I lifted up a bowl before I turned around to face him.
‘Yes.’
I quickly circled around him and placed the bowl on the table, my hands moist with sweat. I could also feel a droplet of sweat at my nose. I quickly wiped it away and stood for a moment at the table, wondering what I should do. Should I sit down, or turn around to welcome the intruder? When he said my name again, I decided to turn around.
‘Reverend Bosch.’ He held out his hand in greeting. I stared at it, not knowing what to do. How could I shake the hand of this man, a servant of God? I kept staring, still not knowing what to do, until he lowered his hand and smiled at me.
At that moment Auntie broke the silence.
‘Shall we sit down to eat?’
I was grateful for her rescue and I quickly took the chair nearest to me and sat down. I straightened my back, drew my chair close up to the table, so my stomach was hidden by the tablecloth. The way Reverend Bosch sat down told me that he was used to coming here and sit at the head of the table, on Grandpa’s seat. What was he doing here?
Auntie allowed the Reverend to cut the meat and divide the pieces. I held out my plate and let him serve me. I was being served by this preacher, but I couldn’t utter any words to thank him. All I could think of was how he would judge me.
Why did Auntie invite him? Did she want to humiliate me?
While the two of them said grace I could observe him without reserve. I searched his face for the hardness that was so familiar to me on the face of the other preacher, the condemnation that was so obvious in every line of his face, but I found nothing. Before he opened his eyes, I looked away and stared at my hands, which had become clenched fists in my lap.
Auntie and her guest picked up their utensils, so I did the same. With my head bent over my plate I started to eat slowly. I imagined that with every bite I took my stomach would expand so that in a few moments I would have to push back the chair and reveal my shame. The food was quite distasteful to me.
In silence I listened to the conversation between Auntie and her preacher. Every now and then a bit of laughter from one or the other would interrupt the dialogue. I squinted as I thought back to that other preacher. Did I ever hear him laugh or tell a joke? Had he been like that when he was courting Mother?
When Reverend Bosch started to talk about Dirk Jacobsen I suddenly paid attention to what was said. I remembered that name from when I was young. Dirk had been a big boy, always a ringleader at school and he could never sit still in church.
‘Last Summer I paid him a visit. He had been bedridden by then for weeks already and he complained about the lack of view.’
Auntie nodded, she clearly knew exactly what Reverend Bosch was talking about.
‘After that visit I found two men and two ladders, and the three of us chopped a large hole at the spot where the linden trees met.’
‘Ah.’ Auntie nodded and clucked with her tongue, her eyes sparkled.
‘At my next visit Dirk’s mood had improved already. The gap between the trees allowed him a good view onto the street, so he could see folk passing by and he’d often wave to friends. But there was still one thing troubling him.’
Auntie leaned forward and I noticed that even I was curious to hear. I quickly straightened my back again and took another bite. No need for them to think that I was listening to their conversation.
‘He hadn’t seen his girl for a while and he was worried that she didn’t want him anymore, on account of his crippled leg. How to solve that problem, he asked me.’
Reverend Bosch paused and took a bite.
‘I nodded at Dirk and wrapped up my visit with him, but that very same evening I climbed the ladder again and changed the gap in the trees into the shape of a heart.’ Reverend Bosch paused again. ‘This was all half a year ago and yesterday I received word that Dirk and his girl are getting married as soon as his leg is fully healed.’
Auntie nodded, smiled and looked at me for a moment.
‘I always wondered who it was that did that,’ she said and winked at me, as if to say, ‘Isn’t he a nice preacher?’ I ignored her cheerfulness. Who is to say that he really is what he seems to be? The Reverend also seems to be an exceptionally educated man, kind and courteous, until he steps into my room and closes the door behind him. I can’t trust him, Auntie. I can’t trust anyone.
‘Dirk must be a contented man,’ I said. My voice sounded just as suspicious as I felt.
‘He sure is,’ Reverend Bosch answered. ‘Do you know him?’
