know what it was like, it’s not natural to be rejected.”

Saul shushed her soothingly. “Tonight, we discovered two things. One is what I think we both already knew. The relationship you had with your mother has affected you emotionally and psychologically. It’s odd that I have a very good rapport with her, but I realize that the woman I see is not necessarily the person who raised you.”

“Exactly! You’ve never met the mother from my childhood, she………”

“Wait!” Saul said this forcefully, trying to find the right way to explain. So many conversations had started this way and he knew, this time, Liz could not continue to rake over the past. He had thought he was being a good partner simply by listening. Now he understood this was not enough. He went on, “The second thing, and this is the most important, is that we had more fun in each other’s company tonight than for a long time right up until…..well you know when it all changed. We’ve been shown that the past can affect our inner selves. We now need to focus on the future and work out how we can have more happy times together.”

From that night each worked on how they could alter their image, literally. Liz became less dependent on Saul, gradually accepting his love was unconditional. Saul offered support when she joined a counselling group for people with similar problems. As she began to empathise with others, so Liz developed a greater insight into her mother’s past behaviour and became more forgiving. From time to time. they would stand in front of the mirror and notice how their efforts were reflected in the people they saw.  The harsh lines were disappearing, Liz looked happier whilst Saul seemed less burdened. The sunken eyes were now bright and smiling. They were happier.

A few days later Liz’s mother, Henrietta, arrived.

Liz was polite, in a business-like fashion. “This will be your room mother. I’ll leave you to unpack, there are things to do downstairs.” Henrietta sighed resignedly, slowly removing items from her luggage.

With Saul’s help, a place was found for all of Henrietta’s things. Leaving her to rest, Saul went downstairs where his wife was preparing lunch. “Things will probably be awkward for a while, but they’ll work out.” Saul took her hand, looking affectionately at her. Liz relaxed. Encouraged, Saul continued, “It’s only for a few days. This can work, I feel it. My god if we can be saved by a piece of furniture then……….” Liz changed instantly, pulling her hand from his and folding her arms defensively.

“She’s not to see it, Saul. You know that. It helped us, but I still have problems accepting it. If she sees it, then we don’t know what the shock would do. If she……..” Saul cut into his wife’s rising panic.

“She won’t. It’s safely stored remember.” He paused hesitantly. “You do care about her then, I mean about what would happen if she came across it?”

“Yes, I care, she is my mother. But she still frightens me in a way. I just can’t accept that she would have changed, and I can’t face the possibility of more rejection.”

“Liz, remember what the doctors said, like many women Hetty had what we now call post-natal depression, except in her case it took years for her to recover.” Somehow Saul’s use of the nickname he gave her mother irritated Liz.

“To me she never recovered, I still don’t trust her. You weren’t there Saul. You weren’t there to see me starving for affection. Dad couldn’t cope so he just left the two of us. You might believe she’s changed but I’ve also had to deal with the psychological scars. I want to believe you, yet still don’t trust her. I believe if she ever sees her true self, then I don’t know what would happen. I felt as though I hated her all my life, but she is my mother. and I just can’t seem to……….” Liz broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. Saul gently sat her down in a comfortable armchair in the lounge with a large scotch.

“Look Hon, let’s try, just for the time your Mom is with us. The fact that you don’t want Hetty to see herself as she really is can only show that you still want to protect her. even if it’s from herself.”

Liz felt relieved as they went to bed. Saul finally seemed to have recognised that perhaps her mother was as his wife saw her and that the ‘changed’ person was just an appearance. The couple fell asleep little knowing that Henrietta had yet another side to her that was to make itself known that very night.

In recent years, Henrietta had been prone to sleep-walking. Usually when she was particularly stressed, so it was not surprising that she chose that night to take a somnambulistic tour of the house. Her mind told her she had found a large dance hall with chandeliers and candelabras. She saw a beautiful white gown, relishing its satin-like coolness as she wrapped it around her. Someone was walking towards her, perhaps to ask her to dance, but then things felt different. “Mother, what are you doing? Why are you here?” Henrietta awoke, Liz was reaching out to her. They were in the basement and Liz was frantically trying to take the sheet from her mother, the sheet that had been used to cover the mirror. It was too late.

Henrietta stared. She could see two people. One was her daughter and the other should have been herself, but the reflection was nothing like her. Liz calmed herself, breathing out slowly before following her mother’s gaze. There in the mirror was a radiant woman in her sixties but with a youthful, kind face. The image was of a warm and loving person with an expression that revealed a mixture of regret and yearning. “Who is that?” she asked incredulously.

Liz hugged her mother closer and sobbed.

“That’s the person I’ve been looking for, it’s my Mom.”