I was being kept prisoner and tortured by my former girlfriend, Ari.
I wanted to meet her famous uncle Victor Russet, a world-famous illusionist, and was using Ari to get an interview with him.
But I under-estimated the extent of Ari’s bitterness at my abandoning her for another woman, and as a result she deviously lured me to her uncle’s estate and left me trapped in an outdoor maze at the mercy of the heat and sun.
There was only an hour until nightfall and I had to use this time to try to solve the mystery of the puzzle.
I knew every maze had a solution summed up in an easy to remember mnemonic device. For instance, the key to the famous Hampton Court maze was summed up in the phrase, “Left, right, right, left, left, left, left.” If one got turned around, he need only follow that pattern of turnings to easily find his way out.
But what could be the clue to this maze?
Obviously, the answer lay in the mind of its clever creator, Victor Russet. If I knew the man, I’d have some insight. But the bare facts I knew of him were that he rose through the ranks in the British army going from drill sergeant to colonel, before retiring and pursuing a career as an illusionist.
Not very much to go on, but on the other hand, there were no massive details to digest.
What did the bare bones of Victor Russet's life suggest?
Suddenly, it hit me—he was an army drill sergeant in charge of directing men to march—and what directions did he give them? It was incredibly simple and obvious—why, he would bark out the command, “Left, right. Left, right”
I had difficulty standing, let alone walking, but by following my simple “left, right” formula and pushing myself, I found my way back to the green door.
Once outside, I had a choice whether to confront Ari or leave.
My ca was parked where I left it and thankfully, the keys were in my pocket. In my weakened state I decided my best option was to drive to the nearest hotel where I could find water, food and rest.
I found a Day’s Inn and spent two days and nights recovering from my ordeal.
When I was recovered enough to make the long drive home, I considered whether or not to return and check on Ari—after all, I was sure her uncle had never been there at all and she might be marooned in the country.
But the more I thought about it, I decided not to return.
She had my cell phone, and assuming she could get a signal, she could call for help. Besides, I could phone one of her girlfriends and have her check on her—that would be better than enduring a three hour ride with Ari sitting rigidly erect in the seat beside me, fiercely defiant and seething like a dark smouldering fire.
It wasn’t until three months later that I finally saw her again. It was at the symphony.
I saw her from a distance accompanied by her uncle Victor and another grim-faced young man. When her gaze met mine, she instantly turned away.
I looked for her afterwards, but she was gone.
Last I heard she married that young man and went to live in the Cotswolds in England, no doubt on some rural estate.
As far as I was concerned, I was glad to be rid of her.
But Ari’s metamorphosis from a patient spider to a fierce Minotaur accomplished something—the horrific ordeal changed and deepened me. Suffering does that—it’s like a refining fire that purges away the dross leaving pure gold...
Providing, of course, you’re able to outlast the flames.
