by Ian Hall
Getting no response from me, Dr. Fabrini continued to push.
“Have you been told the story of your birth, Valérie?”
I threaded my fingers through an opening in the lattice, restraining the desire to break through it and tear down the walls that separated me from outside.
“Or… should I say- the story of your mother’s death?”
I could not help it. The thin pieces of wood disintegrated in my hands, the latticework shredding as I stood, my hands ripping through the screen, tearing it asunder. My eyes only saw red. I remember panting and trying to catch my breath, the world suddenly spinning around me.
My mother had died giving birth to me.
From the depths of my soul I began to scream. I did not even notice the approach of the muscled orderlies. So intent on my rage, I did not register the first hands on my limbs. Only when their strong grip began forcing me inside the stiff, starched, canvas uniform, did I step back from my fury. But by then it was far too late.
I had killed my mother by sliding from her womb. A murderer at birth.
In a moment of stillness, as they pulled the buckles tight, I glimpsed Dr. Fabrini’s slight figure walking across the lawn towards the house. I tried to call his name, but the opening of my mouth proved the opportunity they needed to gag me, forcing the metal bit between my jaws, knocking me silent.
A movement at one of the windows caught my attention. I froze, letting them continue to bind me, gazing upon the man in the tall window. The figure looked different from my last image of him, but with a smile and a tear I looked once more upon my father’s distant face.
Bound in canvas, my struggles were useless, so I conserved my energy, letting them carry me into my room. I lay still on the floor for hours, then the men came again with the needle, and I fell asleep despite my efforts to resist.
With my rage diminished, I counted the days of my punishment.
One, I determined in future to curb my temper.
Two, I debated at length the trigger of my rage; the mention of my mother.
Three, I lay on my side, weeping for my mother’s life, so cruelly torn from her by my arrival.
Four, I tried to rid myself of the name, “mother”, but to no avail. I had killed her, and my father must have detested me despite his efforts to love.
Five, I sat as much upright as I could, shuffling against the wall. “I killed my mother,” I said under my breath, for a whole day.
Six, I had used up all my tears, and my throat swollen by continual confessions.
On the seventh day, I woke, yet again with no restraints or gag.
Being tested once more, I determined to pass. I looked up at the tall dark observation windows. My father could be up there.
I sat up, and pushed myself back against the wall, watching the door. On cue, it opened, and the two orderlies entered. One carried a tube and a funnel, the other the mug of liquid.
“I will drink by myself, if you please,” I said, holding out my hand for the mug.
They left me alone, and I sipped the warm liquid until I had finished it.
The door opened again, and Dr. Fabrini stood in the doorway. He extended his hand to me, and I rose, and obediently put my wrist into his grasp.
The morning felt colder than before, and thick dew lay across the grass. I gasped as I struck my foot through the myriad of droplets for the first time. We headed for the gazebo, and I noticed with shame, the new wood in its construction.
“I’m sorry.” I looked back at the house where father had stood just a week before, but the window stood empty.
Dr. Fabrini took no notice of my apology, but turned to me, and grabbed my other wrist. Slowly he pressurized me so sit with him on the wet grass. The two orderlies stood behind me, pressing their hands on my arms and shoulders, pushing me into the grass I loved.
When I seemed sufficiently restrained, Dr. Fabrini smiled. “What provoked you? What sent you back to this imprisonment?”
I could not help myself, the words were out of my mouth before I knew it, their release eased by the doctor’s soft tones. “I killed my mother.”
He blanched visibly. “Valérie; you did not kill your mother.”
His words were an icy smack upon tender flesh. Were it not for the orderlies bearing down on my shoulders, I would have carved a trench through Dr. Fabrini’s throat then and there. After so much meditation, so much soul-searching to come to terms with the truth he had the gall to inflict hope.
“Of course I did.” I rebutted with as much restraint my building anger would allow.
Those crystal blue eyes remained calm as a reflecting pool, “Who has told you this? Your father assures me he has not mentioned the incident.”
