A deep pothole in the road made me bounce up and I came down hard on the wooden seat. For a moment I wondered to myself if maybe that would solve my problem right there. A miscarriage would suit me fine, but surely the Reverend’s god wouldn’t be that gracious. In the end I asked her my question.
‘What did the letter say?’
Auntie did not need to ask me which letter I was talking about, that was obvious. She nodded in acknowledgement and clucked her tongue at the horse before she looked at me.
‘I will give you the letter when we get home, then you can read it for yourself.’
She would give me the letter?
At home this kind of openness would be unthinkable. At home they would never involve me in any adult matters. ‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Of course. I don’t mind telling you, if you would prefer that, but I may forget something or say something the wrong way. If you read the letter, you’ll have your answer. And now,’ she gave me a quick smile, ‘I would like to hear some news from the far southwest. How is my sister?’
I admired her courage to ask me about my mother’s circumstances. As the years had passed it had become clear to me that, because of the Reverend’s meddling, contact between the two sisters had ceased completely. My aunt had lost her sister, Mother might just as well have been dead. I remembered the letters, which at first arrived faithfully every week, but were never answered. And I knew that even now a letter arrived every month. My mother never read them. Mainly because the Reverend would be quick to intercept them, and if he didn’t, she would place the letter unopened on the mantelpiece for the Reverend to find and destroy.
I took a deep breath and, somewhat hoarse, began to tell her about our simple life. I told Auntie about the cutters that fished for mussels, the manse, the church with its modest interior. I expounded on the little garden at the manse, the grocer’s, the baker and the swing at the school. Why I told her about the swing I don’t know, but my aunt listened attentively, smiling and nodding, every now and then wiping away a little tear. I pretended not to notice and kept talking about home and Mother. I did not speak about the Reverend. Some memories were hard to talk about and every time I told Auntie about Mother I pressed the nails of my right hand hard into the palm of my left, without Auntie noticing. The physical pain helped me to keep Mother’s betrayal from her.
As I spoke, more and more memories emerged and I talked and talked, until we turned onto a sandy path and Auntie pointed ahead.
‘There it is, we’re almost home.’
I grew silent and watched as we approached the farm. Only the horse’s clip-clopping, and the creaking and rattling of the wagon disturbed the silence. My eyes traced the familiar bends toward the farm. To the left, beside a small ditch, I suddenly noticed a familiar landmark.
‘Jopie is still there!’ I exclaimed in amazement. Grandpa had named the old, crooked willow tree Jopie, after an old, bent man from church who looked just as worn out as the tree but who approached each new year with renewed vigor.
‘Jopie is still there.’ I repeated softly to myself and I suddenly realized that it was also possible that the old man was still alive. I looked sideways at Auntie who cheerfully nodded as she clucked her tongue.
We entered the yard and I leaned forward and stretched my neck so I could have a good look around. Auntie held my arm, but I impatiently shook it off.
‘Be careful, Maria, or you’ll fall.’
‘I won’t fall.’ Just let me savor and feel for a moment, it has been so long.
I inhaled deeply and my lips tasted the familiar smell of days gone by. No sea air, no blowing sand dust. I smelled mud and greenery and animals. I smelled the earth after a good rainstorm. No seagulls here, but sparrows and larks, finches and chickadees. No screeching, but twittering. Here were flowers, bushes and trees, instead of sand and dune grass. Even now in the fall with winter fast approaching, the surrounding growth reminded me of fields full of poppies and wild chervil, daisies and chamomile. One more time I inhaled deeply and smelled the familiar smells of home. My home. For now.
We both grabbed a handful of straw and rubbed down the horse. It was odd how natural it was for me to join in this task after so many years of absence. When we were done I looked on while Auntie brought the horse to the stable. Ever since I met Auntie at the train station I had wanted to know what she thought of me, how her opinion of me was colored by the words in that letter. The letter was waiting for me in the house.
I looked forward to entering the house. It held so many fond memories for me. It may sound odd, but to me it seemed that the house breathed compassion, as if it had a human personality. But I could of course not go in by myself, I had to wait for Auntie Be. She smiled at me as she walked toward me.
‘You’ll be surprised!’ she said, as if she had been reading my mind.
‘Why? Have there been a lot of changes?’ I couldn’t bear the thought that there might have been. Together we went to the door, which led to the entrance hall. I couldn’t wait to go in, into the open kitchen.
‘You’ll see for yourself. I hope you’ll appreciate it.’ Auntie opened the door to let me in. The delicious aroma of a stew that had been on the stove for hours welcomed me and I remembered that I was hungry. At the entrance to the open kitchen I stopped and I absorbed my surroundings with excitement. Everything was just as it had been: Grandpa’s chair with its green seat covering, the kitchen table with seven chairs around it, two large cabinets against the wall, and the red tiled floor. I noticed that Auntie had acquired a new stove, it was beautiful and decorated with colorful painted flowers, but that was the only change I could discover at first glance. Relieved, I clapped my hands together and turned to Auntie.
‘Nothing’s changed at all!’
