Guidance

The name "Huda" means "guide". This is a story that was written largely for my best friend, with apologies to the band Wilco for blatantly stealing a line.


I surprised myself by knocking on the door. My rational mind seemed to be on sabbatical. I had read my horoscope incessantly for days, consulted those who knew me best and browsed self-help books in bookstores. Now I found myself knocking on the door of a palm-reader. It was a whim, I had merely been driving by on my way to the grocery store, when the sign with the colorful palm, thickly painted lines and a pink, radiating heart caught my eye. Involuntarily, I pulled into the parking lot, dust flying and gravel grinding under my worn tires.

As I emerged from the cool comfort of my car, the sun bore down on me and wrapped my body in a moist heat. Even birds were stifled, tucked into the trees overhead, motionless and silent. During the walk up to the path to the house, I tried to talk myself out of seeking counsel from this mystic. I was sure she’d be a caricature of a Gypsy, eager to feed me the tales I wanted to hear and to take my money with a smile. Despite this knowledge, I found myself climbing the three wide steps before knocking gingerly on the door. The door shook and creaked under my soft knock and I heard nothing but silence from within. I waited a moment, then knocked gingerly again. A few moments of silence passed and I turned to leave. I glanced up at the tree overhead, in time to see a crispy brown leaf twirl slowly to my feet. I did not hear the door open.

“Hello, dear.” A soft voice came from behind me. I turned to find a slight woman standing in the passageway, dressed immaculately in a long white skirt and a matching white blazer. Long black tendrils hung down her back, cascading over her shoulders. Her pinched mouth smiled cautiously and I guessed from her demeanor that she was in her fifties, although her skin was unblemished and clear. I stammered back an appropriate greeting.

She took a step towards me and stretched a hand out to mine. “Come inside. We need to talk.” I smiled at her and found myself grabbing her hand and following her inside. I squinted as I entered, the darkness of the room in sharp contrast to the glaring brightness of the outside world. “Sit here,” she said, leading me to a chair right inside the door, “I’ll fix some tea and then we’ll discuss your situation.”

I was appreciative of the moment to be alone as my eyes adjusted to the new lighting, to my new surroundings. The room was large and open. Dark green, plush carpet lined the floor, reminiscent of a jungle overhang - a discomforting sensation that made me feel as if I was standing on my head. Spotless white furnishings lined the walls - a blend of soft sofas and erect chairs were packed tightly between the occasional end table. Each table housed a white lamp whose base was a replica of a classical sculpture carved out of some cheap material made to resemble marble. I recognized the Venus de Milo despite the large white shade perched on her head, and I thought I saw Michelangelo’s David across the room. Gold framed mirrors covered the walls, packed as tightly as the furniture, almost as high as the ceiling.

I was in awe of the room - a Hollywood set director couldn’t have painted a more stereotypical image and I reached for my phone to take pictures. Realizing that I had left my purse in the car, I stood and turned towards the door. At that moment, I blurted out a laugh as I saw a large hookah-pipe standing in the corner. “Unreal. It’s too perfect.” I muttered. The screech of metal jarred me and I turned to see the mystic pushing a cart towards me. Perched atop the cart was a beautiful silver teapot unlike anything I had ever seen. A matching bowl held sugar and an assortment of sweets sat nearby on a plate. I smiled at her. “I left my purse in my car. Will you excuse me for a moment?”

“Your purse will be fine in your car. Sit.” She said it with a smile, her voice a soft ebb and flow, but it lacked the novelty of suggestion. I sat instantly.

“My name is Huda. It is a pleasure to meet you.” She sat primly on a chair caddy-corner to mine, the tea tray between us.

“Nice to meet you, Huda. My name is Anna.” I smiled back - a forced and tight smile, and noticed I was sitting erect in my chair.

“Anna, will you accept the things I tell you and learn from them?” She asked me, a genuine look of interest overwhelming her face. I noticed a small mole at the corner of her eye, a charming nod to a femininity that was innate and nurtured.

“My story is somewhat complicated.” I said. “It all started with…” she held up her hand to stop me.

“If you tell me your story, nothing I tell you will make a difference. You’ll think that I tell you what you want to hear, not what you need to hear. In my country, there is a proverb that says, ‘Seek counsel of him who makes you weep, not of him who makes you laugh.’. You tell me the things that bother you, then using nothing but common sense, I tell you what you want to hear. You leave laughing, bothered that you lost fifty dollars, but amused. But, if you say nothing, and allow yourself to listen, you may find that there is a benefit to stopping here today.”