“I heard the whispers between the chamber maids… they called me demon.”
“The gossip of bored women, entertaining themselves with torrid tales, Valérie,” he shook his head sorrowfully, “And your father?”
“Father never spoke of it; not that I recall.”
“Between the servants’ loose tongues and your father’s clamped jaw it is no wonder you were left to draw truth from such bitter lies.”
“What do you know about it?”
Dr. Fabrini’s gaze tightened, his eyes turning a fierce gray like a gathering storm, “Tell me first what you have heard; word for word if you can.”
Word for word; the story came back to me like a recurring nightmare, “Heavily pregnant, Mother took walks every day. One morning, still weeks away from delivering me, the servants heard screaming from out in the garden. By the time the servants found her, her belly had been ripped open, intestines spilled and her womb split asunder. They say I clawed my way out of her, ripping through her stomach, tearing her apart from the inside, torn to shreds like a carcass devoured by carrion birds.”
“And it was you - her unborn babe, no teeth in your tiny head, not yet ready to taste her first breath, the nails on your tiny fingers still soft - who managed such a monstrous act? You, with no nails stronger than those blades of grass you collect? This is what you’ve heard and believed, Valérie?”
“It’s what they believe!” I made to leap to my feet but the orderlies pressed their combined weight down on me. “It’s what Father believes as well. Why else would he have never said differently?”
“Your father failed you in that, my dear girl, and I have no compunction about saying it. He allowed grief over his lost wife to better his judgment and cloud his perception of the events.”
A sting of tears flooded my eyes, “So, Father does despise me…”
“He does not despise, Valérie – he fears you. And he is ashamed of himself for that fear.”
“It’s me he’s ashamed of.”
I hung my head and allowed the sobs to come freely. Dr. Fabrini let go my wrists and pulled me to his shoulder, stroking my hair and rocking me the way my mother might have done had she lived to hold me in her arms.
“My dearest Valérie,” He crooned into my ear, his breath puffing against the side of my head. “You imagine the exact opposite of what actually happened.”
I felt my strength rise, and tensed my muscles for my bursting free of human hands. Then I heard a voice, albeit a very distant one.
The truth illuminates.
My rage instantly cooled, my concentration channeled elsewhere, searching the surrounding garden for the source of the words. I looked over Dr. Fabrini’s shoulder from the distant forest to the nearby hedgerows, but to my chagrin, I could trace nothing, but Dr. Fabrini still talked to me, his soothing words wafting into my psyche, forcing me from my search. Perhaps the words had come from him.
“…they found you in the alley behind the house. Gallons of blood surrounded you, but there you were, your cord bitten through, lying in the damp cobbles. A wonder you were alive. They could only identify you as the child of Constance Berthier by this…”
Dr. Fabrini produced a glittering object from the deep pocket of his white coat. Dangling from a long,
gilded chain hung an ivory pendant, surrounded by a shiny gold border. Embossed within the oval, lay the delicate silhouette of a woman’s face. I spread my hands and the good doctor placed the fine object within them. He then pushed at a tiny clasp with his thumb and, delightfully, the oval separated into two halves. Behind thin glass on either side lay a small, fading photo. The man, though his face looked smooth and eyes youthful, I recognized instantly. The woman I had never before seen but I knew her just as surely.
With the tip of my small finger, I traced the outline of each face as if the tactile connection could bring them to me in that garden. As I took in my mother’s countenance, the whisper from the trees thundered all around me.
The truth illuminates!
I looked to Dr. Fabrini, clearly he had not spoken nor seemed to have even heard the mysterious expression. At that moment I knew the voice spoke for me alone and did not question that fact. Just the thought brought me odd comfort; same as the lovely locket as I placed it around my neck, claiming it as my own. It proved such a grander prize than any blade of grass, and I would not be deprived of it by any means.
“What of my mother?” I asked.
