The Perfect Pot

Once, at the dawn of time, there were two lovers. People had no names in those far off times, so he called her Beauty and she called him Strength.

He built a hut from woven branches, beside a river which ran through a wood. In the day they would make love on the banks of the river, and at night they would make love in the hut. The earth seemed to respond to their love making and all around them the trees were laden with fruit and the waters of the river teamed with fish. Love was in Beauty and Strength and the earth and the sunshine, but summer cannot last forever.

One day, a chill wind blew the leaves from the trees and chopped the smooth waters of the river into little waves. As if blown by the wind, a woman appeared on the opposite bank of the river. Her hair was as black as a raven’s wing, her lips as red as berries and her skin was as white as milk. When she bathed naked in the river, Strength could not take his eyes off her. He called her Desire.

Beauty woke one morning and found she was alone. With anguish in her heart, she went out of the hut and saw Strength on the other side of the river with Desire in his arms. When Desire saw that Beauty was looking at them, she kissed Strength long and hard, then put her arms around him and led him away into the wood.

Beauty was alone, and yet she was not alone for she had a child growing within her. The wind dried her tears and the wind was the wind of change. Beauty went down to the river bank where she and Strength had made love. She plunged her hands into the thick, red clay and she made a pot – round as eternity, deep as devotion and curved like a heart.

All her love for Strength went into creating the pot, but it was not good enough. She made another and another until she had made a pot so perfect that even the restless wind paused to admire it. But the pots were delicate and easily broken, so Beauty took the perfect pot and placed it high on a shelf in the hut.

Winter came and Beauty was glad of the  hut, which sheltered her and kept her warm. In the depths of winter, when all was still, Beauty’s child was born. She held him close and suckled him and called him Purpose, for he had given her life new meaning.

In the spring, when the woods were bursting with fresh life, she had visitors. Strength and Desire stood outside the hut.

“You must leave the hut,” said Desire. “Strength built it and we want to live in it.”
“Please let me stay,” begged Beauty, “I have a baby to look after.”

But Desire was without mercy and, when Beauty looked at Strength, he bowed his head and would not meet her eyes. So Beauty picked up her baby and held it close.

“If you send us into the woods we might die,” she said. But Desire forced her out of the hut, while Strength hung his head in shame.

“Look at your son,” Beauty said to Strength as she passed him. He looked and when she saw the torment in his eyes she pitied him and, before she disappeared into the woods, she looked back and gave him a smile.

Beauty’s smile slowly melted the shaft of ice Desire had placed in his heart. That night, Strength waited till Desire was asleep then crept out of the hut and went into the woods to find Beauty and the baby.

Desire woke shortly after and found that he had gone. Her rage knew no bounds. She stamped on Beauty’s clay pots, she ripped the bed of leaves apart, she was determined that Strength and Beauty would never again live in the hut, so she set it on fire with embers from the hearth.

It took a while for the fire to catch hold and, as she took a final look around the hut, Desire saw the perfect pot upon the high shelf. Its workmanship filled her cruel heart with envy and she was determined to break it. But, as she struggled to reach it, the hut was engulfed and she realised that she was trapped. Desperately she tried to escape the flames but the fire was justice, the fire was vengeance, the fire caught Desire and burnt her to ashes.

Far away, in her hiding place in the darkness of the woods Beauty saw the fire. She hurried towards it, wondering what had happened. When she saw the hut was on fire, she gave a cry of distress, thinking that Strength might still be inside.

“Beauty.”  She heard her name and turned to see Strength running out of the woods towards her. She was so relieved to see him that she let him gather her into his arms.

“Oh Beauty I am so sorry,” he said as he kissed her and then the baby. “Please let me stay and look after you.”

Through the long night they warmed themselves by the fire and Strength explained how Desire had bewitched him, how quickly he had realised his mistake, and how much he had missed Beauty, his one true love. As the pale light of morning touched the sky, raindrops fell and mingled with his tears of remorse. Beauty kissed his damp cheeks and assured him that he was forgiven and that her love was as strong as ever. The rain fell upon the embers of the hut, making them sizzle and cool. Strength saw something in the embers. He went to retrieve it and found it was Beauty’s perfect pot.

“This is magnificent,” he said.

“Be careful,” said Beauty, “It’s very fragile.” But the lovely, heart-shaped pot wasn’t fragile any more – the fire had made it strong.