Malum Prohibitum

One painting in particular freezes her in her tracks, Disembarkation of Marie de Medici at Marseilles. The focus of the composition is not the late queen of France as you'd expect, but instead three young ladies, naked in the foreground.

Their pert, round breasts and buttocks, full, noble bellies and meaty thighs captivate her. They are cut from the same cloth, her body shape is exactly like theirs. She has the same soft, sensual rolls and curves as these gracefully alluring temptresses.

Quickly scanning the description on the opposite page, a phrase jumps out at her, "three Nereids". These are the Nereids, the sea nymphs he was telling her about when he made her face the mirror and slowly caressed her body.

Not only has she found her favourite artist, but her favourite painting too. She'll ask for a nice big print of it for Christmas to hang on her bedroom wall. Never again will she feel inadequate or gross compared to the skinny, boyish physiques of fashion models. She has always known that kind of body is unobtainable, but now she wouldn't even want it if she could have it. She has the body she wants, young, plump and perfect. It's desirable to him, pleases him and that's all that matters.

*****

Epilogue

A bitterly cold morning in early January, the first day of the new term after an uneventful Christmas holiday. It's still dark and the hoar frost glistens silver under the street lamps when Helen leaves the house, eager to get to school good and early.

She's wearing thick tights and a heavy winter coat, but still shivers on the station platform waiting for her train to arrive. Pulling her hand knitted scarf up to her nose and her woolly hat down over her ears, she manages to keep her face warm. Her mittens prevent her fingers from freezing, even though her toes are numb. She'll put on a pair of thermal socks tomorrow.

On the journey she passes the time reading from the book he gave her. She has spent much of her spare time reading and translating the latin poetry herself. Her grammar and vocabulary has come on leaps and bounds and she's keen to show off to Sister Ó Laoghaire, her latin teacher, but that's not why she wants to get in particularly early today.

Once at school she heads straight for the library knowing Sister O'Shaughnessy will be there even at this hour. She wants to know exactly when Professor Alexander Asmodeus will be back. She's been patient, never mentioning him too often, instead biding her time, knowing he would be returning at some point this month and now it's time to find out when.

"Happy new year, Sister!"

"Oh, happy new year, Helen. So good to have you back."

The two embrace each other warmly.

After the usual chit chat and small talk about Christmas and the weather, Helen feels confident enough to ask what she's been dying to know for weeks.

"Sister, when is Professor Alexander coming back? I know it's sometime this month, I'm just not sure when."

"Oh, Helen. I'm sorry to have to tell you like this, but he's not coming back."

"What? He said he was coming back after Christmas. He told me he was."

"He was supposed to, that was the plan, but he was offered a job at some fancy pants American university. He left yesterday, I think."

"No. He can't've done!"

"I'm sorry, Sweetie. I know you were looking forward to seeing him again."

"But... but... he never said goodbye."

"It's not that he didn't want to. He didn't forget you. He just didn't have the time. He came to speak to me last week and left a little something for you."

The package is neatly wrapped in brown paper. It's quite thick and heavy, another book perhaps. She unwraps it carefully, desperate to know what's inside, but at the same time, inexplicably nervous about what it might be. Folding back the crisp paper she reveals a beautiful, pure, white box with gold lettering. 'DOMORI single origins treasure chest.' It's chocolate, real chocolate, not that overly sweetened, waxy stuff they sell in newsagents. This chocolate is from Italy, made from hand sourced cocoa beans. The box contains a world of fragrance, nuances of flavour and a silky texture unimaginable to those who've only experienced chocolate from the supermarket shelves. This is chocolate lover's chocolate. She can already feel her anger at his abandonment melting away. Melting just like this bitter-sweet chocolate on the tongue. Chocolate makes everything alright.

She takes up the envelope. It's a rich cream colour and very thick. On the front 'Ἑλένη' is inscribed with his neat, bold hand. It's only loosely sealed and quickly broken with a finger. The paper inside matches the envelope exactly. It's from the kind of writing set you don't see very often these days, anachronistic, a throwback to another time, just like him.

Unfolding the letter, written in blue fountain pen, she reads in silence. Her big brown eyes well up with tears after the first couple of lines making it nearly impossible to focus, but she gets through it somehow. By the time she reaches the end, the tears are running freely down her cheeks. Sister O'Shaughnessy puts her arms around the quietly sobbing child and kisses her forehead.

"Oh, Sweetie. He broke your heart now, didn't he? You'll be alright, so you will."

"I'm fine. Really I am. Everything is going to be fine," she manages to say through the sobs and grief, her missed menstruation weighing heavily on her mind.