by Ila Mercer
‘You done staring?’ Madea said.
Lita raised one brow and smiled. ‘Are you?’
Madea’s lips twitched for a moment, as though she might smile. Instead, she turned on her heel and led Lita to a secluded corner of the kitchen gardens, then up some steps to an alcove with a seat. From their vantage point, they could see anyone’s advance long before they came within earshot. After spreading a scarf over the dry, weathered stone, Madea gestured for Lita to sit.
‘I’m-’
‘I know who you are,’ Madea interrupted. ‘You’re the girl from the pit who was dumped by a tinker. You read, don’t you, but you can’t use a spindle or heat the milk without scalding it. You see, already you’re getting yourself quite a name, but there is one thing more that I know, and they don’t.’
‘Oh?’ Lita said, not quite sure whether she really wanted to hear what Madea might say. The things she said had come out so prickly, and yet Lita had the feeling that Madea did not mean to be. She was abrupt, that was all.
‘You should have a care,’ Madea said. ‘Keep life isn’t safe for those of a certain kind.’
A certain kind? How much did Madea know? Lita was sure that no one had seen her Change, except the cat.
Madea smiled. It was a knowing expression. And, as if she realised she needed to reassure Lita with a further gesture of goodwill, she leaned closer and placed a hand on Lita’s shoulder. Her voice was a mere whisper now: ‘You’re not the only one who must hide her secret.’
It came to Lita with sudden clarity. ‘You Change too.’
Madea nodded.
‘The cat,’ Lita said. ‘You’re the cat who’s followed me each evening.’ In all her nightly jaunts, the cat had been waiting – as if it knew she would come, never drawing any closer, but always regarding Lita with a cool and measured stare.
Even now Madea waited with hands folded in her lap and the calm composure of someone who is used to biding her time.
‘Have you always been able to Change?’ Lita said. ‘Are there any others in the Keep? Who are your parents? Why does it happen to us?’ She could not stop herself, could hear the tightness in her voice, was aware that her questions bolted through her lips and that her hands fluttered as they always did when she was excited.
Madea captured Lita’s hands in her own. The gesture stilled Lita at once, and for the first time since Madea had first accosted Lita in the yard, she seemed to lose her hardness. ‘Promise you’ll never say a word…to nobody.’
‘Of course,’ Lita said.
‘Never. Ever.’
‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’
And still she hesitated a little. ‘Four years ago. That’s when it started,’ Madea said. ‘The summer of my twelfth year.’ She faltered for a moment. ‘I’ve only ever told this to one other. Long before I ever came here. Anyway, that’s not important or what I meant to say. All I know is that some Beast tricked my mama into thinking he was a man. At least that’s what I heard. Surely nobody of sound mind falls in love with a Beast.’
‘Oh,’ Lita said, ‘you mean…’ putting her newfound knowledge to use.
‘Not force.’
‘No. I didn’t think that.’
Madea shook her head slightly. ‘Mama never spoke of it. So everything I ever learned came from the mealy mouths of the dustmaids - two spiteful little cows who came to clean my mama’s room. Not that I ever spoke to them. Every time they knocked at her door, my mama shoved me under her skirts. I learned to be still and very quiet at those times because I was afraid of what I might otherwise miss hearing.’
‘Why did she push you under her skirts?’ Lita asked.
‘So nobody would know of me.’
‘Oh.’
‘From the moment they got there ‘til the moment they left, the dustmaids mocked my mama. It was through them that I learned how the Beast tricked her.’
So, a Beast could make himself look like a man, Lita thought to herself. But when she tried to imagine the Beast, just as himself, she could not conjure any features. He was like a shadow in her mind. ‘Do you know what happened to him?’ She asked.
‘My grandpappi sent him to the gallows. After that he sent all his Beasts below ground, to work the mines. That’s when mama shut herself up in the tower and never left it again. Of course, neither did I. Instead, she wove. Her fingers were busy every waking moment making blankets, shawls, rugs, tapestries, baskets, all manner of cloth, from anything you can imagine. One time, she even wove a nest of bones for a bird that lived on our sill.