She stood behind me, smiling, but now she also entered the kitchen, walked past me to lead me to the front room. She went straight towards the box bed and opened up the doors. To my amazement I did not find a mattress and blankets, but tidy rows of shelves filled with empty canning jars. She opened the other box bed and there also I found a spacious storage cupboard, filled with linens and a few boxes as to which contents I could only guess, instead of the bed I had expected to find.
‘But where do you sleep?’ I asked after I had recovered from my amazement. For this had always been the adults’ sleeping area.
‘Follow me.’ Auntie Be hurried ahead of me excitedly, and I followed her through the kitchen to the attached barn. It was chilly there and I wrapped my arms about me as I continued to follow Auntie Be. She headed straight for the stairs and climbed up.
At the top of the stairs was a small landing with three doors, two to the right and one to the left. Auntie led me toward the doors to the right and proudly opened the first door. Again she let me enter ahead of her and this time I found myself in a comfortable bedroom, which clearly was my aunt’s. There was a beautiful bed in the center, but it was the large dressing table against the wall that drew all my attention. It was a table with attached to it a large mirror, consisting of three sections. It was pure extravagance. It would be unimaginable to find something like this in the manse. There we had all of one small mirror, and that was used by the Reverend while shaving. I saw my own reflection and looked at it for a moment. It was hardly noticeable. Nothing to worry about. Almost nothing.
Embarrassed, I placed my hand on my stomach, made a fist, then turned away from the mirror to have a good look at the rest of the room. I admired the wallpaper that decorated the walls with cheerful flowers. Pink and white colors were a recurring theme in the room, and the view from the window was breathtaking.
‘What a lovely room!’ It was so different from what I was used to at home. What we had was dark green curtains, brown furniture, small beds and bedspreads in muted colors. No flowers. Especially no flowers. When was the last time that Mother and I had danced through the meadows, both carrying a basket that we filled with all the wildflowers we could find? Daisies, dandelions, butter
cups, wild chervil and the lovely scented chamomile. I closed my eyes and could see us skipping, hand in hand with big smiles. I shivered and quickly opened my eyes. Where did these memories come from?
‘Come along, I’ll show you your room.’ Obediently I followed Auntie and she opened the second door for me. I hesitantly followed her into the room. I squealed with delight when I saw, on the bed, my old teddy bear. Auntie had made it for me when I was young. I had not been able to bring it with me when we moved, and I had been devastated over it for weeks. I searched her eyes and gave her a grateful nod. In silence I walked through the room, my hand tracing the washstand, which held a beautiful wash basin and a jug. I recognized it, Grandma had always been very proud of it. There was no dressing table, but above the washstand was a mirror, and on the small night table stood a vase of chrysanthemums. The curtains were of the same material as those in Auntie’s room and the bedspread was a colorful quilt made of bits of left over material, probably sewn by Auntie herself.
‘What a lovely room,’ I whispered.
‘So you like it?’
I nodded. ‘It was a very good idea of you to use part of the attic and turn it into bedrooms. Absolutely beautiful, Auntie. What is behind the third door?’
Auntie Be went ahead of me and opened the door. I looked over her shoulder and saw the hayloft as I remembered it. There was plenty of room left I saw.
‘Fairly soon after you and your mother left, Grandma decided to renovate. She always hoped that you would come and stay for a visit as a family and she wanted to have rooms prepared for that occasion.’
I silently nodded and thought of Grandma and Mother and Auntie. Poor Grandma, she never could have imagined that her granddaughter would end up staying in this room as a pregnant outcast.
‘Of course we did not need the rooms for ourselves, but when Grandma passed away and Anna still had not come, I decided to alter the box beds. I prefer sleeping in a spacious room over sleeping in a cramped box bed.’
She closed the door again and we went back downstairs.
‘I am very impressed, Auntie, Mother would absolutely love it.’ The words left my mouth before I realized it and I quickly fell silent. Mother wasn’t interested in the least. Didn’t I know that? She would, most likely, never get to see these renovations to her old home.
‘You know, we asked her for permission to do this,’ Auntie said while she led the way downstairs. ‘Unfortunately Anna never sent a reply, so in the end Grandma and I decided to wait no longer for a response.’
I thought of al the letters that arrived monthly and were destroyed unread, and it weighed on me, but what should I do? Should I tell Auntie Be that all these years she had been writing letters that went unread, or should I just watch every month as she posted a letter, which I knew was written in vain?
How had Auntie reacted the day that finally this one letter arrived, the letter that spoke of her niece, the letter she would let me read? Would she have smiled expectantly, or would she have opened the letter with trepidation, anticipating bad news?
‘Would you like some tea, dear?’
Again we stood in the kitchen, and I nodded. The letter. What was in the letter?
‘Go on and sit down, you must be tired,’ Auntie said and she pointed to Grandpa’s chair.
‘I can’t sit there! That’s Grandpa’s chair.’
‘Grandpa is no longer here and you are exhausted. Go on, sit down. It’s the best chair I have.’
