The Lace Tablecloth

by Anastasia Gessa-Liveriadis

  ‘I can’t believe it! I can’t believe Olga could be so naive as to fall for that rascal, that swindler, that vagabond!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘No, he’s not a swindler! He is not a rascal!’ she protested. ‘He’s a real gentleman, somewhat unusual but very civilised, refined, and a very good pianist. He is a real gentleman.’

  ‘I know that type of gentleman. Believe me I know men better than you. I just can’t imagine Olga, a clever, educated woman, being swept off her feet by that irresponsible character. I believed her to be smarter than that.’

  It wasn’t easy keeping her mind on the job the following day. Olga’s condition was foremost in her thoughts and, preoccupied, she injured her left index finger, the needle of the machine going through the flesh and coming out the other side. The machine stopped immediately by itself and she lifted her foot from the pedal for extra safety while trying to free her finger, manually manipulating the wheel with her right hand. The pain was excruciating but she managed to control herself and free her finger, instinctively putting it straight into her mouth.

  ‘What’s happening here? Why have you stopped?’

  The supervisor was there, ready to reprimand.

  ‘Nothing. It’s only a broken thread. I’m sorry. I’m very sorry,’ Tasia apologised, going back to sewing, trying not to stain the garment.

  It was a very upsetting day. In vain she tried to sleep, the day’s events coming back to disturb her again and again. At three o’clock in the morning she was still tossing and turning, creating all sorts of scenarios in her mind. Some were sad or tragic, others less worrisome, while others ended with ‘they lived happily ever after’.

  She decided to get up and go to the bathroom, hoping it would make her settle. Fortunately, it was Saturday and she could stay in bed until ten and still have time to do the shopping and cleaning before visiting Olga in hospital.

  She turned to the side somewhat relaxed and was drifting off to sleep when she felt a strange presence nearby, something eerie, like someone breathing. She convinced herself it was nothing and started to turn to change her position in bed. Just then she felt a hand coming over her mouth and a heavy body dropping on top of her, immobilising her. She tried in vain to scream, to fight, to free herself from the heavy load and to bite the hand clasping her mouth. Under the dim light filtering through the blinds she saw the face of Martin. She could hear him panting and could feel his breath burn her face. With his left hand he was pulling hard and persistently on her bed clothes, her nightie. She was desperately fighting, kicking, keeping her legs tight together, trying to bite the palm of his hand, to hurt him, to make him ease his hold, but she couldn’t manage. Strong and determined he was progressing towards his target.

  ‘Come on, don’t be so silly! I know you want it too, so stop fighting!’

  The more he repeated ‘you want it too’ the more furious she was getting, the more she was fighting. Her panting made her dizzy. Exhausted, she reduced her resistance, giving him the opportunity to achieve his aim, do what he wanted, cutting her insides as with a knife. Pained, tired and disgusted she began to sob and he noticed it only after he collapsed, satisfied, by her side.

  He then became very gentle and loving, trying to hold her in his arms, kissing her eyes, her wet cheeks, her neck, her hair.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m very sorry,’ he was whimpering. ‘I didn’t know, I couldn’t have imagined you were still a virgin.’

  She had turned her back to him and continued to cry and sob, while he was caressing her back, her hair.

  ‘Tell me what can I do to make it good? If you want me to marry you, I’ll marry you,’ he was saying.

  But she kept on crying, mute and immobile, till, tired of talking to himself, he got up and left, silently shutting the door behind him.

  In the afternoon she visited Olga in hospital but didn’t tell her anything about what had happened. Olga looked very pale and tired and Tasia didn’t want to burden her further with her problems. Besides, she didn’t notice any visible changes in herself, with the exception of some slight discomfort.

  At some stage in her life Tasia had reached the conclusion that the loss of virginity was a very important milestone in a woman’s life. Most of the talk about a girl’s moral standing, the wedding traditions, the church’s blessing and the big social celebrations pointed to this.