‘That was my whole world, until the night my Beasting finally come on me. That night, the moon was as round as a peach and filled our room with silver light.’
‘Do you mean the Change? That’s what MaKiki and I call it.’
‘Change?’ Madea scoffed. ‘That makes it sound like the weather or putting on a different dress for the day and it’s not like that at all. When it first happened, I thought I was dying. Or maybe I’d stay like it forever.’
Lita’s heart skipped as the realisation hit her. Madea’s father had been a Beast. And what had happened to Madea was the same as what had happened to her. So, Lita thought, one of her parents must be a Beast after all. She let the idea set root. But strangely, she felt as though the idea was already embedded within her. It was just that she’d never admitted it to herself. Should she hate this part of herself, she wondered? After all she wasn’t sure she liked the idea that Beast blood ran through her veins. Could it mean that she was an animal? Or was she a girl? She felt like a girl. She looked like a girl. Was this why MaKiki had kept the shameful truth from her? Lita thought about the way Tipple had treated her when she thought Lita was a Beast. Maybe this was what MaKiki had been most afraid of. But MaKiki had never treated her like an animal. She had always made Lita feel that the Change was special, a gift. Oh, now and then she had acted like it was a nuisance, but was it any wonder when it could get them into so much trouble? She remembered the night it first happened to her. It had been just the same as Madea had described: the moon full and bright, as though it was ready to burst. ‘Tell me about that night,’ Lita said.
‘Well,’ Madea said, frowning as she stared into the distance, ‘at first all I felt was a tingling in my hands and feet. And then it spread through all of me. It was nice at first, all warm and fuzzy. But then it came harder, like a rough type of poking and squeezing.’ She glanced at Lita. ‘But, I don’t need to tell you that, you know that part already.’
Lita nodded. Yes, it had been the same for her. ‘And then what happened?’
‘And then,’ Madea said, ‘It was like I split at the seams showing that I was not a girl at all but filled with hair and teeth and horns and hooves. Then two wings budded from my shoulders, all rolled up and tight, like a new-hatched moth. It was as though I’d changed into something from my worst dreams. I kept screaming for my mama. But the more I screamed the more she curled into a ball with her hands over her ears and her eyes squeezed tight. That’s when I knew I had to get away. That I couldn’t count on my mama. So out the window I flew, knowing I could never return.’
‘Oh,’ Lita said. ‘How terrible.’ Her experience had been nothing like Madea’s. While the initial terror had been the same, MaKiki had comforted her with soft assurances while they waited it out. Not once had MaKiki made her feel like a monster. ‘Do you ever miss her?’ Lita asked.
Madea shrugged. ‘It was a prison.’
‘But she’s your mama,’ Lita said. ‘Have you ever thought to go back? Maybe she was scared too.’
‘I’ll never go back,’ Madea said. ‘She hates me, I know it. She hates that I become like my father.’
Lita put a hand over Madea’s. She could feel the pain in those words. Knew that Madea had been wounded terribly on that evening. She wished she could reach inside her new friend and scrub the memory away.
As they sat together in silence, Lita wondered about her own mama. Had a Beast seduced her too? Had she died? Or had she hid
den herself in the tower of some castle? The thought that her own mama’s fate may have mirrored that of Madea’s disturbed her – and yet she clung to the hope that her mama had not forsaken her because of this.
Over the course of the afternoon, the two girls swapped stories from the past. So many facets of their lives were similar. But there were also parts of Madea’s life that Lita could not imagine. It was one thing to live the lonely life as a tinker but quite another to be shut behind four walls year after year. How had Madea made any sense of the world beyond her window?
Lita barely cared that Sal might wonder where she was, or even grow angry as a result. She was needed. For surely it brought some comfort to Madea to know that she was not alone and though there had been the initial shock of discovering she might be a Beast, Lita felt free in a way she could not have imagined. Just knowing that she shared her secret with another, altered everything. She was thankful now, that she had decided not to tell Sal about the Change.
As the sun settled over the hills, and the sharp chill of evening numbed their bodies, Madea suggested they go in. She folded Lita’s arm into the crook of her elbow. ‘You should tell Sal you are staying with me from now on,’ she said. ‘You will, won’t you?’
