Rock Me Gently

by Judith Kelly

  The thing that was bothering Frances had her in its grasp again. After we had all recovered from the yellow fever and returned to our daily routine, Frances was still complaining of bad headaches. She looked changed, confused, like a small bird with big eyes and a sharp beak. Sometimes she stood rocking herself rhythmically from the tips of her toes to her heels and back again, her hands thrust deep in her tunic pockets. As I watched her swaying form, I tried to say kind things to her, but it was as if she no longer knew the language of kindness. Everything I said irritated her into spiteful replies. After a while I simply stopped trying to speak to her. There was a nightmarish barrier between us through which neither of us could pass. The bounce in her walk had disappeared. I longed for her to be the old Frances, to look up at me and smile or say something nice.

  In the refectory one evening, Frances leaned her elbows on the table and closed her eyes. When she re-opened them they seemed muddied with something more than misery. Ruth and I looked at each other and then looked away. We had never spoken about what was happening to Frances, but now I knew that we both had the same thoughts raging through our brains. Something or someone had pierced the protective shield Frances had developed against life in the convent, and we had a good idea what it was. We often heard shuffles and whispers in the dormitory at night. Sometimes we heard Frances softly murmuring the Hail Mary over and over. In the morning, her tumbled bed showed how sleepless she had been. During the day, we could see the attachment Sister Mary had for Frances growing steadily. But recently, things had changed and we’d often see Sister Mary having a go at Frances, poking her finger against her chest and ranting, telling her to snap out of her strop.

  ‘Frances, I need to talk to you,’ Ruth said. ‘What is that creep doing to you?’

  Frances took a deep breath and stared at Ruth, her jaw set, her hands flat on the surface of the table, her eyes confused and darkened.

  ‘I don’t understand what she’s doing to me,’ she said. ‘I just feel bad because I know it’s not right somehow. She always wants to kiss and cuddle me after a beating. She sits me on her knee and tells me the secrets of the convent. She says she loves me like a daughter and sometimes at night we lie on her bed together. At first I didn’t see any harm in it, but lately she wants me to kiss her back and things.’

  ‘And things?’ said Ruth. ‘Don’t you see? The dirty devil’s trying to teach you the blummin’ goose-step.’ She placed two fingers under her nose and raised her arm in mock salute. ‘Heil Mary, full of grease!’

  ‘Stop it, Ruth, it’s not a joke,’ I said.

  Frances was shaking, her eyes goggling, her jaw trembling. I felt nervous for her, of her. I was afraid she might break down in some alarming way. My voice was deliberately calm.

  ‘You must put a stop to it, Frances.’

  ‘I can’t. I don’t know how to. What can I say to her? Please don’t tell anyone,’ said Frances. ‘She mustn’t find out that I’ve told you. I feel so mixed up.’

  ‘But why,’ Ruth asked, ‘did you ever get caught up with her in this way?’

  Frances bent her head and muttered very low. ‘I’ve thought about this a lot. I honestly believe she was just trying to be kind and I used to think I liked it, especially when she’d give me sweets and things. Now she frightens me and I don’t know how to stop it.’

  Ruth’s face creased itself into a sneer and she sniggered out loud. Her laughter seemed to confuse Frances, who hesitated as if trying to shake off the weariness that clung round her brain and clogged her thoughts.

  ‘OK, go on,’ said Ruth.

  ‘Well, I don’t want to make excuses, but I thought if I carried on with her, it would make life easier for everyone else. I was just a child when it first started,’ she added, as though she was an old woman chatting about a far-distant past. ‘She was a sort of mother to me. And, you know ... I thought she felt sorry for me ...’ She stopped and shook her head.

  Ruth screwed up her mouth as though at a sour taste. ‘God, you poor sod.’ Her voice oozed contempt for Sister Mary.

  Frances drew herself up, moving away from us. ‘I don’t expect anyone to understand, because even I feel muddled up,’ she said. She had been speaking with a soft whine of misery quite unlike her usual voice. Now she lost control of herself and hissed, ‘You have no idea how much I hate the way she touches me! I really don’t want to feel her hands on me ever again. I want to be left alone and not worry whether she’s coming to get me. I hate it. I feel so dirty. But it’s probably all my fault, I know that.’ With a deep sigh she rose from the table and walked out the refectory, the knife with which she had been eating still in her hand. We all watched her in astonishment. She’d forgotten to wait until grace had been said.