  But what had happened to her didn’t make her feel fundamentally any different. Of course she felt anger and disgust. As she had no idea what she could do, she decided to keep it to herself and forget it had ever happened. She was only eighteen years old, struggling to survive in an unfriendly foreign land with no friends and no language. On top of this she had a moral responsibility to take care of Olga. Yes, the best thing she could do was forget about it; but she couldn’t control a faint voice within, asking herself the same question: is that all there is?

  After visiting time, she left the hospital and wandered aimlessly for several hours in the empty streets. It was Saturday afternoon and she was surprised to see there were no people walking these beautiful, broad avenues with their rows of tall trees. By comparison, on a Saturday afternoon the streets of her small village would be teeming with people and noise. Now and then a lonely tram or a speeding car broke the silence, an anomaly that emphasised even more the loneliness of the place.

  In a perverse way, Olga’s health problems and the duty Tasia felt she had towards Olga kept her afloat over the abyss, preventing her from slipping into its bottomless darkness. Yes, she had a duty to remain strong, to be there by Olga’s side, to make Olga’s problems her own problems till John arrived. That was, if he ever did.

  Day by day it became obvious Olga’s condition was not a simple matter. She had to remain in hospital for at least another week, because more tests and investigations were needed. The doctors also mentioned to Nick and Tasia they were considering sending her to a rehabilitation centre for a full recovery.

  It was pitch-black when she got home. She found a bouquet of flowers standing outside her door and her initial response was to bend over and pick it up but immediately changed her mind. She thought it would be better if nobody knew she was back, particularly Martin. She didn’t want people knocking on her door; she didn’t want to talk to anybody.

  As quietly as possible she unlocked the door and slipped inside without turning on the light, locking the door behind her. Quiet as a mouse she got ready for bed, and then lay there holding her breath. At some stage through the night she thought she heard a discreet knock on the door and the doorknob turning, but it might have been a dream. She was at a loss to know what she wanted or what to expect.

  With Olga in hospital, Tasia’s life rolled on as though she were an automaton: work, hospital, shopping and then home. She was mystified to find Nick by Olga’s side every afternoon when she visited her in hospital. She couldn’t understand why he was there, particularly now, when he was fully aware Olga belonged to someone else. Perhaps Olga had a way of attracting men. In any case, she wasn’t discouraging him. Tasia didn’t know what to think. She decided human beings were strange creatures. It would be difficult to know what they would do next. The only sure thing was that she felt all alone. Alone, alone, alone stuck in her brain from a song’s refrain.

  In this crazy world, her sense of identity in tatters, scared and overwhelmed by the weight of responsibility, Tasia started thinking perhaps every human being needed a place to call home, needed a few inches of ground to sprout roots, needed another person to trust and to call one’s own.

  For a number of days Martin was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he was ashamed of what he had done, or even scared. She had heard of cases back home, when a love-struck young man would elope with his girl, leaving her father no option but to consent to their marriage. In other instances a man would abduct the girl, forcing her to sleep with him so nobody else would want to marry her. Consequently, she had no choice but to agree to marry him. She had heard people arguing about it, some saying this beh
aviour towards women was inexcusable and criminal, that the perpetrator had to be persecuted and punished. But she had never thought about it seriously till now. In any case what could she have done? Where could she have gone? Who would have believed her?

  Every time she thought about what Martin had done to her, she’d get very angry. But then she started thinking that perhaps she was also responsible. Maybe she had encouraged him. She was very friendly towards him, talking and laughing in the kitchen every morning. Maybe she didn’t fight him enough, or didn’t resist him as much as she could have. Could it be that Martin was right in telling her she wanted it too? Thinking that way about it would make her squirm but nevertheless she started having some doubts about the degree of her own responsibility.

  When one morning Martin reappeared, his behaviour was guarded, even anxious.

  ‘I hope you’ll forgive me for what I have done,’ he begged her. ‘I’m very sorry. My passion for you led me astray. I love you and I shouldn’t have done that to you. Please forgive me.’