‘If Sal lets me,’ Lita said.
‘Don’t ask. Just tell her. Come on, stay with me. I’ve been on my own for too long.’
*
When Lita stepped through the door, Sal raised one brow and sighed, in the same manner that MaKiki adopted. ‘I wondered where you was all afternoon,’ she said, clucking like an old hen rounding up a stray chick. ‘It might of been nice if you’d told me. I thought you’d run off – until the Jims said they seen you in the garden. And,’ she said pointing to some stockings tangled together like a nest of vipers, ‘the mending doesn’t fix itself you know.’
‘Sorry Sal. I’ll do all the mending tomorrow and you can put your feet up.’ Lita lowered her eyes. Partly it was because she knew she had let Sal down, but the other reason was that she felt Sal might see she was different - changed by the events of the afternoon. Sal had the eyes of a hawk – she could read any facial nuance, as though it were as plain as writing on a parchment. However, Sal’s eyes barely brushed over Lita, as she settled into her seat and picked up her sewing again.
Lita warmed her hands at the fire and lifted the lid on a simmering pot. Inside, glutinous stew welled into brown bubbles that burst and spattered globs of gravy up the sides of the pot. There was no mistaking the scent of that meat: rabbit. Lita suddenly lost her appetite. She glanced at the table. It was set with three silver plates - Sal’s very best - and three pewter goblets.
‘Rabbit stew,’ Lita said, with more than a hint of disappointment in her voice.
‘Waste not, want not,’ Sal replied. ‘The Jims bagged ‘em for me this morning and though it’s not my favourite dish, it’s better than the stringy mutton Vicca and Tilly keep serving.’
Lita nodded in agreement. She had even considered going off meat altogether. Sticking to nuts and cheese and eggs. Except that even these items were dwindling in their stores. Since the weather had started to crisp up, the hens had been laying fewer eggs and the goats were producing less milk.
‘Madea said I can stay with her from now on,’ Lita said replacing the lid on the pot. She would not eat the stew, she decided and if Sal tried to talk her out of moving in with Madea, well, she’d just put her foot down.
‘Mmm,’ Sal said, as she tied off a knot and snipped the ends with her teeth. ‘It’s only natural you’d want to be with someone your own age. Are you staying there tonight?’
‘I thought I would,’ Lita said, waiting for the objection.
‘There. Done for the day,’ Sal said folding her cloth and placing it on a bench. She stretched her spine and pushed her hands into the small of her back. With a yawn, she loosened her braid sending an avalanche of thick brown tresses over her shoulders.
‘So. We’ve got a guest for dinner,’ Lita said.
Sal looked up sharply. ‘Sorry Lita. I thought you wasn’t coming.’
‘Then why are there three places set?’
‘The Jims.’ It was said almost coyly. ‘They think they’re gonna make me choose once and for all. You know,’ Sal said meeting Lita’s puzzled gaze, ‘marriage. But it’s impossible.’
Lita nodded.
‘I love em both.’
‘Oh,’ Lita said, taken aback.
‘Jim,’ Sal said, as though addressing an invisible figure to her right, ‘is so sweet-natured and thoughtful, though a smidge dull at times. But Jim, on the other hand,’ she said turning to face the absent, other Jim, ‘is full of cheek and makes me laugh. So, you see it’s impossible. I wouldn’t want to lose neither.’
‘What will you do?’ Lita asked.
‘I don’t know. Put ‘em off once more,’ Sal said, picking up a goblet. Absent-mindedly she set about polishing the pewter with her apron. A doleful, muted expression settled in the lines around her mouth and eyes.
Lita decided it was time to go. It seemed she needn’t have worried about Sal noticing anything different. She was too caught up in her own worries. Lita picked up her work tunic, the spare petticoat and the rolled-up map. ‘I’ll be off then,’ she said, lingering at the door. ‘Good luck tonight.’
*
A large loom with pedals, a seat, and taut vertical strings, filled the centre of Madea’s room. Beyond the large treadle loom, sat two smaller looms. One lay barren, but the other had several rows of woven fabric.
