Mara

by Mara (v5. 0) (epub)

‘I need to hurry home, Ma’am.’ She spoke the words softly, but clear enough for me to hear. Before Mother could reply, Joanne had also stood up and followed Elzemarie’s example.

  Mother accompanied the girls to the door and waved them goodbye. I remained seated as I heard them leave. I didn’t say goodbye and I didn’t wave them off.

  ‘I think you should at least write to your father and mother. They will want to know how you’re doing.’

  I could barely contain my annoyance when Auntie brought the subject up again. She meant well and she could hardly be expected to understand my reluctance.

  ‘We’ll add your letter to mine each month, all right?

  I nodded, knowing full well that the letters would turn to ashes, without ever being read.

  In silence we continued peeling apples until there was a big pile of apple pieces on the table. Auntie rose and took her largest pot from the shelf.

  ‘Shall I put them on, or would you like to do it?’

  ‘May I do it?’ I eagerly stood up. At home Mother had never allowed me near the stove. She’d say, ‘You’d just start a fire, Maria.’

  ‘Of course you may. Go ahead. If you inherited your mother’s skills it’s going to be a delicious applesauce.’

  I raised my eyebrows and looked at Auntie. Was she serious? My mother’s skills? Mother, who worked in the kitchen only to prepare plain, sober meals?

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Auntie smiled again and went back to her seat.

  ‘Just thinking of her applesauce makes my mouth water,’ she said. ‘And her stewed pears. Delicious! Does she still make it the same way?’

  I shook my head. ‘I can’t recall ever eating applesauce or stewed pears at home.’

  Auntie looked up, shocked, and started to speak, but I was quicker.

  ‘We only eat what our bodies need. God has given us the food and we ought to be grateful for it.’

  I thought back to the bland meals we had every afternoon. Usually everything was mashed together into one, colorless, shapeless, unappetizing paste. For the rest we would only eat whole wheat or rye bread, and on Sundays there was a little bit of butter and a slice of cheese. Naturally, the Reverend had filled sandwiches everyday, since he was the head of the house.

  ‘We only have extra’s to eat when we have visitors, and that hardly ever happens because Mother can’t stand a mess.’

  ‘What has happened to her?’

  Auntie sounded shocked, but I didn’t reply.

  ‘The applesauce…’ I said instead, ‘How do I start?’

  We were not only busy with canning fruit. The regular daily chores also had to be looked after. Auntie’s days started very early and I was determined to adjust to her schedule. Ever since that first late morning, I got out of bed early enough to help her with the chores. There were six cows to be milked twice a day. I could recall how Grandpa used to let me taste the milk while it was still warm, and I still remembered how he would sit on the little stool between the cows legs and pull at the teats to let the milk squirt out.

  I had never done it myself, and now I watched while Auntie showed me. She had pulled out an extra stool for me beside her so I could sit up close and see well.

  ‘First you rub your hands warm,’ she said, ‘because cold hands aren’t very comfortable for the cow.’

  When she was ready she held the teats in her hand and started to pull with slow, regular movements.

  ‘You have to pull your hand down and at the same time you squeeze, but not too hard. If you do she’ll kick you.’

  I watched and saw how two streams of milk squirted into the bucket. It looked easy enough, I thought, and the cow stood placidly and did not seem to mind at all.

  ‘Would you like to give it a try, Maria?’

  For a moment I hesitated. I was very conscious of the fact that so close by a cow was large and warm, but I agreed to try it. We switched stools and Auntie put her seat behind mine and put her arms around me. She wrapped her hands around mine and placed them around the teats, her body against my back.

  This is different, I told myself and I remained seated on my stool, motionless. She was a woman, she was my aunt. But she was also tall and strong. The pressure of her fingers forced my hands into the right direction, but my breath came faster and faster, and I could feel the world start to whirl around me. I swayed on my low seat and almost fell over, but Auntie’s arms caught me.