Cautiously I lowered myself onto the green fabric of the chair. It stood close to the stove and the warmth radiating from it enveloped me like a warm blanket.
‘Here is your tea.’ I must have dozed off for a little while, for the words startled me.
‘Would you like to read the letter right now?’
I nodded. My body was exhausted, but my mind would have no rest until I knew what I wanted to know. I was so grateful for Auntie’s consideration. She seemed to know exactly what to say and what not.
Auntie Be found the letter and handed it to me without a word and then she left the kitchen. ‘I’ll be in the barn if you need me.
It took a few minutes before I had the courage to actually read the letter. Here I was, sitting in Grandpa’s chair, staring at the envelope with on it in the Reverend’s handwriting my aunt’s address. My first question was answered. He had written the letter. Of course. How could I even have considered the idea that my mother would have been involved in this? Undoubtedly, she would have detached herself from the situation. Did she even know what was going on? Did she even realize that I was pregnant and that she would be a grandmother?
As was usually the case, it was the Reverend who organized, decided and commanded. If God would ever be in need of someone to organize his affairs in heaven, the Reverend would be first in line to offer his services. He would put everything in such order as he desired, he would lead the praise and preach the sermons. He would be lord and master in heaven. There would be no room left for God or the saints.
The paper in my shaking hand rustled.
It was time.
I was trembling when I opened the envelope and pulled out the letter. It contained merely one sheet of paper, filled with his sharp and angular handwriting.
My eyes skimmed over the letters as they shaped words, sentences, a story. All those letters lumped together and blended into one monstrous word. The accusation jumped off the paper. Whore.
The word he had used again and again, until even Mother had nodded in agreement, the word that had, in the end, destroyed what was left of my dignity. Every time he used that word, he shattered to pieces the small remains of my youth and dreams, and with his heel he pulverized them.
Whore.
The letter fell from my hand and fluttered to the ground, peacefully, like a feather, but it was as sharp as a knife.
I hid my face in my hands, and my body folded over. Behind my closed eyes it turned black, then white. The emptiness had it’s own color, and it had plenty of room for the accusation his lips had uttered. Whore. Filthy whore. Nobody in his congregation was to know, but in the face of those who might love me, he was abundantly clear. First Mother, now Auntie. There would be no one left for me. Everyone would follow his judgement and judge me accordingly. No mercy for a whore.
I did not hear Auntie return. Much later she told me that I had heard nothing at all, for she had called my name several times, but I had not responded. It was only when she took my hands and stroked them softly, when she kissed my cheek and whispered kind words in my ear that I returned to my senses. Auntie said that I was as white as a sheet, and I knew it was true. My arms and legs had lost all feeling, I felt paralyzed and it would not have surprised me if all blood had flowed out of my body, simply leaving me in this hateful shell. This shell I despised for everything it carried.
‘Would you like to tell me about it?’ Auntie asked me, much later. She had given me some tea and another warm sweater to fight off the cold, which had taken hold of me and made me shiver.
I shook my head, but at the same time I opened my mouth to offer at least one piece of clarification. Barely a whisper left my mouth.
‘I am not a whore.’ I swallowed. ‘There is no boy friend, no man, nobody.’
I wasn’t sure if I had actually spoken those last words out loud, but it felt good to deny the existence of anything male in my life – including the Reverend. I repeated the words to myself, over and over. There is nobody. Nobody. He is nothing, a nobody. The words gave some relief, even if temporary.
Finally Auntie rose and began to set the table. I wanted to stand up and help her, but my legs were still too weak and I fell back in the chair.
‘Don’t get up, sweetheart.’
Auntie lifted the lid off the pan on the paraffin stove and again I smelled the stew. The aroma reminded me of meals I had had in this house in the past. I watched while Auntie stirred the contents of the pan and filled two bowls with a generous serving. Then she walked over to me and stretched
out her hand.
‘I look like an old woman.’
‘You’re just tired.’ Auntie helped me up and walked with me to the kitchen table. I sat down and waited for Auntie to join me at the table. She sat down on the seat across from me and when she folded her hands I knew what she was going to do. Insincerely I bent my head, but in rebellion I did not fold my hands. I kept them hidden underneath the table. It remained silent and I looked up at Auntie in surprise.
‘I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to, Maria, least of all this.’
I could feel my face turn red and I slowly shook my head in denial of what she had suggested, but I did not have the courage to speak.
‘Listen, I pray at every meal and I also thank the Lord afterwards. I read from the Bible several times a day, but I will never force you to take part.’
Now I nodded, although I found it heard to understand what she meant and found it even harder to believe her. Then Auntie bowed her head and prayed in silence. I watched her dumbfounded. After her prayer Auntie picked up her spoon and started to eat. She nodded at me invitingly, so I also picked up my spoon. I started to eat for the first time without asking a blessing over the meal first.
When the meal was over I helped Auntie with the dishes. I pumped water into the large kettle and placed it on the fire. Auntie took a small zinc basin and placed it on the table. Next she took the pan of stew from the stove and placed it on a wooden cutting board on the kitchen counter to cool off.
Mara Page 4