I stuttered an acceptance. Huda folded her hands neatly in her lap, quickly unfolded them and poured each of us a cup of tea. Every one of her long fingers was adorned with a gold ring, each more elaborate and detailed than the next. I stared at her delicate hands wondering how they could manage the burden of so much adornment. Handing me a cup, she continued to speak in her beautifully accented English. I was curious as to her country of origin, but knew that I should not speak. “You came here because you are upset. It doesn’t matter what is upsetting you, although it is probably a man.” She rolled her eyes, her head shaking from side to side. “To that end, I will tell you another proverb. Believe what you see and lay aside what you hear.”

She shifted towards me taking a delicate sip of her tea. I followed her lead and the flowery warmth and sweetness of the tea filled my mouth, relaxing me a little. I leaned back slightly, desperately curious to watch this woman speak, hopeful that she would be able to offer some tidbit of wisdom, completely unaware that she already had.

“You do not need answers from me, you have answers within your soul. However, you are here, as a guest in my home seeking answers from me, so I will share with you what I know to be true, the things you need to hear. Afterwards, I will read your palm and tell you what you think you want to hear. It will be completely useless to you.”

“I’m sorry, I’m somewhat pressed for time at the moment. Perhaps we should reschedule.” I said, timidly.

“Don’t be a silly girl, Anna. You have nothing but time. Your errands can wait.” She patted my knee. “The knowledge you acquired in the cradle is what carries you through life. Nothing more, nothing less. Newborn babies are ignorant, they lack higher reasoning. They know discomfort - hunger makes them cry, laying on their arm but not having the ability to pull it out from underneath them makes them cry, soiled diapers make them cry. Mother nurtures - solving these problems, sometimes easily, sometimes after trying other solutions, but mother instinctively performs the actions to soothe the baby, cuddling, feeding, swaddling and cleaning all the while bestowing affection and care on her. Baby learns quickly that her cries bring mother and that mother will tend to her needs. Some time passes and baby begins to trust in mother, learning that the breast will still come at predictable intervals, the diaper will be changed and comfort will be provided, whether baby cries or not.”

I couldn’t deny my curiosity. Her voice was rhythmic and light, betraying the sincerity of her words. I felt myself humbled in her presence and leaned back in the stiff chair, my tea cup perched gingerly on my knee, secured by fingers that held on as tentatively to the cup as I was to her words.

“Do you understand what that means for you, Anna?” She asked.

“I think so.” I replied, unsure.

“No, don’t think so. You must know so. It means that, when adequately tended to, you trust that the nourishment you need is predictable. You shouldn‘t have to ask for it, it should be given freely and selflessly.” She looked at me through heavy eyelids, questioning me.

“I understand.” I said, even though I suspected I really did not. “Maybe I should be taking notes.” I smiled at her.

“You don’t need notes, you need to listen better.” My attempt at humor was either lost on her or irrelevant to her. I found that either way, it didn’t matter.

She continued to speak, “Babies are such perfectly selfish little creatures, taking what they need and giving precious little in return. Mother infers the things she needs from baby - interpreting the sleepy sigh as being especially for her and capable of being elicited only by her, claiming the toothless smile as her reward. But the young goose is a good swimmer and as baby grows, she learns that the selfishness that served her so well during her first years of life is not socially acceptable. She is forced to share toys when she would rather not, she is required to participate in activities she would rather not and she is forced to show affection to those she cares little about.” Huda’s head shook gently, as if her revelation was an abomination.

“Such a shame really, if we’d retain those self-serving behaviors, we’d be much more content.” She said.

“But we’d be lonely.” I said in retort, thinking I had made an astute observation. I felt myself grimace.

“How do you fight loneliness? You pretend that things are acceptable to you that really are not out of a fear of being alone? It’s absurd. You make useless sacrifices for no good end. The people that love you will continue to love you when you disagree, when you are needy, when you’re having a bad day. So, you think you are fighting against loneliness by swallowing your own needs when really, you are inviting a deeper sort of loneliness by embracing relationships that don’t serve you well. ”

“No. All relationships require hard work and effort.” I told her, my tone informational and stern.
She smiled at me maternally. “Do you really believe that, or is that just what you’ve spent a lifetime being told?”