“Gone, my dear; the locket was all that remained of her… besides a newborn daughter, of course.” His hands smoothed my face. “Her body was never found, Valérie. But you did not kill her. Another claims that cruel deed.”
I doubted his words but not the sincerity behind them. I could hear father’s voice in Dr. Fabrini’s, and I knew it to be true.
The truth illuminates, Valérie!
This time the words, hurled so loud into my head, startled me. The nearby trees were bare of anything resembling a human figure, but my caller lay out there, bidding me to come. Overwhelmingly, I knew a driving need to answer the plea.
I shot upright so quickly, I threw off my two orderlies, throwing them back onto the wet grass. They quickly regained their former positions, but neither held me quite as tight as before. I’d seemingly won a contest, and they knew I could best them. But my struggle against the orderlies had broken Dr. Fabrini’s trust.
He leveled a disappointed glare at me, and presented his palm. Instinctually, I clutched the locket.
“We do not reward such behavior, Valérie. Give me the locket; it will be returned to you in due time if you prove so deserving.”
“This is mine.” I said in a measured, yet warning tone.
His demand became sterner, “The locket, Valérie.”
My voice hardened to match, “This is MINE.”
I suddenly felt the injection in my shoulder. I raged against it, throwing my human chains asunder, and took a few steps towards freedom, and my unseen ally. Then I stumbled, hindered by the strong drug coursing through my system. I felt the hard contact of stone against my chin, and surged against the bonds, instantly lost in pain and suffering.
In my addled brain I heard conversations of ‘Uncle’, ‘Doctor, and ‘America’. I have no idea how long I stayed this way.
The SS Coronata
When I eventually came to my senses, the padded walls of my room had changed to bare wooden planking. I knew that Italy lay far behind me, the air smelled full of salt, and the floor beneath my bed rose and fell rhythmically.
I tried to sit up, but of course, I lay bound by stiff canvas and leather again. I looked down my body and became instantly alarmed by the bosom presented to me, mere inches from my eyes. I shimmied within my bounds and felt the strange lumps of flesh strain against the hard canvas.
I had breasts.
But when had I grown them?
As I slowly shook the last vestiges of the drugs from my body, waves of despair swept over me. I knew that years had passed since my days in the garden with Dr. Fabrini. I thought of the lost times, and my savior within the woods. Long forgotten, way back in my distant past.
As I took in the details of my new world, I wondered exactly how long I had lost.
The door opened and my eyes darted to the opening, my head held by the cloying mask. To my surprise, a woman entered. She stood dressed in black from hat to toe. Stiff black dress, no color at all.
“Ah, you’re awake.”
I nodded as much as I could, knowing my speech would be hampered by the bit drawn through my mouth.
“My name is Sarah, and I am your nurse.” She walked over to the bed and leant over me. A cold look passed over her face. “If I unfasten the mask, and you misbehave, I will whip you. Understand?”
Again I nodded. I had no doubt of her conviction to carry out her threat.
Carefully she unbuckled the mask, and to my surprise, removed it completely. The old one had been part of the restraint; this new mask sat separate from the canvas suit.
“Where am I?” My voice sounded strange, I almost didn’t recognize it. There was a low timbre to it, which I had not heard before. I dreaded the next question, but I had to know. “What year is it?” My question felt strange on my lips, but I knew I would not like the answer.
“We are aboard the Coronata, and it is June 3rd, Eighteen Seventy-three.”
I lay for a second, letting the information settle in my confusion. “Four years.”
Sarah gave me a questioning look.
“It’s been almost four years since I remember anything,” I said softly, contemplating the length of my ‘lost time.’
“Well, Valérie, you are under the care of Doctor Xavier Mortence now, and I am taking you to him.”
“Where are we going?”
“We are sailing to his home in Providence, Rhode Island; to the United States of America. We shall be aboard ship for about four weeks, and I have no intention of having you bound and gagged all the way.”