I shook my head, even though I did know him, and by doing that I ended the conversation. Auntie seemed to realize that I wasn’t about to go out of my way and try for the sake of her guest, so she changed the topic. She did not seem to be put out by my reluctance. She remained cheerful and obviously enjoyed her preacher’s company.
I started to feel uncomfortable because of my own poor manners, but I knew it was too late to take any of it back. In an attempt to at least justify my behavior, I searched the preacher’s face and eyes every time he looked Auntie’s way, for signs of disapproval, disgust, and condemnation. But again, I found nothing.
I emptied my plate as quickly as possible, no longer listening to their conversation and ignoring him as much as I could. In my mind I counted the seconds until they made minutes, and I kept track of the minutes by quickly making little braids. Twenty six little braids later they finally finished their meal, and Auntie asked the Reverend to read from the Bible and give a thanksgiving prayer. Obligingly he agreed and I was amazed to find that his voice didn’t get carried away by a threatening tone of doom and gloom. Instead he performed his duties in a conversational tone. I refused to close my eyes during the prayer, until all of a sudden I noticed that he had opened his eyes too. Just at that moment he winked at me, closed his eyes and continued thanking God for the meal.
I was so startled I immediately closed my eyes, and kept them closed until I heard the ‘amen’. I quickly moved my chair back and started to gather the dishes.
‘Let me give you a hand with that.’ Reverend Bosch rose as well and he gathered up the dishes as if it was the most normal thing for him to do.
‘How about you just sit down here, then we’ll look after these dishes,’ he said to Auntie.
I almost dropped the plates, and I had to swallow a few times with difficulty before I recovered my voice.
‘No, no, you’re our guest. We can’t have guests helping out with the dishes, right Auntie?’
‘I think it’s an excellent idea, actually.’
No Auntie, don’t do this to me.
I wanted to protest, but then I saw that the preacher was heading for the pump with the water kettle in his hand.
‘Just give that to me, I’ll boil the water, please take a seat.’ Maybe I could deal with it that way. I would have him sit with Auntie and they could nicely talk together. I was more than happy to do the dishes on my own. I’d prefer it in fact. But again my hopes were dashed.
‘Please, let me help you.’ He firmly held on to the kettle and was clearly determined. So I moved aside so he could pass. I held my breath and sucked in my stomach as he walked by.
While I pumped the water, he held the kettle. Every now and then he glanced at me. Did he see what I was? Unmarried, pregnant, unclean? The words he didn’t speak were clearly audible in my head. Don’t you know that a fallen woman is an abomination in the eyes of God? I should punish you. God has given me that authority. You are a disgrace to your family and the child will be a disgrace. A bastard child.
With relief I saw that there was enough water in the kettle, so I stopped pumping. The Reverend placed the kettle onto the stove and I put the wash basin on the table. Next, I excused myself. I didn’t know what else to do while we were waiting for the water to boil. Better to spend a few minutes in the privy than in his company. I stayed away for as long as I dared to without being rude, and when I returned to the kitchen I saw that the Reverend had just started to pour the w
ater into the basin.
I went to the pump and got some cold water to add to the boiling hot dishwater. I burnt my hands in the water because it was actually still too hot, but I wanted to have this over and done with as quickly as possible, so I washed the dishes regardless. We stood side by side at the table and I could tell by the way he breathed that he wanted to say something. When the words finally came he sounded unsure.
‘It must be lonely here on the farm, especially now that winter has arrived.’
My hands fell still in the dishwater as I contemplated these words. Lonely. Didn’t he understand that I had come here for exactly that purpose, to be lonely?
‘Yes, it is.’
I lowered a pan into the dishwater and scrubbed it hard.
‘I can understand that it’s difficult…’
He stopped. I waited.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… judge.’
Not? My eyebrows jumped up and I even looked at him for a moment.