  ‘That gives me an idea,’ said Ruth. ‘I think I know how to put a stop to all this.’

  ‘Whatever you think of, it won’t work unless we’re all in it together,’ I said. ‘The only one who can make it happen is you, Ruth.’

  Ruth said nothing for a long time. Then her lips curled up in what I could only assume was a smile.

  ‘Leave it to me,’ she said.

  Ruth was in the centre of the huddle in the boot-room, staring at the faces around her.

  ‘It’ll be dead easy,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry. I’m just going to put the frighteners on her a bit. It’s the only way.’ She became very still, her mouth in a hard, thin line.

  The door of the boot-room opened violently as Sister Mary, cane in hand, thrust herself in. The bold metallic eyes stared about and the harsh voice said, ‘Up to the dormitory, all of you.’

  I tried to imagine what demons in her own life had driven her to the point that the only pleasure she sought was beating us children. The sight of both Sister Mary and Sister Columba made my heart shrink with fear. The numbness I felt helped still the throb of physical pain that I experienced whenever they beat me. I more than hated them - I had passed that stage months ago. They disgusted me, their very presence epitomising the ugliness and horror I felt each day at Nazareth House.

  ‘No,’ Ruth said. ‘We’re not going to the dormitory yet.’

  The nun stopped and they looked straight at each other; Ruth seemed to be gritting her teeth so tightly that her strained jaw jutted through her skin. Sister Mary slowly moved towards her. Janet quickly closed the door and held on to the doorknob.

  ‘Don’t come any nearer,’ said Ruth, retreating and looking with horror in her eyes at the nun’s face. ‘You monster!’

  The circle of girls that had formed around the boot-room looked stupefied as they waited breathlessly to see what Ruth would do next. A few carried on polishing shoes, afraid to look up. Into the goggle-eyed awful silence broke only the gasping of Ruth’s breath through her open mouth as she turned her back on Sister Mary and took something from one of the pigeonholes. When she turned round again, she had a bread knife in her hand. Someone shouted, ‘Look out! She’s got a knife!’

  The world tilted and stuttered into slow motion. I was paralysed. Sister Mary caught her breath and instinctively recoiled against the wall, her back pressed into it in the hope that it might suck her in, away from the knife, its bright point hovering and now almost piercing the black stuff of her habit. There was an enthralled hush as the circle of girls inched in closer and the ones polishing shoes stopped, sensing that what they wanted to see was about to take place. No one breathed, our attention focused on the first rebellion within the convent.

  ‘You little slut, Norton,’ Sister Mary said, her face crimson, more with surprise than fright. She stood rigid, as if pinned to the wall. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘It’s time for justice,’ Ruth said, her face tightening into a sneer. ‘It’s our turn to watch you squirm for a change.’

  ‘Where did you steal that knife from? You’ve no business with a knife,’ said Sister Mary, speaking more rapidly. ‘Do you seriously think you can get away with this? I shall have you all arrested.’

  �
��Then we’ve got nothing to lose,’ said Ruth. ‘We already live in a prison.’

  Frances grabbed Sister Mary’s cane and held it in both hands. Her lips were wet and trembling and tears spilled from her eyes.

  I looked at Ruth and saw something in her face that had never been there before. It was swollen with hatred, twisted, dripping venom. Ruth scarcely ever altered expressions: instead she changed faces like donning a mask. And the face appeared and stayed in position without changing while she spoke. Then it would fall, detaching itself from her.

  ‘You can’t kill her, Ruth,’ I said.

  ‘Watch me,’ Ruth said, looking at me without appearing to see me, as if I was a stranger who shouldn’t have been in the room. ‘Just watch me. Someone’s got to put a stop to her.’

  ‘Be careful, Ruth,’ Frances said.

  ‘Listen to your friend, Norton. She’s talking sense,’ said Sister Mary. She was almost incoherent with anger and fear. Her crimson jowls shuddered and her thin mouth twitched in nervous curls of disgust. How could Frances let that mouth kiss her?

