The written loom

“Now Procris…” The whisper travelled along the stone rows, passing from one side of the theatre to the other… “Procris.”

The woman looked at the faces of the spectators.

“I am not Procris,” she said.

The lighthouse remained still.. She had not lied..

Nikos watched the slender beam that continued to fall upon the obsidian.. The light had not disappeared after his confession. It had merely softened, as though the theatre had accepted his truth but had not yet finished with them..

“Do you know her story?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Then why are they calling you by her name?”

The woman turned towards the spectators again..

“Perhaps because Procris allowed suspicion to lead her somewhere she should never have gone.”

The lighthouse did not react.

“Do you do the same?”

She turned sharply towards Nikos.. “You know nothing about me.”

“That’s true,” he replied.

The beam remained calm..

For several moments, they looked at one another without speaking. A short while ago, the woman had asked him questions she might not have dared to ask someone she had known for years.. Now Nikos stood before a stranger who had seen more than he had ever allowed anyone else to see..

He felt no satisfaction that her turn had come, on the contrary.. He felt uncomfortable..

“We don’t have to continue,” he said..

A roar of disapproval rose from the stone seats.. The lighthouse climbed above the horizon once more. Its beam struck the obsidian, and heat returned to the stones..

The woman looked at Nikos.. “We don’t get to decide that.” Her words were true. The light did not intensify further..

Nikos approached the obsidian. Its black surface remained empty, but it pulsed slowly, as though waiting for the right question.

A voice came from the audience: “Ask her what she needs.”

Nikos pressed his lips together.. “I won’t.”

The obsidian grew searing hot.. The woman stepped towards him.. “Ask me.”

“It is none of my business.”

The lighthouse rose..

“That wasn’t true either,” she said.

“I don’t want to interrogate you.”

The beam remained unchanged.. This time, the theatre believed him..

The woman took a deep breath.. “You won’t be interrogating me. You will only be helping this place ask its questions.”

The spectators leaned forwards in their seats.. and Nikos turned towards her.. “What do you need?”

Her answer came so quickly that it sounded as though she had repeated it many times throughout her life.. “Nothing.”

The lighthouse surged upwards.. Its beam struck the obsidian with force. The black stone opened like a mirror, and an image appeared across its surface..

A large house filled with people.. The woman moved from room to room. She gave one person water and another food. She straightened blankets, opened windows, closed doors, held those who wept, and soothed those who were afraid. No one needed to ask her for anything..

She had already noticed.. With every act of care, a small light appeared inside her chest.. At first, there were many lights.. Then, one by one, they began to fade..

Nikos watched the image without speaking..

“That doesn’t mean I need anything,” the woman said.

The stones beneath her feet grew hotter.

Inside the obsidian, people began leaving the house. One after another, they passed through the door until every room stood empty.. The woman remained behind.. The front door was open. No one was calling her back, and no one was asking for water, food, or comfort. At last, she was free to leave.. But she stood motionless on the threshold..

“Why don’t you go?” Nikos asked.

“That isn’t me.”

The lighthouse rose..

“Why don’t you go?” he repeated.

The woman looked at her reflection inside the obsidian.

“Because I don’t know where to go.”

The light softened slightly.

“Why?”

“Because for a very long time, that woman (me) did not have a life of her own.”

The tower descended.. The spectators did not protest. Some settled back in their seats, as though they had finally heard the first honest answer.. A stranger appeared in the mirror. He entered the empty house carrying a glass of water and offered it to the woman.. She smiled..  “I don’t need anything,” she said again.

The glass cracked in his hand.. The woman turned her eyes away..

“Why do you say that you need nothing,” Nikos asked, “while expecting other people to understand what you need without being told?”

Her anger was immediate.. “I expect nothing from anyone.”

The beam became blinding.. The audience protested, and the obsidian flashed. The cracked glass appeared again. This time, the woman inside the mirror watched it being carried away, thirsty and silently waiting for the person who had offered it to return..

“That isn’t true,” Nikos said.

“You have no right to say that to me.”

The lighthouse did not move.. It was true. He had no right.

“No,” he agreed. “But you asked me to ask the questions.”

The woman remained silent..

“Why don’t you ask for what you need?”

“Because I am capable of taking care of myself.”

The beam remained calm.. It was the truth.

Nikos nodded slowly.. “I didn’t ask whether you were capable. I asked why you never ask.”

The obsidian showed the woman sitting alone in the empty house, writing. Every time her pen touched the page, the walls around her changed. The house became a forest, a sea, an ancient theatre, a place where people who did not exist spoke all the words she had never dared to say..

Whenever she finished a story, she closed the journal..

Then she returned to the empty house..

“You turn what you feel into stories,” Nikos said.

The woman did not answer..

“Because inside a story, you can tell the truth without the person it concerns ever having to hear it.”

The lighthouse descended slightly, as though it had accepted the truth before she could admit it herself.

“Stories are not confessions,” she said.

The beam intensified..

“Not all of them,” she added.

The light retreated a little..

Nikos looked at the journal inside the obsidian.. “How many times have you written about someone instead of speaking to them?”

“I don’t know.”

The beam did not change.

Perhaps she genuinely could no longer count them..

“And how many times have you called something insignificant because you were afraid it meant everything?”

The woman raised her eyes towards him.. “I don’t do that.”

The lighthouse rose violently.. White light flooded the theatre, and the spectators cried out together. Their voices merged with the crashing sound that came from the obsidian.

In the mirror, the woman was holding a heart..