‘I’m not really sure how to put it into words.’ He stammered and stumbled over his words. There was nothing left of the smooth talker who had entertained Auntie with his tales at the table. I took another pan and scrubbed even harder. Water splashed over the edge of the bowl onto the table. What could I say? More water splattered onto the table. If only the water could cleanse me, remove all the filth, so I could start over and wouldn’t have to carry this shame.
‘What Reijer means to say is that he would like to drop by every now and then, to keep you company,’ Auntie’s suddenly spoke from the corner where she was quietly knitting. ‘That’s very kind, don’t you think?’
Reijer? Auntie called this man by his first name? Her own preacher? For the other preacher that would be unthinkable, not even Mother addressed him by his first name. Nobody did, or it just might diminish his authority.
I forgot to respond, so Auntie repeated her comment.
‘Yes,’ I finally mumbled in a shocked daze.
‘Good,’ Auntie said. ‘It’ll be good for you to see a younger person on and off.’
I was dumbfounded and looked at Auntie. Then I looked at the man beside me and saw a friendly face. Still shaken, I grabbed a few spoons and washed them.
The Reverend took them from me and dried them off. I looked for more dishes to wash, but there were no more, so I tidied up. While I was doing this, Auntie sat in her chair, singing psalms and knitting away at the little white socks that kept no secrets for him.
9
Can hate turn into love? I always used to think it was impossible. But maybe, just maybe there is a small chance…
The creature in my stomach kept growing and struggled. Auntie asked me a few times if I had any idea what it would be, a boy or a girl, but I just shook my head. Sometimes she’d ask if I had thought of names yet, and other times she’d be sitting across from me crocheting or knitting and suddenly her hands would be still. Then she’d look at my stomach with melancholy, her hands would abruptly let go of her work and feel her own stomach.
I ignored her questions and glances, just like I ignored the knowledge that she was childless and always would be. It wasn’t likely she would ever be pregnant, as she grew older and was still unmarried. She would never feel life within her. I ignored her pain and yearning. How could I possibly be hopeful for her, while I despised the creature living inside me?
‘Maria,’ her voice was soft as a whisper and I looked up from the book I was reading. Auntie’s eyes were friendly, but also sad. Her voice sounded hoarse and the smile that forever hovered around her mouth seemed to have disappeared. ‘Surely, it’s not right to hate the child…’
Hate? Oh, yes, it sure is. I had to hate it. From this hatred I drew strength, enough strength to endure all this. If I didn’t hate the child I wouldn’t be able to cope.
Auntie rose from her seat and knelt down beside my chair. She took my hand and placed it gently on my stomach.
‘You have to feel it, this life growing within you. Cherish it.’
I tried to pull my hand away, but she kept it firmly in place. To my great relief there was nothing, no movement, no stirring, no sign of life. Auntie’s eyes held mine, and I stared back, expecting her to look away soon enough and let go of my hand, but her grip remained firm.
Then suddenly, I felt a stir.
I started and with a sudden movement jerked my hand free, and in doing so my nails grazed aunties cheek.
‘Don’t! Stop it, stop it!’ I hid my face in my hands. I didn’t mean to hurt or offend Auntie, but she shouldn’t be forcing me to feel!
My whole body trembled and I wanted to run away and stay all at the same time. Would she be able to understand at all? I remained motionless, listening hard, expecting to hear her footsteps retreating with indignation. Maybe even a slap in the face because I had hurt her with my nails. Or harsh words…
It was quiet for a long time. Then I heard the sound of rustling skirts and suddenly felt warm arms around me. Her hands stroked my hair and in a soft whisper she sang me a lullaby as if I was a baby who needed comforting.
I wanted to escape, I wanted to get away from those hands, and I tensed my shoulders in silent protest. I made myself as small as I could, but remained seated and I could feel her tender touch while my face started to burn. Slowly my shoulders relaxed, but I didn’t dare look up. I had hit her and she was comforting me.
‘My dear, dear child. Is it that bad?’