“I absolutely believe it. I can share a proverb with you now. Anything worth having is worth fighting for.” I felt that I had trumped her, that she would fold to my way of thinking with enough time. I was ready for a debate.

She admonished me with a laugh. “You American women struggle so much. It’s all your fault, it is your own fight. The things you want should come easily, provided you aren’t asking for things that you do not need.” She continued to scoff at me, “When a door opens not to your knock, consider your reputation.”

Her proverbs were beginning to muddle my head. They were so vague, difficult for my logical mind to comprehend. I wanted, no needed, to understand the words she spoke, I felt that her counsel was critical to me at this juncture in my life, even though my original questions had slipped from my mind.

“But I’m not very good at letting go of anything. I believe in seeing things through to the end, I believe in making an honest effort for something you want.” I felt like a pouty teenager.

“Stand up and look at your face in a mirror.” She instructed. “Tell me what you see.”

I did as she said. “I have blue eyes.” I said.

“No, no, no. Don’t tell me what you look like. I have eyes, I see you. Tell me what you see.” Her voice trailed off and I concentrated on my own reflection.

I looked harsh, world-worn. My brow was furrowed, my eyes seemed cold, my mouth was screwed into a tight knot. I told her these things.

“Exactly. Your face will always betray the words you speak. You may feel that your heart is ready to love others, but you are prepared for battle. Only the most basic truths of human nature can be realized during a war. You will learn that all men will sacrifice to fill a hungry belly, you will learn that men are capable of atrocity when they feel their own existence is at peril and you will learn that only a few people are capable of miracles during times of ugliness. It is human nature to save ourselves at the expense of all else. And as with the newborn, our selfishness serves us well.”

“Huda, you are terribly depressing. I believe in the good of people.” I said, a lone tear rolling down my cheek against my will.

“No, love. Man is not evil or bad. But, you cannot have what you want or need when you are prepared for battle. Life is not a war and people are not the enemy. The fight you fight is inside of you, and I see it in your American sisters daily. Have another cup of tea, dear. Compose yourself and I’ll continue in a moment.” She rose from her chair and disappeared into the back of the house.

I inhaled deeply and rubbed my temples. I could feel a headache beginning, a tight knot beginning to bulge in the back of my neck. I rubbed the spot absent-mindedly for a moment then glanced at my watch. I had already been here for far too long, I had things to do and the urge to leave began to overwhelm me. Huda returned with a beautiful strand of beads in her hand. “Hold these, occupy your fingers while I occupy your mind.”

I studied the beads, their beauty in their simplicity. No two beads were identical, a nod to the fact that human hands had labored over them, creating something lovely and precious only because of their imperfections. They rolled under my fingers and as I played with them and I found myself drifting off into a dreamy state, receptive.

“Being loved by another is far more of a burden that bestowing love.” She watched my fingers manipulate the beads. “As you play with those beads, you are searching for their meaning. They are meaningless. They are a string of beads.”

I wanted to sleep. Her words confused me and I struggled to deduce meaning out of the contradictions she shared. I was entirely unsure of her intended message, but the headache intensified and I wanted to leave. Despite my discomfort, I could see that Huda was not done speaking to me and that to leave at the moment would be a grave mistake.

“Until you learn how to accept love, you will never be able to give love. Stop searching for meaning in that which is meaningless. You must be like the oak tree that you were watching when you arrived, giving your shade to the outside.” She reached out for my hand. I extended it to her. She spread my palm out and scooted closer to me, placing my hand on her knee, my palm open to the sky. A bright red fingernail scratched the lines of my hand.

“He loves you, but he is not capable of being loved by you. Perhaps it’s bad timing. Perhaps it’s you, perhaps it’s him. But you cannot force him to love you just as you cannot force a hungry man to eat. Stop fighting. Be the love you want and you will find the love you need.” She said, never glancing at my hand. “When love is pure, it is always easy.”

I felt a smile loosen my face and I stood to leave, glancing in one of the mirrors that covered the walls. I saw myself differently - the furrows in my brow were beginning to fade, a light shone from deep behind my eyes and my smile was genuine and light. I hugged her tightly and felt her lips graze my cheek. She pushed me away from her briefly before pulling me in close and kissing my other cheek. With her hands on my shoulders, she whispered into my ear, “No one ever waited at the gates of patience.”