A Battle Unseen

[Doc]

Cliff House, Wilson Hill, June 20 5633, 7:30 pm

"Happy Birthday Mary!" said Monica DeLaurentis as Mary arrived at her childhood home on the cliffs overlooking Wilson's Gate in Kaliburg.  "To celebrate, I bought a cake, and we can watch movies and have tacos!"

"Do you have any tofu?" asked Mary.

"Tofu?" Monica asked.  "We don't eat tofu on tacos.  Why would we do that?"

"Mom, I don't know how many times I have to tell you.  I am a vegetarian.  I don't eat beef."

"You're a vegetarian?  Since when?" Monica asked with a laugh.  

"Since I was like 15 years old, Mom," said Mary as she threw her hands out.  She couldn't believe that her mother had forgotten that yet again.  "Honestly, mom, it almost feels like you don't listen to me at all..."

"I never knew you were a vegetarian.  You never told me that..."

"Mother I told you a hundred times."  Mary felt her temperature rising a little.  She knew she's had this very conversation with her mother before.

"Well, I don't recall that."  her mother said indignantly.

"You don't recall it mom, because it was never important to you.  I don't eat meat because I don't like the idea of killing animals for food.  I'm not like you.  I don't eat steaks.  I don't eat chicken.  It's not good for you.  You shouldn't eat it either.  If I had my way, nobody would."

"It's a good thing you don't have your way," Monica said, miffed that her daughter had put the kabosh to her plans for a fun birthday surprise.  "Look just forget the tacos.  I'm sorry I tried to do something nice for your birthday.  Your little girl only turns 23 once.  I thought it would be nice.  I was wrong."

"Please mother, I am not a little girl," Mary said, mumbling.  Her mother had taken to guilt tripping her more since Mary's father had passed away, and Mary really resented it.

"Yeah," said Monica.  "That's certain.  I've barely seen you since you actually were a little girl.  You basically moved out of the house when you were 15 and went to live outside.  And now...  you just...  you don't even visit me anymore.  You, your father, your sister...  all gone...  I...  I really miss you, Mary...  I just..."

"Oh please mother.  Don't do this.  It's not my fault dad isn't alive anymore.  If he still was here, I might be in college now...  instead of working all the time..."

Monica looked at her daughter.  A tear rolled out of her eye.  "Mary, I am sorry.  I'm sorry that this was your fate."

"Well I don't want it," she said.  "It's not fair.  Why did it have to happen to me?  Why couldn't people just leave me alone?  I was perfectly happy in the forest, planting trees.  It's what I am good at.  I can't be an empress.  I am terrible at this.  I'm the worst, and I just want to go back to my job and plant trees."

"Mary..." her mother said.  "Mary, you shouldn't say that..."

"Why not?" Mary demanded.  "Did you see what Catherine Probst's column said about me today in the paper?  She called me a petulant child, and said on my best day I was no Carolina Ananto on her worst day.  How can I possibly live up to that?  She said I had no sense of humor, and that people were afraid to talk to me.  I must seem like a horrible person to all these people.  The National Assembly hates me...  I really am the worst person for this job..."

"Mary, that not true.  None of it is."

"I want to give this up, Mom, I am done.  I can't be my father.  I can't be Carolina.  I want to give it away.  Maybe to Margaret?"

"No, Mary, you can't do that,"  Monica tried to be reassuring, but her daughter was now sobbing.

"What about to you Mom, would you take it if I gave it to you?"

"Honey, I can't take it from you.  They wouldn't allow it.  You are your father's daughter:  you are the Empress and you can't give it away until you pass it to your own son or daughter."

"Well, I just won't have kids then.  Why would I ever curse them with this title, with this life?  I can't even say 'I' when talking to other people.  It's so weird.  I don't want to live like that.  I don't want my kids to have to live like that."

Monica embraced her daughter.  Mary was turning 23 years old today, but in many ways, she was still very immature, and still very much a kid.  Monica let her cry a little, as she stroked her hair to try to sooth her.  "Your father didn't want the job either.  Your grandmother didn't want the job but she did it...  You just need some practice and you too will grow into it."

"If nobody wants it, why do we keep it?" Mary asked.  "It's a terrible job.  The pressure is constant, and there are real problems in this world that I don't know how to solve, and if I fail, then everyone will blame me...  I can't live up to that expectation.  Why don't we just abolish the monarchy so nobody has to go through this?"

"Mary, your grandmother used to tell me about her father.  Fredrick the II.  He was a kind man, like your father, from what Carolina told me.  He doted on her and her mother.  He thought he might like to give it all up someday too, and just live a quiet life with the woman he was so in love with, Lady Pav."

"... the Black Empress..." Mary said softly and reverently, almost reflexively, because everyone always followed up Pavlina's name with that title, as if she was a mythical character out of a fairy tale, and saying her name too loudly might evoke her spirit.  Mary had heard her great grandmother referred to as the Black Empress far more often than she had ever heard her referred to by name.

