The Moonlit Garden

by Bomann, Corina

  “What does this mean?” Lilly asked, pointing to a line of the menu.

  “That? Coffee from the cat!”

  “Coffee from the cat?”

  “The coffee beans are eaten by a particular breed of wild cat and then excreted. The beans, fermented in this way, are used to make a very expensive coffee. You could get a whole meal here for the price of a single cup.”

  “I’m not sure I’d want coffee that’s been . . . ” Lilly shuddered.

  Verheugen laughed. “It’s a delicacy! It’s highly prized here, and the pricey beans are ordered by connoisseurs from all over the world.”

  “Beans that have been excreted by a wild cat?”

  “I can see that we should stick to tuak.”

  “As long as that doesn’t come from inside an animal.”

  “No, tuak is kind of an early stage of arak. It’s obtained from the flowers of the sugar palm and has a very low alcohol content.”

  “It sounds fine.”

  “It certainly is. So let’s have that.”

  He had already given a discreet sign to the waiter, who appeared at their table in a flash. Verheugen ordered while Lilly looked at him with admiration.

  “I’ve got no idea what you’re saying, but your Malay is clearly very good.”

  “If you have the kind of connections I do with this country, you want to be able to speak with the locals without reminding them of the tales their grandparents told about the Dutch. There are still some who don’t have a particularly high opinion of us.”

  Lilly must have had a questioning expression since he added, “Indonesia has a rather checkered history. Have you heard of the VOC, perhaps?”

  “You mean the East India Company?”

  “Yes, an association of Dutch merchants and seafarers. It has a very long history and, at times, a bloody one. Some governors of Sumatra and Bali were so cruel that the royal family stepped in and ordered the VOC representatives to moderate their conduct. When the VOC broke up in 1799, the climate improved, and there were fewer acts of cruelty. But voices were gradually raised against the colonialists. In the 1920s an independence movement arose to fight for freedom from the Dutch. During the Second World War, Indonesia was briefly occupied by Japan, and colonial rule was finally ended.”

  “With all that knowledge you’d make a good historian.”

  “Perhaps I will one day, after I retire. Or I’ll become a travel writer and report on my trips around Indonesia. By that time I don’t think I’ll want to return to the Netherlands.”

  From what she had seen so far of Sumatra, Lilly could understand it.

  He spent the evening telling her about everyday life here as well as a little about his dental practice, although that did not seem as important to him as Indonesia. Lilly wondered whether the person he was intending to meet here was his wife. Verheugen was an attractive man with a good sense of humor. The way he spoke of Sumatra and its customs revealed that his connection with the country was based on more than merely his love for the countryside and the people. He must have some personal link. Although she told herself it was none of her business, she couldn’t help feeling interested in what the woman he might be meeting here looked like. Was she a pretty local woman like Rose’s mother no doubt was? After seeing the local women, Lilly had decided that Rose must have owed her famed beauty above all to her mother.

  “I hope the food wasn’t too hot,” Verheugen said as they stepped out into the night air. Although it was still quite warm, Lilly shivered a little. She always did when she came out from a warm restaurant. “Some tourists find it rather too much the first time.”

  Lilly shrugged. She could still feel the tingle of the spices on her lips, but it hadn’t troubled her.

  “I love spicy food,” she replied. “It’s never troubled me, but when I think of Peter . . . ”

  “Your husband?”

  Lilly lowered her head. A gray cloud settled over her good mood.

  “He was, yes. He died a few years ago.”

  “I’m sorry. I can imagine how you felt. My life has also been full of loss. But since I got to know this country, I do believe it’s getting better all the time. I can promise you that, simply by being here, you’ll be a different woman when you go back. And that happiness will accompany you from now on.”

  Lilly thought for a while about these words as she lay on her bed beneath the cool of the air-conditioning system and the protection of a mosquito net. She felt a creeping suspicion—was Verheugen perhaps not merely being friendly but actually harboring hopes? Hopes that she could not fulfill . . . All at once she felt uncomfortable. She found Verheugen eccentric in a nice way, and the fact that he was so willing to help her embarrassed her a little, although she was very glad of it. But she could not imagine him as her partner. She wasn’t even totally sure about Gabriel in that role—definitely not Verheugen. Was that really what he wanted? Ellen would say she was taking it all too seriously, that even in this day and age there were still people who were altruistic.

  You shouldn’t assume anything where he’s concerned, she told herself. This Dutchman’s really friendly, and you shouldn’t do anything to upset him. But if he does start showing any signs of wanting more, you’ll have to put him right.

  She finally closed her eyes and looked inside herself. Was the change Verheugen had spoken of already under way? Would she only notice it once she was back at Ellen’s house? No, she could feel it already. And as her thoughts wandered with anticipation to London and Gabriel, she sank into sleep.

  24

  Padang, 1910

  With the violin case hugged tight to her chest, Helen crouched in the grass and stared apathetically at her shoes. After the earth began to shake, everything happened so quickly. The visitors had scattered like frightened hens, and Helen barely had time to put her violin in the case before her mother had grabbed her by the arm and dragged her outside. They were hardly out of the house when the tremors got stronger. Stones broke away from walls, tiles rained down on the lawn.