  Frances took a deep breath and shoved the point of the cane into the centre of her tormentor’s stomach. We watched the nun flinch from the blow, her lungs wheezing for air.

  ‘Shut up!’ Frances said, her face emptied of its sweet-eyed appeal, a resting place for all the ordeals she had endured.

  In so many ways, she was no longer the Frances I had known when I first arrived at the convent. Sister Mary had done more than bully her and beat her flesh into rags; she had taken her beyond mere humiliation. She had broken her down and pulled her apart. She had ripped into the gentlest heart I had known and plundered it of feeling.

  ‘Stop it, Ruth,’ Frances said. ‘She’s not worth it.’

  Ruth lowered the knife.

  ‘I’m relieved that one of you is seeing sense at last,’ Sister Mary said, getting her wind back. ‘I shall, of course, have to report this appalling incident to the Mother Superior and to the police.’

  ‘You won’t be tipping off any coppers,’ said Ruth.

  ‘Of course I will, you have assaulted and threatened me with a weapon. You’re evil, Norton, and I’ll make sure you’ll suffer for this.’

  ‘You’re not only not going to report me,’ said Ruth, raising the knife again, ‘you’re never going to touch any of us again. You’re cruel, you’re like Hitler and you deserve to be sliced for what you’ve done to us, especially Frances. If you report any of us, then we’ll get you for all the low, filthy tricks you’ve been using on her.’

  For a moment, Sister Mary searched for words to match her anger, her head thrust forward, her stammering mouth covered with spittle. ‘What kind of lies have you been telling them, you little brat?’ She glared at Frances. ‘I’ll never forgive you for this. Never, never, never.’

  ‘Don’t put the blame on Frances! This isn’t just about her,’ said Ruth. ‘This is about all of us. We’ve all had enough of your cruelty. You leave us all alone, do you hear me? Or you’re for the chop. I mean it, I’ll kill you.’

  The threat was so unexpected, so shocking, and so horribly voiced that it froze us all completely. The nun and Ruth gazed into each other’s eyes.

  ‘Oh, you devil!’ said Sister Mary, in a misery of helplessness. ‘I hear you, but I’m never going to forget you did this.’ Shaking a pointing finger at all of us, her face twisted with spitting fury, she added, ‘Do you understand? I’m never going to forget this.’

  ‘That goes for us too,’ said Ruth. ‘Here’s a bargain for you.’

  We all held our breath, our eyes fixed intensely upon Ruth.

  ‘Our silence against yours. Is it a deal?’

  A soft murmur of approval swept over the boot-room. Sister Mary gave Ruth a sharp sideways look and with a nod of her head, she waved her hands dismissively.

  ‘That makes us quits then. It’s the devil’s deal, isn’t it?’ Ruth said, her voice rising. ‘Go away! Clear out of here!’ and she drew the knife back in her hand as if she would have thrown it at the nun.

  I had a last vision of Sister Mary sidling along the wall, crablike and cowering, her breath coming in long shrieking gasps as she got herself out the door.

  ‘What’s the devil’s deal mean?’ I asked Ruth, awe making me feel weak.

  She enlightened me. ‘First one to forget gets burnt. Good and proper.’

  Chapter 13

  I lay in an ambient trance on the grass outside a disco in the local village. I opened my eyes and saw through the chequer-work of leaves from overhead trees the big moon looking down on me, clear cut and intensely bright.

  I had begun to wear clothes that allowed me to blend in with the kibbutzniks: shorts, T-shirts, kaftans and beads. I could relax and take pleasure in the fact that I was at last starting to shake off that awful closed-in sense of myself. I was like a teenager, falling in love with everything and everyone.

  And now even the colour of the night sky knocked me sideways. Flopped out on either side of me were Rick and Mark, all of us tipsy and giggling.

  ‘Let’s light up.’

  After weeks of saying no, I took the joint from Rick and propped it in my mouth.

  ‘Watch it!’ Loose tobacco threads caught fire. A flame and acrid smoke lit the air.