  ‘Maria, are you all right?’ She pulled me up and had me lean with my back against her chest. I could hear her heartbeat. The rhythm of her heartbeat mingled with his. Too close. He was way too close. I tried to push him away, but he was too strong and too heavy.

  ‘Behave yourself, Maria.’

  Too close. The thumping sound in my ears became one with his heavy breathing. With much effort I managed to suck in enough air. Too close.

  ‘Do you need something to eat, or something else?’

  Concerned, Auntie slowly released me, but I could sense that she kept a close eye on me and I turned around so I could face her.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I lied. I slowly counted to ten, breathing slowly and deeply.

  ‘It was just a dizzy spell, nothing more. I guess it’s all part of it.’ I smiled weakly.

  ‘Let’s do this some other day. Just watch me for now.’ Auntie rose from her stool, took my hand and pulled me up. She looked at me intently to see how I was doing. My legs were shaking, but I stood quietly and did not look away. She did not need to know my weaknesses. Auntie Be nodded, reassured, and sat down between the cow’s legs. With calm movements she continued, and when she finished she took the bucket and stool over to the next cow. I followed her meekly and watched how she worked, but my thoughts were elsewhere, in a lonely and frightful place.

  It was not until Auntie had finished milking the cows and emptied the buckets into the milk pail, that the memories disappeared into the background and I calmed down as I helped her washing the buckets. Together we brought the milk pails to the wheelbarrow in the barn. After milking this evening we would have to put all the pails at the road for the milk driver to collect.

  Next we walked to the pig house where Auntie kept two sows and one pig for slaughter. As soon as the door opened I could smell the so familiar smell of long ago. Pigs were filthy animals and I held my breath as we walked in. Auntie did not seem to take notice.

  ‘Next week the butcher will come,’ she said. ‘It’s too bad you won’t be able to join us, Maria, are you sure you won’t…’

  ‘No, Auntie.’ I interrupted her before she could finish her sentence. ‘Nobody must know that I am here. I will go to my room when the butcher comes and I’ll be fine.’

  ‘It’s a shame, though.’ Auntie Be rubbed her hands with regret, but seemed to resign herself to the fact that I would not be present at the pig’s slaughter. Personally, I was relieved to have a good excuse.

  When I was young I already had a strong dislike for the butcher who would always come for just one day to do his job. The man always wore a big leather belt, weighed down with all sorts of gruesome tools. Grandpa was the only one who seemed to notice my fear and he always made sure that at lunch time the butcher would sit as far away from me as possible. Sometimes, during the meal, Grandpa would give me a conspiratory wink.

  ‘What will you do in the evenings, when neighbors may drop by for a visit?’

  ‘I’ll stay in my room then too, I’ll have to. The Reverend was very clear in his letter. Besides…’

  I stopped, but my mind wandered back to Mrs. Kleut and her remarks. I looked down and saw how my stomach revealed a slight swelling. I shivered and felt goose bumps on my arms. Auntie could think what she liked, but under no circumstances was I willing to be seen by anyone in this state, least of all the butcher.

  Auntie fed the sows and we were soon back outside.

  ‘Just the chickens now, and then we’ll have breakfast,’ she said and led the way to the chicken coop which was located a little bit further from
the farmhouse. She carried a basket with her. I recognized the basket from my youth. Feeding the chickens had been one of the chores I had been allowed to do as a six year old, and I remembered how I enjoyed throwing the grain around for the chickens.

  Auntie opened the coop and the chickens came out before the first grain cornels had even touched the ground. While Auntie generously spread the grain around, I stepped into the coop and looked for eggs. I held up my apron and laid the eggs in it one by one. Auntie had some good laying hens and I thought to myself that, if there were always as many eggs as today, these hens must make her a good amount of money on the market.

  When we were finished, the day had started to dawn and, as the sun started to brighten the day, we returned to the kitchen where a pile of pancakes awaited us.

  7

  I know that inside me life is growing, but how is this possible when I feel so lifeless myself? I feel withered like a dried up autumn leaf, but without the warm golden color that gives warmth and life to an otherwise dead leaf. I hate this creature that has taken over my body. I find it horrible that I no longer have control over my own body, that it grows, but not because I eat, that it hurts, but not because I injured myself.

