It was late evening. Darkness had descended and there was no moon. As Grace looked out of the window, she could see smatterings of images which enfolded her garden – it was November and the bony fingers on the branches of the silhouetted trees seemed to be beckoning to her. The spotlights from the distant houses flickered, reflecting the warmth of the loved ones who inhabited them. Why was she doomed to be alone, she thought. I have tried so hard to be strong but now I can’t go on any longer. What is the point of struggling each day when my whole soul has been destroyed? “You have lived your life but because you have been abandoned, there seems no point in continuing,” she spoke to herself, as if she were another person. As Grace leaned out of the window; she could feel the cold crisp air gently caressing her face. She stretched further to sense the icy touch of the wind. Looking down onto the garden where she had once stood so happily with Michael all those years ago, Grace wished that she could go back in time to that ecstasy, but she felt herself drowning in darkness as she hauled herself up on to the windowpane. I want to go there and feel the softness of the grass and the happiness I once knew, the voices in her head uttered. She lifted herself further towards the edge of the window, when suddenly two cats screeched and brought her out of the stupefied trance, she was in. She was cold and climbed back into her bedroom and wrapped herself in her duvet as if returning to the womb.
Weeks went by and Grace’s mental state began to improve. It was important to her that she should face up to the fact that she would never see her lover again. She would not allow herself to reach that low point under any circumstances. It was terrible to imagine that she could have almost ended her precious life. Determined never to permit her emotions to dominate her actions, Grace started to learn to live her life without a man. It was very difficult and sometimes she would date because she knew that she craved male company and the essence of a physical connection with someone, however brief the outcome. During a visit from an intimate yet platonic male friend who she saw from time to time, Grace received a phone call from Larry, asking if he could see her. This time, however, and to her amazement, she refused his offer, in order to protect herself from any further misery. She was, at last, in control. Strength, had allowed her to say no.
Retirement was something which gave Grace the chance to pursue her many interests. Her parents had died and together with her brother, she inherited a comfortable amount of money which permitted her to feel more secure. This was a new sense of independence where she was able to discover herself and attend to her own needs. A close group of friends helped to encourage her to enjoy her retirement years.
Grace’s two grandchildren provided her with such love and affection. She developed a strong relationship with each one. Tara’s daughter, Alison, adored her grandmother and she would always bring Grace a gift when she visited. Her visits, accompanied by her mother, were unannounced which somehow seemed to make them more valuable. The closeness that developed made Grace very content as she saw her younger self when she looked at her little granddaughter. Alison had blonde curls and sky-blue eyes, which possessed Grace’s sparkle. Even though she was still only young, she loved to help to bake and experimented on her grandmother who politely found everything delicious. It was as if Grace could see the person she might have been as a little girl. On one visit to her, she told Grace that she wanted to be an artist when she got older. Grace responded with a wry smile, loving her granddaughter intensely as she praised her sketches.
It was with great regret that Grace’s friend came to tell her that she was moving away. Grace would miss her dreadfully. She understood that their friendship would withstand the distance and although they would be far away from one another, visits would be frequent with telephone calls replacing the long face to face discussions and outings. Through misty tears they spoke their farewell. Grace was now truly alone. Friendship was essential in her life and she knew that her other friends would help her cope with the hardships that she felt certain that she would endure. But Grace felt numb inside. She felt cold and dark and desperately wished for her private life to be nourished by hope. Somehow Grace knew that there was always something different waiting around the corner. For her, there had always been that familiar feeling of having been cursed somehow. She hoped this would now be dissipated. She was trying to be optimistic. Grace had been to the local shops to try and forget the departure of her friend and while driving home, she felt a sadness. Her soulmate was the only one who had really understood her loneliness. She opened the front door and saw her beloved daughter Tara together with her granddaughter Alison busily preparing supper for her. “Come and sit down, Gran Gran. You must be hungry,” her granddaughter said in a comforting tone. Grace could ask for no more.
Zoshia 17
Now living alone, Zoshia had time to ponder her life. She felt proud at having brought up three children with successful careers. This had been achieved by a widowed mother with a low income who had struggled and fought to acquire help and support. Having retired, Zoshia felt an emptiness, which could not be filled. She believed that moments of life’s happiness were fleeting and the rest of the time was merely remembering. Life had just stolen everything. Her family had been her universe for so long that she felt only a void without them. Even when they visited her, she felt an outsider within their world. It was a realm of youth and she knew that she was no longer relevant. Her youth had been stolen from her in many ways by Adolf Hitler and her early married life had been fraught with trauma.
It was 1992 and old age had crept up on her, strangling her body like a creeping ivy. She had gained weight and felt as if all her bloom of youth had disappeared. When she gazed into the mirror a plethora of freckles greeted her, reflecting all the obstacles in her life which she had been forced to overcome. Would her future be filled with a living sleep which devoured time and ultimately lead to death? Remembering seemed to live in the present, as she contemplated the moments of pleasure that had opened to her like a budding flower, but these moments were contrasted by episodes of difficulty and darkness. Zoshia had known real love and for this she was grateful. She could not decide how much of her life was ruled by positive or negative memories. The feeling of the sun setting on her existence created the clouds which were circling her with a blackening hue.