  ‘Go on, inhale and hold it in,’ ordered Mark. My chest caught fire as I let the smoke from the burning herb cruise through my lungs. A mellow buzzing filled my ears: Aleph, Beth, Ghimel, Yom Kippur, Hanukkah, Bar Mitzvah, Meshuuuuggah.

  People massed around the entrance to the village disco, from which an amplified voice boomed, followed by heavy thrumming music that earthquaked from the speakers. Everyone hollered and whooped their approval. Within minutes, I ventured inside and stood, fascinated as dancers with bodies bumping and grinding all over the place showed off their new moves and party pieces. The music dilated and swelled like a waterspout. It filled the room with its metallic transparency, crushing time against the walls. I was carried away by the noise. Orbs of silver revolved in the mirrors flashing rainbows across the room; rings of smoke encircled them and spun around, veiling and unveiling the hard grin of the light. I drank the wine the volunteers urged on me - joy juice. It held all the answers, unlocking something inside me. It was fun to test myself against new things, I began to understand: that’s what freedom is. The right to experiment, to see what fits, what doesn’t. It was how one learnt who one was and who one wasn’t. I danced with the others on the crowded dance floor. A party started inside my head as I slipped into an ecstasy of sweat, saliva and pelvises, slinking and shaking to head-thumping sounds. In shadowy corners, couples danced with hands slinking up and down backs, skulking around hips, vanishing inside clothes.

  Amid the music and laughter, all eyes turned my way when the Rolling Stones’ ‘Jumping Jack Flash’ was played. British music. ‘Go, Jude! Let it all hang out!’ yelled someone. I laughed, pulsating to the music. My eyes were out on stalks like a stoned snail. What the hell had been in that spliff I’d smoked? It’s a gas, gas, gas! I’d never heard music played like that before; I suddenly understood the secret of its magic. The room seemed to expand and contract, like some crazy accordion, my soul steeped in cosmic schmaltz.

  I could feel Rick’s eyes on me all evening. I led him a merry chase. I danced too often with other fellows, elated by my new power, but he was the one who later walked me across the tinder-dry grass back to the kibbutz. It felt so natural to lean into him and have him slip his arm around my waist. With the music fading behind us, it was as if we were the last pair of souls on earth, with just the buzzing crickets for company.

  This feeling became swamped under a new, exciting throb of desire. It was a struggle to walk in a straight line, dizzied not just by drink but by thumping suspense - I could feel his breath on my cheek. I was on cloud nine. But something held me back.

  ‘What do you think?’ Rick asked, laying his hand over mine as we neared the kibbutz.

  ‘Noisy,’ I said. My heart was bea
ting so fast and it made my voice sound unsteady. I took a deep breath, not daring to look at him.

  ‘I don’t mean the disco,’ he murmured. He put on a low serious voice that made me want to giggle, even as it filled me with dread. He held my gaze a little longer than I could stand. Desire suddenly drained out of me.

  ‘I’d best be getting some shut-eye,’ I told him in a whisper as we reached my room, ‘Up at the crack of dawn tomorrow, you know.’

  He frowned. I had been leaning against him all the way back, pressed snugly against his arm. ‘Well- don’t you want to sit up for a while? I don’t bite, you know.’

  I shook my head. ‘No, seriously, Rick. I’m really tired. Look, we’ll have a rave next time, OK?’

  ‘You’re strange,’ he said, ‘but in a nice way.’ He touched my cheek lightly.

  I was in the habit of making up rules and pretending they had been imposed upon me; now I convinced myself that I didn’t like the idea of the night going on and on. Yet my heart still turned over in disappointment as I made my decision to continue playing the safe game, the orphan game that made me a loner.

  He took my hand and gently kissed it. ‘I’m always here for you,’ he whispered.

  As I watched him walk away it was like moving from a black and white movie into colour. It was unreal. It was just a fantasy. That was all. It will pass, I told myself, it will dissolve and go away eventually, and all you have to do in the meantime is keep a firm grip on yourself and not behave like too much of a ridiculous fool. After all, what did he see in me? It had all crept up on me and knocked me out before I was aware of what was happening. My feelings were like a force of nature that couldn’t be checked, an avalanche, a mudslide, breaching my carefully built defences.