I gasped. “You’re going to free me?”
Sarah gave a smile that betrayed itself. She bent down low, so close that I could smell her breath. It glimpsed that beneath her pleasant demeanor lay a heartless side that I did not care for. “I’m no novice at this, girl. I will free you by stages. I will trust you until you deceive me once. If you abuse that trust, I will bind you for the duration.”
I nodded. “I understand.”
“One more thing, we will cease conversing in Italian, and begin lessons in English.”
I nodded meekly. I would be one more arrow to my bow. If I intended to break free in this new country, it would serve my purposes to learn the language quickly.
The single bed in my cabin consisted of an iron frame, with a hard mattress; Sarah pulled me more upright, and arranged pillows under my head and shoulders. She then fastened a collar round my neck which she padlocked to the metal headboard. She followed the same steps with my wrists, then began to unfasten the straitjacket at my feet.
As my legs came free, I flexed my toes, and gasped at the shooting pains. My legs were longer than I remembered, but much thinner, and covered in nasty red sores.
“Oh, we shall have to do something about that,” Sarah said, her fingers moving my legs apart, looking with some displeasure at my condition.
It took a week of bathing and lotions to ease the sores, but it took longer than that to get strength back into my legs. Four years of being bound to a bed will atrophy the muscles to a significant degree. Over the weeks at sea, Sarah’s ministrations got results, and I kept to my side of the bargain, not letting my rage manifest itself. Our English lessons were constantly apace, and we used little else, except where I did not know the English equivalent.
In two weeks I walked fairly steadily, and I got allowed on deck for thirty minutes each day.
Despite the lost time, the confinement, and the unknown destination, I became fascinated by the sea. I watched it for hours, its constantly changing moods and colors.
One evening, after supper, I noticed a rat in my cabin. I put my novel on the bed, and moved to trap it in the corner. It raced back and forth, but I found it no match for my speed. I pounced on it, and in doing so, broke its front leg clean off.
My nostrils flare
d; I smelt fresh blood. With no way to stop myself, I lost my inhibitions and bit into the flesh behind its head. I sucked the fresh blood into my mouth and almost cried out with joy. The warm liquid tore through my body like any drug I’d ever had, and I felt ebullient beyond belief.
It proved a brief episode in an otherwise boring journey, but I repeated it three more times before we reached America. Each feeding built my strength; a fact I kept hidden from Sarah to the best of my ability. I had terrific plans for the day my feet once again touched dry land and I became ever more certain that their restraints could not hold against me at my best.
Twelve hours before docking Dr. Mortence made his first appearance in my cabin. I’d pictured him exactly in my mind’s eye: squat and balding with scrubs of white hair above each ear, as well as a thick bushel growing out of each. A pair of round, gold-trimmed spectacles perched at the end of his bulbous nose, which glowed red, marred by enormous pores.
Despite a thick German accent, he spoke to me in decent English, “As always a pleasure to see you, Valérie.”
From his greeting I realized I must have seen the man before, dozens or perhaps hundreds of times. As I looked at his eyes, a flash of memory tore through me; little wonder his odd toad of a man seemed so familiar to me. Immediately, I felt swept away in a rush of déjà vu, each vision more clear than the last.
The ship’s cabin around me fell away and I remember being restrained in a heavy, wooden chair. Some metal contraption engulfed my head and I could feel the sensation of a million stinging tentacles abrading my skin while the buzz like a hive of wasps dug into my ears.
Only one sound rose above the insistent hum: a man’s demanding voice, “Recite.”
Instinctively, I stumbled back, as far away from Dr. Mortence as the small room would allow.
“What happened to Dr. Fabrini?”
By his suddenly diminished posture and elaborate exhale, I suspected I’d asked this very question on many occasions. He slid a glance to Sarah, who remained stiff-backed and expressionless at my side.
“We are back to square one, I see.” He said more to the nurse than to me.
“Traveling has had an ill-effect on her, Doctor.”