Everywhere Lita looked, weavings and tapestries crowded the walls, gaudily vying for the eye’s attention. On the mantle above the fireplace, sat a row of apples and cores in various states of decay. It explained the sickly scent she had noted when she first stepped into the room. Lita wondered why Madea let them rot away like that. Then, glancing at the sleeping palate, she noted that it was strewn with pillows, blankets, shoes, dresses and undergarments. All tangled and rumpled.
‘I’ll tidy,’ Madea said, pushing aside a blouse with the toe of her boot. The state of the room was at complete odds with what Lita had expected, and she wondered how such a well-groomed person could be so sloppy in their habits. She pretended to ignore the mess and wandered over to a striking tapestry that hung near the window. Madea had stitched an intricate scene of gauzed maidens fanning themselves under shady trees, dangling hands into dark pools or resting against mossy boughs while a sandy haired youth played the lute. Their expressions were trance-like, glazed and wistful.
Madea joined her. ‘What do you think?’ she asked Lita.
Lita wanted to please her new friend. ‘It’s very beautiful,’ she said. She wanted to add that there was something about it that disturbed her too, but how could you say that?
Madea tilted her head to the side and smiled mysteriously at Lita. ‘And?’ she asked.
Lita cleared her throat. She felt put on the spot. ‘Well…there is something dark about it too, as if while I am watching, it watches me.’
Madea clapped her hands. ‘I knew you’d see. Look closer at the forest behind the figures.’
At first, Lita could see nothing odd, but then as she relaxed her gaze, she noticed other things hidden within the foliage: eyes bright and keen. The faces of birds, monkeys, lions and other creatures stared back at the viewer.
‘Oh. I see them now,’ Lita said. And then she turned her attention to the other tapestries. Each had a double story, one hidden within the other. ‘It’s very clever.’
‘It’s why they let me stay,’ she said. ‘That, and my weaving skills.’
‘Has Senna Yaron said anything about becoming my apprentice?’ Madea asked.
‘I’ve not even met him yet,’ Lita answered.
‘Oh.’ Madea picked up one of her dresses and threw it over the back of a chair. ‘When he does, say that you’ve tried but don’t have the fingers for it.’
‘Why would I say that?’ Lita asked. Because she thought it would be fun to work side
by side with her new friend.
Madea shrugged. ‘I work best by myself. And besides, if we spend too much time together, I know I’ll end up being mean, and then you won’t want to stay anymore.’ She did not look at Lita as she said this and instead picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. ‘Now,’ her tone was suddenly bright and breezy, ‘Senna Yaron will be expecting me.’ She picked up a small lute that sat beside her bed and went to the mirror, pinched her cheeks and smoothed her already perfect hair. She caught Lita’s reflection in the mirror. ‘You can listen from the hall, if you like.’
The passageways were dimly lit and the darkness accentuated the tapping of their shoes on the wooden floor. They went down two sets of stairs, through a narrow room and back up another set of stairs. Few paintings adorned the walls though it was evident the Keep once housed many more than it did now, because dark patches revealed where they had hung. Threadbare carpets covered the floors and the curtains were limp and dusty. When they finally came to Senna Yaron’s door Madea bent her head to Lita’s and whispered, ‘This is where I’ll be.’ She smoothed her skirt and rapped twice on the door. Before Yaron had time to answer, she turned the handle and slipped through leaving the door slightly ajar. Lita heard the gentle surprise in the young Senna’s voice. ‘Madea! I thought you were coming later,’ he said. Wood scraped against the floor and something thudded. Lita thought it sounded like a book being shut.
‘I thought I’d surprise you with a new tune. It’s only half finished.’ It was Madea’s voice: sparkly and light. ‘You don’t mind?’ There was a teasing lilt to the question.
‘No. It’s just – ah well, it doesn’t matter I suppose. I can always finish it later. Of course I want to hear your tune.’
‘You’re angry that I came early.’
‘No, no, no. Play for me.’ Then footsteps as someone crossed the room, getting closer to the door. Lita shrank against the doorjamb. She almost thought of getting up and creeping away. It didn’t feel right to eavesdrop on their conversation.