She held my chin gently and forced me to look at her. I let my eyes wander. I could not bear the shame, the confrontation, but in the end I did look at her and saw a softness in her eyes.
Then she did something amazing. Again she took my hand and placed it back on my stomach. She pulled her own hand away and I was no longer forced to feel but was free to choose.
It was at that moment that I really felt life for the very first time. I really felt it.
That evening I went to bed early. I lay on my back and had both my hands on my swollen belly. Maybe Auntie thought I was still upset and that I had gone up early because of that, but that was not the case. Something inside me had become alive when I felt the stirring, and now I wanted more. My hands were patiently waiting and I smiled when I felt the movement again. I closed my eyes and thought of the little baby that was safely hidden within me. A baby only knew a mother’s love, how strange. I felt another flutter and I whispered softly; ‘Well done, little one.’
How could I have felt such hate? And where had it gone to? Just like when a canal lock is opened up and water streams away, my hate had flushed away in those few minutes.
In the quiet of my room I thought about the past weeks and everything I had done and felt. How could an innocent child have deserved such hatred? I sat up, slowly pulled back the blankets and firmly placed my feet on the floor. I quickly put on a dressing gown and warm socks. Then I quietly returned to the kitchen.
‘Auntie?’
She looked up from her bible and smiled.
‘I’ve made some porridge, will you join me?’
‘Yes, I would love some.’
‘It’ll do you good.’
For Auntie food was the solution to every problem, and sometimes I believed her.
10
In all fairness, this young preacher is quite different than I had expected. Yet, I find it difficult, because the Reverend was different too at first, wasn’t he? He managed, after all, to win my mother’s heart. And Auntie still has no idea of the evil that is in him. Is this what power and authority does to a man? Is this what power and authority will do to this preacher as well?
It was one of those beautiful days in December, blue skies and a weak shimmer of sunlight. Despite the cold I decided to hang the laundry outside to dry. I tried to whistle a tune while working, and I remembered Grandpa’s incredible patience as he showed me how to whistle. The very first time I managed to produce a sound, he slapped his knees with amazement and started to laugh. The sound I brought forth today sounded just as feeble as the so
und I made then. Yet, I enjoyed it and in an odd way I felt free.
‘Ah, there you are.’ I suddenly heard a man’s voice behind me and I felt my cheeks turn red, so I didn’t turn around. How was it possible that he got so close without me noticing? I was always so alert about visitors! I never allowed anyone to come this close and always managed to hide myself in time. My hands trembled and the sheet I was trying to peg on the line slipped out of my fingers twice. Both times I just managed to catch it in time and prevented it from falling on the muddy ground. So Reverend Bosch had kept his word and came to see me again. What could he possibly gain by doing this? Why didn’t he just visit Auntie? She was part of his congregation, not me. I was the fallen woman. What he actually should be doing was steer clear of me, just like the Reverend would always make sure to avoid Helène.
Finally I turned around to face him, hoping my red face was no longer showing.
‘Good afternoon, Reverend,’ I mumbled. ’You startled me.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.’
I ignored his words. ‘I really need to finish this.’ I bent down to take the next piece of laundry from the basket and hang it on the line, expecting him to leave and join Auntie.
‘Would you mind if I stay here for a little while?’
‘No.’ What else could I have said? But what was I supposed to do with this man behind me, watching me work? Again I took a piece of laundry from the basket and started to feel more and more nervous. Why was the man here?
Unwanted memories returned. Memories of a heavy male figure approaching me from behind, forcing me to stand still while big hands moved over my body and touched me in ways I didn’t want…
‘NO!’ I screamed and then, startled, my hand flew over my mouth. I inhaled deeply and could smell the scent of the laundry detergent on my hand. I tried to calm down by breathing in this simple fragrance, but the memories were stronger than me. My feet started to move and I ran off, away from the horror. I heard footsteps behind me, overtaking me, and my terror increased.
Mara Page 7