I used to read the Henry James novella The Beast in the Jungle every year. I read it to renew myself, to remember myself, to remind myself to remember him, John Marcher: egocentric, stagnant, lonely as he watches and waits for something to happen.
Marcher believes that "[s]omething or other lay in wait for him, amid the twists and the turns of the months and the years, like a crouching beast in the jungle" (James Ch. 2). Marcher is convinced that he is fated for some gravely significant event, or that some gravely significant event is fated for him. Obsessed, he watches and he waits for the “beast in the jungle” to spring; his friend May Bartram watches with him.
I never wanted to be like him. I desperately do not want to be like him-- not now, not ever, but I have forgotten myself, holed up in my cave, caught up in learning how to be a wife, and now, a mother. And so I forgot him. I forgot John Marcher...until now.
At first, the memory was imperceptible, a faint echo in the interior of the cave set off by Practicing Happiness. Thus incited, I turned to Henry James and read The Beast in the Jungle for the first time since my husband and I were married in 2005.
The memory-echo grew stronger and clearer as Mr. Marcher and I got reacquainted. In a moment of piteous illumination, Marcher understands "the truth, vivid and monstrous, that all the while he had waited the wait was itself his portion" (James Ch. 6).
The memory-echo crescendoed.
Aha!
My moment of illumination is anything but piteous. My moment of illumination is filled with joy and hope and gratitude: My wait is my portion. Before marriage, before motherhood, this was my mantra!
My wait is my portion, and what a portion indeed! I am blessed with a beautiful family—a loving husband and a happy, healthy baby boy. For the most part, our needs are met and our wants are rightly ordered. We have a generous extended family and the kindness of those who reach out in the spirit of friendship.
If you don’t know John Marcher, perhaps you’ll consider getting acquainted. You’ll find him, “the man, to whom nothing on earth was to have happened,” at May Bartram’s grave, looking upon “the sounded void of his life” as he realizes with profound horror that “[t]he escape would have been to love her; then, then he would have lived” (James Ch. 6).
It’s back to the cave now, to watch and to wait as I live—and love—my portion.