Zoshia had no idea how to fill her time. She felt no desire to play the piano, as she no longer had the confidence to do so. There was only an empty space which surrounded her each day. The loneliness enveloped her being, as everyone she loved was no longer part of her life. She felt as though everything inside her had died and she was devoid of any hope. For Zoshia, desires were the flowers of those who lived life; they didn’t blossom in the realms of decay.
But this outlook changed after Victoria finally confirmed a move back to Liverpool. It was a Wednesday morning, in July 1992. Zoshia was excited once more. She waited with bated breath, as her daughter, Victoria, was driving on the motorway back to her. Her beloved Victoria was returning. Zoshia could never have dreamt that this would happen, and she felt elated, an emotion which she thought she would never feel again. Thinking back to when Victoria was born, Zoshia remembered how Harvey held her in his arms. Their first-born child had made them feel as one body. Neither of them could comprehend the intensity of the love which they felt for this tiny, helpless human being. Victoria was coming home and so Zoshia allowed the excitement to carry her away as she looked in the mirror and smiled. The images that she saw were full of warmth and hope and she felt comforted by the blanket of love that she felt for her daughter.
Zoshia listened as she heard the key being turned to open the door. Victoria had reached the end of her journey and had arrived once more into the womb of her family home. As Zoshia held her first born with a vice-like hug, she felt at this moment that her doubts and fears had subsided and here before her stood her future. Mother and daughter; the suffering she had experienced for so long had resulted in this moment. They were together, creating
a closer bond than Zoshia had experienced with anyone in her life. “Come in, babela. You are home.”
Although Zoshia adored her daughter, Victoria had been a difficult teenager, which was partly due to Harvey’s sickness. There had not been enough time to give her the attention she needed. However, things became very different with an older more mature young woman who had replaced the awkward adolescent. A closeness developed between Zoshia and her daughter, which had never really had time to flourish. She had been so busy working hard all her life to provide a living for her family that she had never made time to just sit and talk. Now that she had retired and was financially comfortable, she was able to communicate to Victoria about her youth and her horrific and courageous experiences during the war; her life with her parents and the struggle of her early married life. Zoshia confided in Victoria about her feelings of isolation living in a foreign country and how she regretted not having made more friends. This seemed to have a cathartic effect upon Zoshia’s being. She felt a new affinity with her daughter who seemed to understand her feelings without judging her. Zoshia had at last found someone who empathised with the events that had taken place during her life. She had been searching for this understanding for so long and now she had found it in Victoria, her precious daughter.
The time which they spent alone together was a gift. These were summer moments with flowers of love blooming and enveloping them both. The glorious birth of sunshine represented the brightness of each new-born day. Going out together enabled Zoshia to enjoy the simple pleasures of life once more. Victoria insisted her mother should resume her piano playing and this encouraged Zoshia to feel the delights that she had experienced as a blossoming young woman. When Victoria went out with her friends, Zoshia would refrain from thinking about the past during her acts of musical creativity, as the notes danced sweetly while she played her beloved Chopin.
“A holiday together is what you need,” Victoria suggested to Zoshia excitedly. “We will make memories which we can both treasure forever,” she added persuasively.
“It’s so long since I was in a position to go away, but now… yes, we will,” Zoshia replied with a nervous tone in her voice. She was apprehensive but Victoria had given her confidence. So mother and daughter travelled to Fuengirola in Spain and stayed in a hotel which was situated directly on the beachfront overlooking the sea.
As Victoria and her mother sat in a café, which was directly adjacent to the sea, there was a comfortable silence between them as they looked out towards the slow, endless undulating waves that were ebbing towards the shoreline in a rhythmic and pulsating manner. Zoshia loved the ocean; the calm and peace of the swelling of the water seemed to sooth her aching soul. As Zoshia listened to the breakers with her eyes closed, she sensed them creating their own harmonious melody and this seemed like music to her ears; notes that expressed the harmony within her, as she sat peacefully enveloped in the warm sounds of the sea. The gentle breeze distracted her from her trance-like state as she recalled the memories of her parents and her departed husband. This brought no light or joy as she dwelled on the misery of the past. The struggle that Smule and Zara had experienced in the war and the gnawing cancer that destroyed Harvey’s life, could not be completely suppressed, as she felt the unnamed sorrow rise within her…” Mum, look at the light from the sun, flickering on the water and the sky seems to be weaved with golden light,” Victoria whispered, as if she had just seen a painting in front of her. “Look at the astral-blue horizon that appears to stretch into eternity,” she added staring ahead in delight. Zoshia felt at peace now, as her daughter put her arm round her mother affectionately.