For a moment, she gazed at it as though she had only just found it again. Then she stepped forwards and collided with a wall she had not seen.. The heart slipped from her hands.. Before she could retrieve it, the wall rose higher..

The woman closed her eyes.. She knew this journey.. Every time she believed she had found the path back to her own heart, something abruptly stopped her. A departure. A disappointment. A truth spoken too late, or a feeling that arrived when there was no longer any room for it..

She found the heart.. Then she struck the wall..

“How many times?” Nikos repeated, more gently now.

“More than I would like.”

The tower descended..

“And what did you do afterwards?”

“I carried on.”

The beam remained steady..

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“Because you wanted to?”

The woman hesitated.

The obsidian began to warm..

“Because I had to.”

The light softened.

Nikos looked again at the empty house. Its door remained open, but the woman was still standing upon the threshold.. “Are you free now?”

“Yes.”

The lighthouse did not move..

Her freedom was real..

She had won it with great difficulty, after years in which the needs of others had determined the shape of her days. She had learned again how to decide where she would go, when she would return, whom she would answer, and how much silence she needed..

No one could tell her that her freedom was not real..

“And are you happy inside that freedom?” he asked.

“Yes.”

The beam flickered but did not intensify.. It was not exactly a lie.

She was happy on some days. On others, her freedom was a quiet room in which she could finally breathe. But there were also nights when that same room became far too large.

“Always?” Nikos asked.

“No.”

The light softened.

Inside the obsidian, the woman finally stepped out of the house. She walked alone along an open road, with no one calling her back. At first, her steps were light.

Then she met someone.. He asked her for no water, food, comfort, or rescue. He simply began walking beside her.. The woman in the mirror looked at him with fear.

Then she began filling his hands with everything he might possibly need. She offered him things he had never asked for, until her own hands were empty and his could hold nothing more.

“Why are you taking care of him?” Nikos asked.

“Because she loves him.” the audience replied this time..

The lighthouse remained calm, yet his beam showed the audience this time… warning..

“Or because, as long as she is caring for him, she does not have to show him that she has needs too?” 

The woman looked at him angrily.

“Both things can be true.”

The beam did not change.

“Yes,” Nikos admitted. “They can.”

Inside the mirror, the man carefully set down everything she had given him. Then he held out his hand.. The woman stepped back.

“What are you afraid will happen if someone takes care of you?” Nikos asked.

“Nothing.”

The obsidian became scorching hot.. The woman cried out and pulled away. The spectators stamped their feet while the lighthouse began to rise again.

“What are you afraid of?” Nikos persisted.

“That he will leave.”

The beam softened, but not enough.

“After he truly knows you?”

“Yes.”

The tower descended a little further.

“That isn’t all.”

The woman looked at him. Until a short while ago, she had believed that Nikos used questions to protect himself. Now she understood why those questions could become so dangerous..

They left very few places to hide..

“What else are you afraid of?” he asked.

Inside the obsidian, the man’s hand remained outstretched.. The woman did not take it..

“That he will stay,” she whispered.

The theatre fell silent.. Nikos had not expected that answer.

“Why does that frighten you?”

“Because I don’t know what he will ask of me.”

The lighthouse descended.

“And what if he asks for nothing?”

“Everyone asks for something.”

The beam remained almost calm. It was not a lie. It was what she had learned to believe..

“What if he asks only that you make room for him?”

The woman looked at the road inside the obsidian. The man was not blocking her way, pulling her back towards the house, or placing anything into her hands..

He was simply waiting for her to decide whether she wanted them to continue together.

“I don’t know how,” she said.

The beam did not change.

“You don’t know how to make room?”

“I don’t know how to make room for someone without losing the space that belongs to me.”

The lighthouse began to descend.. The spectators remained motionless.. Nikos stepped closer, though he did not touch her..

“You are not only afraid that someone will abandon you after you open yourself to them.”

The woman waited..

“You are afraid that if they stay, you will stop belonging to yourself again.”

The obsidian showed the empty house, the open road, and the man with the outstretched hand.. All three images merged..

“I am not afraid of commitment because I cannot love,” the woman said. “I am afraid because every time I have loved, I have slowly stopped belonging to myself.”

The beam lost its harsh whiteness..

“I fought hard to win my freedom. And I still don’t know how to make room for someone without handing them my entire life.”

The lighthouse descended further.. The obsidian had begun to cool, but one image remained upon its surface: the glass of water. The woman looked at it.. She knew that one truth remained..

“I want someone to take care of me,” she said so quietly that Nikos could barely hear her. “But every time someone comes close, I begin taking care of them so they will never discover how much I need it.”

The crack in the glass disappeared.. The woman in the mirror took it into her hands and drank.. The lighthouse sank until it vanished beyond the horizon. Its final beam passed gently over the theatre and faded..

The audience did not protest.. For the first time, they.. applauded.. Not loudly or triumphantly. Their applause was slow and quiet, an acknowledgement of a truth that had waited far too long to be spoken..

Nikos and the woman stood facing one another..

He had admitted that he feared no one would find enough reasons to stay..

She had admitted that she feared someone might stay and discover how much space they could occupy inside her..

For a moment, they believed the trial was over..

Then the obsidian opened again.. This time, it showed them neither the bird nor the house.. It revealed a narrow entrance descending deep into the earth.. From the darkness came the sound of people labouring beneath the surface..

And a voice from the stone seats said: “Now you must see what you mined from your pain, and what it cost you.”

To Be Continued…

They believed the questions were over.. 

Instead, the theatre opened a deeper door..

Some truths are buried so carefully that only darkness remembers where they were left..