One afternoon, a woman named Alice visited her old friend Sophie. Sophie had recently remarried. Her first marriage had been a storm of miserythe man drank too much, behaved intolerably, and eventually left her for someone else. A miserable story. Through it all, Alice remained by Sophies side: comforting her, supporting her at every dark turn, reminding her that friends were meant for just such moments, werent they?
Ten years slipped by. Sophie met someone newa decent man, clever, with a respectable joba world away from her first husband. Alice was genuinely thrilled for her friend. So, when Sophie invited her to her new flat, Alice arrived bearing a beautiful Victoria sponge and a small bouquet of flowers. She marvelled at the tasteful renovationso light and welcoming!
They settled around the kitchen table, sipping tea with slices of cake. Sophie’s new husband, Edward, was a sharp-witted man, well-read and brimming with jokes. Most of his humour, however, seemed to revolve around Aliceher simple view of the world, the ‘useless bits and bobs clogging up her mind,’ as he put it, chuckling. He pointed out, still laughing, that shed never read Murakami and hadnt the faintest clue about Pelevin. Edward then launched into another lecture about science banishing all the silly superstitions Alice sometimes mentioned.
His quips didnt stop there. He teased her about her hairstyle, her figure, her clothing: Straight out of the nineties! he declared, his tone dripping with mockery. Alice felt herself grow stiff with embarrassment, unsure how to reply to such biting intellect. Sophie laughed along, openly admiring her husbands wit.
When Alice tried to change the subject by mentioning the stray kitten shed recently rescued, Edwards ridicule only deepened. Cats, according to him, were filthy little disease carriers. And as he saw it, anyone adopting strays must be covering up for some kind of mental abnormality or suppressed narcissism. Sophie giggled, nodding as Edward shared examples of crazy cat ladies left unloved with nothing but a flat full of fur balls for company.
Suddenly, Alices eyes filled with tears. Foolish, childish, utterly unexpected. She stammered an apology, blaming a splitting headache, and hastily gathered her things to leave.
But her head did truly achethrobbing as if cruel hands were pounding on her skull. Ashamed of the tears shed shed, she scolded herself for her own emotional outburst. The shame grew heavier: for not keeping up with clever conversation, for never reading Murakami, for blurting out her silly dream as if it mattered at all.
Yet shame belonged elsewhereshame on those who invite someone into their home, only to allow them to be belittled. On those who share a beloved book or film or their faith, then stand by while others tear it down. On those who post a cherished authors words online, then quietly tolerate the flood of venom that follows. Its all the same, reallya silent betrayal.
Betrayal is letting someone dear be mockedor destroyed. Thats what betrayal is.
Alice couldnt quite name this feelingshe was no intellectual, after all. She hurried home, to her kitten, who didnt read books or dazzle anyone with witty remarks. Her kitten simply curled up on the sofa beside her and began to purr, softly and sweetly.
Alice never visited Sophie again. And, as it happened, there was soon no reason toSophie and Edward ended up arguing over the flat, fighting viciously in court. Edward, it turned out, was as energetic and smart as ever. Perhaps a little too much so.
But thats how it often goes. The one for whom someone betrayseven they will one day betray in return. Its such a simple chain. All it took, really, was for Sophie to step ingently end the jokes at Alices expense, refuse to let her friend be hurt in her own home. Who knows? Perhaps Edward would have respected her for itmight have never dared treat her the way he later did.
A betrayer is never respected. And betrayal is never far behind.