  Tasia didn’t lift her eyes to look at him but after he finished she turned and left. The following day Martin got bolder. He got closer and tried to embrace and kiss her. She pushed him aside and ran and locked herself in her room. For extra precaution every night she’d wedge a chair between the floor and the middle beam of the door.

  On Friday afternoon when she exited the factory door, she found him outside waiting. As always he was well-groomed and freshly-shaven and covered in cologne. He came straight up to her, waving two small pieces of paper.

  ‘I’ve got two theatre tickets,’ he said. ‘It’s a delightful operetta: The Merry Widow. You’d like it. Please say you’ll come. Please don’t refuse me.’

  Wearing only a plain cotton dress and sandals she felt shabby and insignificant next to him. He had the air of a cosmopolitan, a refined and sophisticated gentleman who knew what he wanted and how to get it.

  He stopped a taxi, gave instructions and soon they entered a sumptuous restaurant with an ambience foreign to Tasia.

  She felt intimidated and out of place. The lights were dimmed and the gentle classical music that was playing created an eerie, romantic feeling. The starched white tablecloths and serviettes, the meticulously set tables — with porcelain plates, crystal glasses and so much heavy cutlery she had no idea how to use — made her feel even more small and wretched. On every table there were silver candlesticks with lighted candles, and vases with fresh-cut carnations. Huge paintings with heavy golden frames hung on the walls and, together with several other superb artworks, created an imposing but very serene and tranquil atmosphere. The well-groomed waiters — with their black trousers, matching vests and white shirts — greeted them politely. One guided them to their table and first helped Tasia to sit, then repeated the procedure with Martin. He placed enormous white, starched serviettes on their laps. A second waiter placed in front of each, a big leather menu Tasia could not read.

  ‘Let me order.’

  Martin took over. He spoke to the waiter in a language Tasia didn’t understand. The waiter brought an additional leather folder from which Martin selected something and ordered.

  ‘What language was that?’ she asked him soon as the waiter left.

  ‘Czechoslovakian,’ he answered. ‘I was born in a small town exactly at the border between Czechoslovakia, Germany and Austria. That’s why I also speak German and some French and Italian. I grew up and lived in many large cities in Europe: Munich, Prague, Vienna. The last two years I’ve lived in Melbourne.’

  ‘Now I understand why you speak good English and why you are so cosmopolitan.’

  Before Martin could reply a waiter brought a bottle of wine for Martin to read the label before opening it. The waiter poured a little wine into Martin’s glass and waited. Martin lifted up the glass to look at it, sniffed it and finally took a sip, and moved the wine around his mouth. Finally, he nodded to the waiter who filled Tasia’s glass and then Martin’s. Impressed by the whole ceremony and not wanting to appear inexperienced, she sipped two gulps of the wine and found it to her liking. She felt a pleasant sensation around her shoulders, her neck and down her spine, and became very relaxed. She copied Martin’s ways of using the cutlery and ate the tasty first course even though she didn’t know what it was. The second plate was as unusual and although enjoyable, she couldn’t finish it. Meantime, Martin had started a lively discussion with a waiter and the restaurant’s proprietor, presumably well-known to him. The language they spoke was totally unfamiliar to Tasia who was excluded from the conversation.

  The atmosphere inside the restaurant was quiet and civilised. At two other tables young couples were sipping their wine and speaking in low voices.

  ‘Time to go,’ Martin said looking at his watch.

  He paid, kissed the hand of the lady proprietor and they left. Tasia felt rather unsteady on her feet walking down the street — most likely because of the drink — and had to support herself by hanging onto Martin’s arm.

  In the theatre’s foyer only a short distance away, groups of well-groomed people chatted. Martin and Tasia had their tickets checked and were escorted to their seats. The theatre was majestic: velvet seats, velvet curtains, magnificent props. The actors’ costumes were beautiful. The music and the singing transported Tasia to some other dream world. She had difficulty accepting she was experiencing it in person.