  Her mother led Helen into the garden, to the place she had always found the most boring, as nothing other than grass grew there.

  “Lie down!” her mother cried, stretching out on the ground. Helen did the same but kept her violin case close by her, not wanting anything to happen to it.

  The earth shook beneath them for a moment with great force before suddenly stopping. A silence followed that was more profound than anything Helen had ever heard. Even the monkeys, whose calls could be heard in the city, were still. The sounds of the sea could no longer be heard, almost as if the earthquake had swallowed the water. Antje Zwaneweg always claimed that earthquakes caused deep rifts to open up in the ground, which swallowed everything around them.

  And now here she sat. Was this the punishment for betraying the mystery lady? Perhaps she really had been a magic fairy! But could her rage be so terrible when she had given her such a beautiful gift?

  “Helen, Ivy!” She heard her father’s voice. “Thank God nothing’s happened to you.”

  Helen’s mother, who had been as silent as her daughter the whole time, got to her feet. “James, you’re here at last!”

  Helen’s father drew his wife into his arms and kissed her.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t come any earlier. A number of houses in the city have collapsed. There are so many people dead.”

  “My God, that’s awful! Do we know any of them?”

  “I don’t know yet, but I’ve heard that the victims were mostly natives and Dutch. Since my help was no longer needed, I ran straight back here to look for you.”

  He bent down to Helen. “Are you all right, little one?”

  Helen nodded without raising her eyes. She kept her gaze fixed firmly on her shoes, hugging the violin case tightly. She sensed her father exchanging a look with her mother, and she knew how her mother could communicate with her husband without saying a single word.

  “Where did you find that case?” Helen’s father asked
. He was about to reach down for it when her mother said, “It’s pointless. She won’t let go of it.”

  “Is it so important to you?” her father asked, his voice full of understanding. Helen nodded.

  “She’s had quite a shock with the earthquake,” Ivy remarked. “And just before . . . Just before that she played us all something on the violin that’s in that case.”

  Her father looked at Helen for a moment and then placed a hand gently under her chin. He looked into her amber eyes for a long moment before asking, “So you have a violin?”

  “Yes,” Helen answered truthfully before her tears began.

  “Why are you crying?” Her father gently wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs.

  “I’m worried you’ll take it away from me,” she said.

  “But why would we do that? Unless you know of a reason?”

  Helen suspected what her father really wanted to know and shook her head.

  “No, it belongs to me. I haven’t stolen it.”

  “Who did you get it from? Or did you find it in the attic, perhaps?”

  It would have been easy to answer yes to her father’s last question, but Helen knew that would make her a liar. Like her mother, he knew what was in the attic.

  “Where did you get it from?” her father asked again.

  “I can’t tell you.”

  Her father’s eyebrows shot up. “Why not?”

  “Because I promised.”

  Her father sighed. He was not a man to be easily annoyed, but he hated anyone concealing things from him.

  Fear overtook Helen. Could she tell him the truth? Or would that cause something else dreadful to happen?

  “Who did you make the promise to?” he asked, a hard, threatening edge creeping into his voice.

  “I can’t say.” Helen looked pleadingly at her father. “Please, Daddy, don’t make me say any more.”

  Now her father looked at her mother.

  “She can play,” her mother said. “She came down earlier and played us a tune.”

  “Perhaps Miss Hadeland . . . ”

  “I doubt it. She’s so besotted with the piano. It seems as though our daughter has chosen herself another instrument.” She gently stroked her child’s head. “Some things can’t be denied forever.”

  Helen didn’t know what her mother meant by that, but she didn’t give it a second thought. At that moment all she wanted was to keep her violin—even though the earthquake had happened, an earthquake she might have caused with her betrayal.

  “Could I have a look at the violin?”

  Helen pressed her lips together. Fresh tears ran from the corners of her eyes. Her thin arms were closed around the case like iron bars.

  “You won’t take it away from me, will you?” the little girl asked.

  “I promise. I only want to look at it.”

  Helen trusted her father. She released her grip and set the case down before her. The sound of the locks snapping open seemed excessively loud, and as her father touched the violin, she shuddered as if he had suddenly touched her.

  “What a beautiful violin,” he murmured, carefully turning it in his hands. He saw the rose on the back and turned pale.

  “Ivy . . . ”

  He was unable to say more than his wife’s name. He showed her the violin, and her hand flew to her mouth in alarm. They were now communicating with their eyes, as they always did when Helen was not supposed to hear. She was sure they must be asking each other whether she had stolen it after all. She was arming herself mentally against the accusation when her father suddenly said out loud to her mother, “I think you’re right. There are some things that can’t remain hidden forever.”

  A second round of silent looks passed between them before he laid the instrument back in the case.

  “Who was it that taught you to play the violin?”

  “I taught myself.”

