Prologue.
To begin with, I should like to point out that the "Ang" in "Angela" is pronounced like the ang in angle, and not "Anj." She was of European origin and liked her name to be pronounced in the manner of her country. Angela was not her real name, but she still had problems getting people to pronounce her real one in the way she preferred.
Angela told me her story, or at least part of her story, when she was seventy-six and I was living with her. She asked me to write it down, and when I said I would like to make it public, she gave me permission, provided I used pseudonyms and I was not too specific with geographical names and places. She died at eighty-two, and I have waited until now to release this little summary account of what she told me.
A Brief Angelic Description.
As I have indicated, Angela was of European origin, and came from one of those parts of that continent where children are brought up fairly sternly. She was tall and handsome, with the most glorious blonde hair I have ever seen. Not the thin frizzy type of hair, but thick, strong hair, worn at shoulder length, and it shone and swung as she walked. She had intense blue eyes set in a slightly elongated heart shaped face. She had a manner some thought a little austere and it sometimes put people off from approaching her, but as I shall relate, this manner only masked a very compassionate and loving person.
Until the end of her life her back was ramrod straight and even with the pain she suffered in her last few years, she walked and sat with elegant grace. She was a very cultured woman, having wide academic and practical interests, and for any one whom was capable of intelligent conversation, a delight to be with.
I had known Angela for decades, and so some of the details of the following story are in fact drawn from my own experiences with, and observations of, this graceful lady. Never the less, what I shall now relate in the first person are essentially her words and details.
As Angela Told It.
I was born and brought up in a European country. My family was financially very well off, and they sent me to the best schools, and finally to university. My going to university had nothing to do with a future profession or career. Quite a few girls in those days used the university education as a sort of finishing school.
It was anticipated that I would marry, as they said then, "Well." By that, they meant I would marry into a rich family that would be seeking an equally rich, well-educated and cultured girl as a wife for a son. In addition, the preferred girl would be reasonably good looking, strictly brought up, a virgin and religious. As to the good looks, I leave others to judge, but I qualified in most of the other departments, at least, I did until my third and final year at university.
One of the subjects I was studying brought me into the orbit of a young lecturer, for whom all those who are supposed to know about these things predicted a brilliant academic career. As well as his academic brilliance, he had a scintillating, exuberant personality. To be in his presence was to fall under the spell of his charm and to be inspired by him.
He was twenty-eight and unmarried when I first knew him, and rumour had it that many of the female students had given way to his persuasiveness, and lost their virginity to him as a result. How he did not get into trouble with university authorities, I do not know. I did hear one story that claimed the father of one girl had challenged him to a duel, but if it ever happened, he obviously survived it, and I never saw anything that looked like a scar on him.
He was not especially good looking, not ugly you understand, but it was his vitality and charisma that bewitched. That is how I came to be - to use a phrase common at the time - "Ruined." To put it another way, I was distinctly devalued in the marriage market.
As my final university year progressed I found myself called frequently to meetings with the Herr Doctor, or "Carl," as I later came to call him. The first meeting with him was for a perfectly legitimate review of some work I had submitted to him. Following meetings seemed to be needless, and he was hard put to give them any substance. Whatever the vague reason given for the meeting, we always ended up on a personal note, most times with me talking about myself.
No doubt, I could have challenged these calls into his presence, but the truth is, I did not want to, especially as it made the other girls so envious. Looking back, I can see I was caught like a fly in his spider web. I was about to be devoured, and I loved it.
His first physical contact with me was via a rather old fashioned kissing of my hand as we said goodbye. At following meetings, he progressed to my cheek, and finally my lips. At that point, I was completely undone. A somewhat painful and undignified splitting of my hymen took place with me bent over his office desk. Unromantic, was it not?
The story was that once the girl's hymen fell victim to his manly endeavour, he lost all further interest. This did not happen to me. I continued to get summonses to attend him and now there was no further pretence that he had any other reason than to continue an ever more ardent sexual relationship.
I admit it was not one sided. We could not leave each other alone. We progressed from his office to his apartment. We made further progress when instead of an evening together I stayed all night. The finale came when he claimed he could not live without me, and would I marry him? "Yes, yes, yes."
My family was broken hearted. I, who was destined to marry the son of a rich industrialist or businessman, had elected to form a union with a lowly academic. They stormed, pleaded, threatened and cajoled. I was unbending. Of course, I did not inform them of my now unmaidenly condition, and when they finally concluded that they could not dissuade me, they reconciled themselves to the inevitable.
"After all, he is prominent in the Church, and he does have a promising future," pronounced my father. And from my mother, "He is very charming." So went the litany, and I sometimes thought that my mother, if she had the offer, would have jumped into bed with Carl.
We married and settled into Carl's apartment. The promise of a brilliant academic future began to be fulfilled. Shortly after our marriage, Carl was offered a professorial position in a prominent university. We moved, and then began his rise to international fame.
As I discovered, Carl had an encyclopedic mind. His knowledge of subjects far beyond his own specialisation was enormous. There are people who have that sort of mind, but can do little with it but regurgitate facts. Carl had the gift of being able to bring his vast knowledge and insight into a synthesis.
It was this ability to bring together and make sense of disparate material for which he became renown. At this time he began the publication of his works that went on right up until his death. In addition, as the years went by he was called upon to address public gatherings, engage in radio and later television interviews, to attend seminars, and lecture all over the world.
Then an event took place that threatened to destroy this brilliant career. Our country had been in political ferment for a number of years, and as a result, an oppressive dictatorship came to power. Carl held political views abhorrent to the new order, and he was dismissed from his university post, and we escaped over the border, probably just ahead of being arrested.
For a few weeks, Carl was out in the wilderness, but then there was the offer of a position at an overseas university. He took it, and it was from this base that his fame began to spread.
At the personal level our marriage continued much the same as before we married. Our sex life continued enthusiastically. I was deeply in love with Carl, and I thought he was with me. We burned for each other.
There are those who hold the view that someone like Paul, the genius academic, has little or no interest in matters sexual, unless to subject them to microscopic and dispassionate study. I cannot claim to have a wide experience of such males, other than Carl, but such as I have, and from general observation, I say this view is wrong.
People like Carl have enormous energy, and this spills over into their sexuality. If anything, they are far more active sexually than less gifted people. There were times when Carl sought me out three, and even four times a day, for sex. And if he did not seek me, I sought him. When Carl started to make extended trips to lecture in distant places, he would take me with him, on the grounds that he could not manage without me sexually.
This continued until we had been about two years in our new country. It was then Carl began to show less and less interest in me. At first, I put this down to familiarity. I assumed that this is what happened to most couples after they had been together for some time.
My own ardour had not diminished, and this of course made for a very painful emotional situation for me. I was still deeply in love with Carl and a great admirer of his work, so in an attempt to absorb some of my sexual energy I threw myself into supporting him in any way I could.
Having had a university education myself, I did prove useful to Carl in arranging his notes and editing his writings. It was immensely satisfying work, but then a new factor entered into the situation. Carl began to suggest that perhaps I would rather not come on the trips with him. "It will be a bit of a bore for you, and I shall be all right."
He got ever more pressing with his suggestions that I should not accompany him, and even went to the length of piling work on me saying, "This has got to be done urgently. Please stay behind so you can have it ready when I get back."
This did not please me, but I thought nothing ill of it until I made the first discovery.