"Yes, dear.  So he thought maybe he should perhaps let up on control of the government, maybe let the people have a say in how some things were run.  Maybe end the one party system.  Maybe have a little democracy...  Maybe this would be his way of freeing himself and his wife from the duties of the Monarchy, to let the people take over.  And do you know what happened?"

"I think they shot him, mama..." said Mary, adopting the tone of a much younger girl involuntarily.  This was the part of the story that she hated the most:  Mary knew full well what happened to her Great grandfather.  It was a cautionary tale her entire life, one that reinforced the lessons about the dangers of democracy.  And it scared her to think that someone might try to do that to her too.  Which, Mary knew, was the primary reason for the Protocol and the Lese-Majestie laws.

"The lesson Carolina learned was that asking the people to govern opens the door for bad actors.  Democratic movements are too susceptible to being taken over by violent extremists who just want to use democracy to take power for themselves.  Just look at what democracy did for a place like Kundrati.  It is not to be trusted.  Your grandmother knew that, your father knew it, I know it, you know it, and everyone in Kalistan knows it.  Carolina said she learned that day that the only way to prevent things like that from happening to the ones you love is to keep the balance between freedom and duty in the lives of the people of this country:  Duty is rewarded with liberty, fail to do one's duty, and you don't get the reward.  She said she understood why she couldn't give it up:  She learned it the day her father was shot by some fascist pretending to be a republican."

Mary looked at her mom.  "What is the reason, Mom?"

"Carolina said that the monarchy was the only thing standing between light and freedom permitted by correct social order and the chaos of democracy which gives rise to any number of social ills and disorders, including fascism.  And when she had served her nation long enough and her own son was ready to take up the cause, she would pass it to him, because he was more capable to carry that responsibility as her ability and faculties started failing her.  And now, you do that job.  You are like the cork in a bottle of poison.  If you weren't there, that poison would spill all over society and kill people.  Our Empress is the only thing that stands in the way of that happening in our country.  Imagine if you said you no longer wanted to do that.  Imagine how many people would be hurt if you stopped doing what you do, if you went back to the forest and only paid attention to your trees."

Mary's spirit dropped.  "It would be a disaster," she said slowly and dejectedly.  She knew now that she couldn't give up the job, but had to do it until it was someone else's turn.

Monica sensed the sadness creep over her daughter, and thought of something that could pick her daughter up.  "And besides, honey.  Who says you can't go plant trees if you want?"

Mary looked into her mother's eyes.  "I mean, I don't have time to plant trees as the Empress.  I am working every single day."

"Oh come on, Mary.  You're the Empress.  You work as much as you want.  Your word is law.  I have heard you say that yourself.  You know your father didn't work every day.  Some days he would decide that he would rather go sailing.  So we went sailing while you and your sister were in school.  You get to do what you want:  All you have to do is decide to do it, and there is literally nothing, or no one who can stop you.  If the Empress wants to plant trees, she can declare it a national tree planting holiday, and require everyone to take off work and join her.  You have that kind of power."

Mary felt a smile creep over her face.  "I...  I do?"

Monica gave her daughter a hug.  "Mary, you are an absolute Monarch.  All legitimacy springs from your breath.  You literally can do anything you want.  You can make anything happen.  Planting trees is nothing if you decide that you wish to accomplish it.  You can do what you want, say what you want.  Those gossips in the columns just talk because you can't be hurt by it- You are so far above them and above the Deputies in the National Assembly who won't say positive things about you that it is ridiculous to concern yourself with their prattle.  You are the most powerful person on this planet, if you want to be.  And if you want to plant your trees, then plant them.  You have whole mountain ranges to reforest right here in Ananto!"  Mary smiled.

"But you can't do that if you give up," Monica added.  Mary sat up.

"No, I suppose not," she said to her mother, who smiled at her.  "I guess I will have to keep being the cork."

"Yes," Monica said gently.  "You do have to be the cork.  Only until you can pass it to someone else, though.  You are very young, and it is not fair that you were put into this position at your age.  But I have faith in you, my Daughter.  You will be special, you will be loved, and you will be respected.  And most of all, you will do your duty."

Mary nodded, grateful for the pep talk, even though it was a little... odd.  "And what is your duty?" she asked her mother.

"My duty is to be the mother of the Empress of Ananto and Kalistan.  And to take care of you when you are sad, and to celebrate your birthday with you.  And it is a duty I will love and cherish until my last day."  Mary smiled and gave her mother another hug.

"Mom, can we please order pad thai tonight?"

"You mean instead of tacos?"

"Yes, instead of tacos.  Then I can get tofu..."

"Because it is your birthday, ok," said Monica with a smile.  "But you will stay for cake, I hope?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world, Mom."  Mary said with a smile.