  They took a taxi home and on the way she felt rather queasy, but said nothing, not wanting to offend. Martin, who, like a true gentleman, brought her to the door, thanked her for the wonderful night they had spent together, kissed her hand and after helping her unlock the door, bade her goodnight and went to his room. Sleep came swiftly to liberate her from the uncertainties and questions that besieged her every waking moment.

  But sleep didn’t last long. She woke up feeling sick in the stomach. She just made it to the bathroom and vomited in the toilet bowl. She attributed that to the foreign food, the wine and, of course, tiredness. The previous day she had been up at seven in the morning and hadn’t gone to bed till past midnight.

  As it was Saturday, she stayed late in bed, leaving enough time to finish all her chores before going with Nick to the hospital to visit Olga. Martin must have been tired too because he didn’t appear at the kitchen door to greet her. His absence annoyed her, made her feel as if she hadn’t passed the test. She thought he had taken her out to see what type of person she was, only to find out she was a stupid and ignorant peasant. No wonder he felt disappointed and had lost any interest in her. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d moved away secretly, never to see her again.

  She wasn’t sure why this thought upset her. Perhaps she had believed his confession of love and was flattered. But she was convinced there was no way for the two of them to get any closer because their differences were astronomical. They had come from different worlds with different experiences and interests. She could see Martin was sophisticated, always well-groomed, interested in the finer things in life like good restaurants and theatres. She had no idea about these things and, what’s more, she lived from day to day, praying not to have to deal with some new big disaster. She had never had the luxury of developing hobbies and personal interests.

  The only thing she felt positive about was she could understand English the way Martin spoke it. That convinced her that, with practice, it would be only a matter of time before she could speak English well.

  For the time being though, Olga was her first concern. The doctors were going to discharge her from hospital only if she promised to stop work and stay home. In a fortunate twist of fate, Nick had taken one month’s annual leave and promised Tasia to keep an eye on Olga while she was at work.

  On Wednesday evening, she found out that Martin was still around. Arriving home after work she noticed a large bouquet of flowers arranged on the table.

  ‘It’s from Martin,’ Olga informed her. ‘It’s to welcome me back home and to wish me a quick recovery. This man is a true gentl
eman. Look on the table: he has left a big box of choco-lates for you and me to share. He is very fond of you, have you noticed?’

  ‘That’s an understatement.’ Nick took over. ‘He is madly in love with you. The other day he was telling me how much he likes you. Of course, I had to tell him girls like you are few and far between. But I must admit he is a real gentleman. He is working in an office, not in a factory like us. And I think he is paid well if you look at the quality of the clothes he wears and the very generous presents he gives.’

  She didn’t know what to think or what to believe about Martin. In any case, she had decided never to let anybody know what he had done to her. She wanted to completely erase it from her memory, to convince herself it was only a bad dream, that it never happened. Besides, what was concerning her more lately was an unpleasant odour in the house and inside their room in particular. She tried to identify its source but wasn’t successful. The smell made her sick, to the point of retching. Inexplicably, it started to spread all around, and even followed her wherever she went, on the streets, in the factory. Now and then it was so strong it would make her retch and run to the toilet and vomit.

  ‘You must be pregnant,’ a lady next to her commented.

  ‘Not a chance,’ she answered with confidence, but the words made her stop and think.

  Was it possible she was pregnant? No! It couldn’t be. These things couldn’t happen that way. But what way do they happen? And if she were pregnant how was she supposed to know? She didn’t even know if she was late with her monthly cycle because till now she had never bothered about it. To tell Olga and ask her advice would be out of the question. And, not only that, she wouldn’t have liked to burden Olga any further. She had also noticed lately Olga was giving her the cold shoulder. She was so remote it made Tasia feel uncomfortable. She was also not talking straight but in riddles, giving the message she would prefer to be left alone, without having Tasia around all the time. It was as if Olga was preparing the ground for their future separation.