  And I hate him, who is to blame for it all. Hatred is something powerful, I can gain some strength from it. And since I no longer have a mother to encourage me and no God to depend on, strength is what I need.

  ‘Isn’t it a miracle?’ Auntie nodded toward my stomach, which seemed to grow faster each day. We were working on two more new dresses because of it.

  ‘Why a miracle?’ I was genuinely surprised. In my opinion my stomach grew into monstrous proportions because of a being I had never wanted.

  ‘It’s new life that is growing in you. If all goes well, it will have everything it should have.’ Auntie’s head was bent over the material and while she spoke, her nimble hands pulled the fabric quickly through the sewing machine, her voice sounded melancholy.

  ‘I don’t believe in miracles,’ I said gruffly. I didn’t want to speak of the thing that was slowly but surely taking over my body.

  ‘Maria.’ Now Auntie did raise her head. I noticed a moistness in the corner of her eye, but within moments it was gone.

  ‘Woman was created to bear children.’

  She looked down again and her fingers seemed to pull the fabric through even faster. Up and down, up and down, the dark blue thread easily slipped through the fabric and sewed the pieces together. I took no notice of her words, they simply slipped off me and I didn’t respond. What could I have said, after all?

  Auntie believed in God and in miracles. But I had turned my back to that God of hers. I saw a different god, though, one who punished and tested, a god who made some people his servants and gave them all authority, a god who refused to care about simple folk who send up hopeful prayers to him.

  ‘What have I done?’

  ‘You disobeyed, you lied to me.’

  He towered over me and his presence alone was enough to make me utterly helpless. My voice turned soundless, my legs could no longer run, my hands no longer fight. Again he was there. And he was the one in control.

  I don’t want to be punished, God. I really tried my hardest, truly. Please call him back. Please call him to serve you, so he’ll forget about me, let him be too busy serving you to bother and torture me. I cautiously glanced at him, expecting him to be called away any moment, to leave for church or a sick church member. I was convinced that he would leave and once more I sent up a silent prayer. But there was no one listening.

  ‘Maria, Maria!’

  I blinked, confused, and the first thing I noticed was a big knot in my thread, on top of the seam I had been stitching.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  I nodded, pulled on the needle and saw the knot tighten. Despondently I put away the needle and took a pin so I could untangle the knot with it.

  ‘Let’s call it a day. How about I pour us some coffee?’

  I looked at the knot and thought of the dress we were making. I nodded, it had been enough for today.

  The first dress was done. Without me noticing Auntie had untangled the knot and finished sewing the hem. She had even added a four-inch hem which she had decorated with a brightly colored embroidery of flowers and fresh green shoots. The embroidery was stunningly beautiful, way too beautiful for me and much too beautiful for this hideous dress. I swallowed hard and shook my head. Why did she do this? Didn’t she realize that I despised this dress and everything it signified? Auntie watched me expectantly, but I couldn’t be happy about this gift.

  ‘Don’t you like it?’ Her shoulders seemed to droop a bit, as if they were already weighed down by the burden of my dismissing headshake.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ I whispered. Again I looked at the embroidery and I thought of the many hours she must have spent working on it. My mother called embroidering a labor of love, because it was so time consuming and because you got nothing in return for it besides beauty. A labor of love indeed. The words floated through my mind for a moment, but then they disappeared amongst the many loveless memories I had.

  ‘I’ll try the dress on.’

  I turned away, avoiding Auntie’s eyes, and brought the dress upstairs. I didn’t want to see the disappointment on her face and I didn’t want to apologize and tell her how I truly admired her handiwork. The dress was worthlessly beautiful. In a few months time, as soon as I would have no use for it anymore, I would burn the dress. So why did she go through such trouble? Did she really think she’d be doing me a favor?