  Of course it was not the whole truth, but if she had revealed all, she would have betrayed the lady.

  “You’re a very special girl, Helen.” Her father closed the case and took his daughter in his arms.

  “What’s going to happen with the violin now?” Helen felt like snatching the case back up into her arms.

  “As long as no one asks for it back, you can keep it,” her father replied after a moment’s consideration. “But you’ll understand that I’m going to ask around to see if a violin has been reported stolen anywhere. We don’t want anyone to be sad because they’re missing their instrument, do we?”

  Helen nodded with a smile, since she knew that the mystery lady would not ask for the violin back.

  After that, her mother frequently asked where the violin came from, but she never received an answer. Helen was sure that the earthquake had been a warning. If she revealed any more of her secret, something even worse might happen to them.

  Once the mess left in the wake of the earthquake had been cleared up, her music lessons with Miss Hadeland were resumed. At first her teacher was less than pleased that Helen had abandoned the piano for the violin.

  “The violin is an instrument for gypsies!” she complained to Helen’s mother. “The piano is far more suitable for a young lady who wants to be thought well of in society.”

  “But you said yourself that Helen wasn’t making any appreciable progress on the piano. She may have become bored by playing it, or”—she raised a hand to silence Miss Hadeland’s protests—“or the piano simply isn’t her instrument. Perhaps you should hear how she plays the violin. I’m sure you’ll change your mind.”

  Helen, who had followed the conversation from a chair near the door, now stood as if her mother had given her an unspoken command.

  Unhurriedly, she took the violin from the case, silently asking it not to cause another earthquake. All she really wanted to do was learn how to play. After all, that was what the lady had wanted her to do. To play.

  As she positioned the bow on the strings, Miss Hadeland made a face. “Look at how she’s holding the violin. You have to stand up straight when playing!”

  “Let Helen try it her own way first,” her mother said. Although her voice was calm, it carried an underlying threat that held the music teacher back from criticizing Helen further. She sat tight lipped, stiff in her high-backed chair, her expression indicating that she did not expect Helen to produce a single clear note from the violin.

  Determined to show her that she could play perfectly well, Helen drew her bow decisively across the strings.

  As the first notes resounded through the music room, she saw from the corner of her eye that Miss Hadeland’s face was transformed. Her arrogant expression vanished, and her mouth gaped as if she were witnessing a miracle. It gave Helen the confidence to play well, and she immersed herself in the music, her heart seeming to beat in time to the rhythm of the piece.

  When she had finished, she felt weightless. Breathlessly she set the violin down, the sweat cooling on her body. A wonderful clarity came to her mind, as if a fresh wind had blown in through the window to drive away the mustiness.

  Silence reigned for a few minutes. Her mother looked expectantly back and forth between her daughter and the music teacher. Helen stared straight at Miss Hadeland. She didn’t like what she saw.

  “What’s the matter, Miss Hadeland?” Helen asked fearfully. She thought she had played well. She was sure her friend would have been pleased with her. But the music teacher’s eyes remained fixed for a long moment on the violin in her hand.

  “Nothing, it’s nothing,” she finally managed to say. “It was a lovely performance.”

  “So, do you believe it would be worth teaching her?”

  “Certainly,” Miss Hadeland replied a little woodenly. “Of course she still has a lot to learn—in particular she has to get rid of this . . . unusual style, but I’m sure that she has more talent for it than the piano. It’s not everyone who can master this art.”

  Ignoring her final sentence, Helen’s mother immediately said, “
Very well, then please teach her. We’ll increase your pay a little, as I believe it will be worthwhile for Helen to master the instrument properly.”

  Miss Hadeland nodded, and her glance fell on the violin, which was now lying dormant on its velvet bed in the case. Helen saw a momentary envy flare up in her music teacher’s eyes before she appeared to get her feelings under control.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Carter. I’ll do my best for her. Perhaps the world will soon be seeing a new child prodigy.”

  Helen did not believe that her talent was the stuff of prodigies. She found it much easier to play the violin than to bring forth complicated melodies on the piano, but she saw it all as the result of her meetings with her friend—the mystery lady whom she still had not seen again. Miss Hadeland, on the other hand, was a disciplinarian who did not really give the girl anything. Instead, she had her endlessly repeat any phrases she got wrong until her fingers felt completely numb from pressing on the strings.

  Whenever Miss Hadeland seemed impossible to satisfy, Helen concentrated her thoughts on the mystery lady who had shown her so simply and kindly how to play. As often as time allowed, she went to the garden fence to look out for the lady, but she did not come. Had something happened to her in the earthquake?

  Then again, she would tell herself, the lady might be angry with her because she had failed to keep the violin a secret. She would have liked to be able to explain that she had been unable to do anything else, but the lady seemed to have disappeared without a trace.

  Her mother often came into the music room to see how her daughter was progressing. On those occasions Miss Hadeland would give her a slightly freer rein and was not so quick to criticize Helen when she made a mistake. In any case, her mother seemed to be very pleased with her playing.