On the final evening of their holiday the two women were finishing their desserts in the restaurant. Zoshia was feeling a bit subdued at having to return home. Suddenly, she felt a tap on her shoulder. It was the Maître d’hôtel. “Madame, we are told that you play Chopin and Beethoven beautifully. We were wondering whether you would play something for us this evening.” He winked at Victoria. Zoshia appeared anxious, but bravely stood up and walked nervously towards the piano. Sitting down, she could see the notes of her favourite piece in front of her – not on the piano, but inside her head. Touching the black and white keys familiarly with her fingers, the melodic sound of Beethoven’s ‘Moonlight Sonata’ emanated around the room. The guests and the staff were transfixed. Zoshia played with such passion. This has been a wonderful experience, she thought, as her hands played the piano on their own. Both Zoshia and her daughter would never forget this holiday which brought them together in friendship.
In time, Victoria told her mother that she was in love and wanted to marry. Zoshia was happy for her daughter. Even though this would mean losing her in some ways, she knew that she would always have her first born close by and this took away the pain of her leaving to start her own life. Zoshia loved Harry Cole, too, and she knew that he would take care of Victoria and herself. She prayed and hoped that her precious child, who was marrying late in life, would never have to experience the same hardships that she endured and that her daughter’s pathway as a career-minded, modern, independent female, would be a freer and more gratifying one. Zoshia prayed for this as her happiness for her daughter overcame her fear of misfortune.
In her youth, women did not have equality or the same opportunities afforded to Victoria. It had been a man’s world, where even educated women struggled to have the satisfaction of pursuing a career and, of course, had to bear the burden of bringing up children at the expense of their own lives. She knew that many women were content with this and relished being a wife and mother. However, it was true also, that there were women born with talents that had often been suppressed completely. Zoshia hoped that times had changed, and the future would hold a different pathway for Victoria whose artistic creativity seemed to have no bounds.
The Final
Chapter 18
Grace was painting her latest picture when the invitation was posted through the letter box. She was overwhelmed with joy that her dearest friend was to be married. Despite her cynical attitude towards men and marriage caused by the torture of her experiences, Grace was pleased to be invited. She hoped that life would allow her friend to be happier than she had been; a woman living at the mercy of a male dominated world, with no rights or freedom, just submission. She knew that times had changed, and the tide had turned very much in favour of women’s rights and independence but still Grace had lingering doubts about the female role within a marriage. Yet cherishing her friend so much and knowing how utterly in love she was, she would never relay these doubts to her directly. There was an excitement at having to travel by train to a strange city which she had heard of but never visited. As she organised herself, Grace recalled her own excitement as she prepared to marry Peter; she remembered the intense thrill of standing nervously in the registry office with her soon-to-be husband close by her side, believing that this was the culmination of a young, naive woman’s search all her young life for true love. This was it, she had thought, as she gazed up at her handsome husband. She had believed at that moment that dreams could be realised.
But in living her dream, the romantic young girl was confronted by the pitiful reality of the severity of daily life. The heatwaves of poverty, a violent marriage, dirty nappies and the fight for survival, were the tramples of the harshness of life itself, which had dealt her many blows. Her sadness lived somehow in the nature of her lost dream.
Grace closed the suitcase just in time to stop a torrent of tears catching the clothes she had just packed so carefully. She took control of her emotions and suppressed those feelings for the time being; she would not travel backwards into her own miserable past, but forwards to her friend’s impending wedding. Forwards to all the hopes and dreams that youth offers, and without the suffering and doubts that only come with old age. No, this was her optimistic journey, which she would make for sake of her young friend with whom she had shared so much.
* * *
“You don’t have to worry about anything, Mushki. I have organised everything. Just relax,” Victoria uttered to her mother, lovingly.
“I know, Babella.” Zosha replied, while lovingly admiring her daughter. The two women held hands and kissed each other as only a mother and daughter could. Zoshia wished that her parents and sister were alive to experience the joy that she was feeling. She had not felt quite like this since her own wedding to Harvey in Antwerp. How happy she had been with all her family around her as she started her married life with the man that she loved, not realising what a difficult future she would have to endure. She stopped at once. She must not do this! This bleakness must be stifled. Her daughter had a good career as a teacher and was an independent woman. She knew that Harry would support her in this way and would not stifle her. “Women now have more freedom to live their lives how they want,” Zoshia uttered quietly to herself.
Happily, she regained her composure and smiled as she watched her beloved Victoria ticking lists and mulling through replies to invitations. She noticed that her daughter stopped to read one for quite some time. Noticing her eyes becoming filled with tears, Zoshia became concerned. What could possibly make her daughter cry like this? Victoria looked up at her mother and then turned her eyes back to the reply for a moment. Her eyes reread the text and she smiled as she stood up and hugged her mother with such power that Zoshia felt she would break. No words were spoken but the actions of love seemed to matter. Zoshia and Victoria knew that this was real love; love that counted.
Bound by the Scars We Share Page 13