  I peeled off my old dress, which was too tight, and I let the new one slip over my head. I didn’t want to look at the hem, her handiwork, as it just hovered over my feet. Instead I thought of new reasons why she shouldn’t have done this. Didn’t Auntie realize that the hem is the one part of a dress that always gets dirty and grimy? What was she trying to tell me? It may look beautiful, but it would always be covered in a layer of dust and grime. Did she mean to say that I was like this embroidered hem, always dirty and soiled?

  I straightened my shoulders and went downstairs. I was determined not to speak another word about this dress. It was too beautiful for me, too beautiful for what it concealed.

  8

  Someone has seen me. It was unexpected. I was supposed to keep my condition hidden from everyone. The Reverend was very clear in his letter to Auntie, and if she were to follow his wishes to the letter, I would be indoors day and night.

  Yet, I take care for my own sake too, that no one sees me. I never leave the farmyard and never go for a walk without the dog. He hears any passer-by approaching from a great distance and warns me with loud barks. When the postman arrives, I hide in the stable or the farmhouse, and when Auntie has visitors I make sure I’m in my room. Some of the looks I would get from people in our church, and the remarks by Mrs. Kleut taught me that no one is to know about the shame I carry.

  ‘It’s not good for you,’ Auntie said recently, but I knew it could not be helped, so I shrugged my shoulders. Yet, she found a way around it. She just doesn’t realize how hard it is for me to face other people now that I am so clearly… you know what.

  ‘We’re having a guest for dinner tomorrow, Maria.’ Auntie’s words startled me and I called out in surprise.

  ‘What!’

  ‘I have invited a good friend of mine. He has been our preacher for a year now and I am very fond of him.’

  No! Not a preacher. ‘You’re a whore, Maria. The child is a bastard and cannot exist before God and the community.’

  ‘You can’t, don’t do it.’

  ‘Yes, I will.’ Auntie sounded determined. I sat down, defeated, holding my head in my hands. I am a servant of Allmighty God, do not talk back to me.

  ‘Why?’ I asked in the end.

  ‘Why not? He’s my preacher and a friend, Maria. Besides, he’s a young man and it’s good for you to meet other people.

  ‘But my…’

  ‘He won’t condemn you
, Maria.’

  Yes, he will. It’s his job, his privilege and his duty.

  The chair almost fell when I rose and left the kitchen. I stepped into the wooden shoes that Auntie had brought me from the market, and I walked out. I called the dog and he ran around my feet, barking, but I ignored him. With my arms wrapped around my body I tried to keep the cold at bay, and I walked through the garden. It looked withered and dead. I continued toward the small orchard. I stood still, leaning back against the wall that separated the garden from the orchard, and slowly the cool outside air calmed me down.

  A preacher is coming to visit, a preacher of all things.

  I turned around and thumped my head against the wall. Then I spread my hands and hit as hard as I could. Over and over I hit the wall, until the skin of my hands tingled. I kept hitting, until I could feel my skin scratch and tear, until I saw blood on the wall. Only then did I stop.

  Bewildered I stared at my hands and what I had done to them. Blood mixed with dust and formed lines in my palms. I spit in my hands and rubbed them together. I tried to ignore the biting pain and spit once more. Then I rubbed my hands on my apron and called the dog back.

  ‘It’s time to get to work.’

  We’re having a preacher over.

  He was tall and his blue eyes were surrounded by little wrinkles. His hair was covered by a cap, but he removed the cap as soon as he stepped in the door. He had blond hair that was oddly flattened by the cap. Before his eyes met mine I turned away to the stove. A pastor with a cap? Why didn’t he wear a top hat, and where was his black suit? He looked more like a farmer.

  ‘It’s vital that no one in church will be able to find fault with me, Maria. So I expect you to dress appropriately, and your behavior must be irreproachable.’

  ‘I do my best.’

  ‘Remember, you are the pastor’s daughter, don’t you ever forget that. People in church will watch you and will judge you.’

  Condemn, is what he meant, he just didn’t say it.

  ‘Maria, isn’t it?’ His voice hesitated for just a second after he said my name.