But all of a sudden the cheerful darkness disappeared and turned into a frightening darkness. It was real dark now, black, like the night with its scary sounds. A cloud had blocked the sun’s light. It was now dark as the night and a watery moon shimmered in between the clouds, and then it vanished again. I could feel how it suddenly turned cold. My arms, back and legs were covered in goose bumps.
My hand let go of the flowers. Yellow and red fluttered to the ground, withered and forgotten.
‘No, no!’ I stammered the words, but beyond my lips there was no sound, just silence, a silence that embraced me in the darkness.
‘No.’ A tear found its way from my eye down my cheek. My knees gave way, legs that had carried me up into the air moments earlier, had lost their strength and I collapsed. I crushed the flowers in my fall.
‘No.’
Suddenly he was there, standing over me.
‘Maria, get up.’ His arms stretched out to me as he stooped down and lifted me up. High over his head I flew. The black night could hold me even better now and choked me as I floated. I couldn’t breath as the darkness oppressed me. His strong hands had a crushing hold on my stomach, I saw his black eyes and felt his black breath, hot breath that cut like a knife through my body.
‘Don’t!’ The words resonated in my head, loud and clear, but in the night they were stifled and they were lost before he heard them. He didn’t hear and continued to hold me with the big hands that pulled away clothes and that scorched my exposed skin.
Why, why? Where is Mother, I want Mother.
But she wasn’t there, she never was.
12
Sometimes it seems to me as if the present and the past merge together in this place, though I know that nothing will ever be quite the way it used to be. The hatred I feel for the Reverend is still there and I don’t think this will ever change. I’m not even sure if I want it to. My hatred for him gives me the strength to go on. I no longer wish to loose the child I carry, but I often feel the weight of shame pressing down on me. It’s impossible for me to face people. It would make my misery unbearable. But it’s also impossible for me to live the rest of my life in isolation. With the new year drawing near I start to have many new questions. But I’m not yet ready to face up to the answers.
As I woke up on the morning of New Year’s Eve I smelled a fragrance that brought me back to the past. I got out of bed and slowly came down the stairs, one hand pressed on my ever-growing stomach. I no longer was troubled by nausea, so whenever I smelled delicious aromas that reminded me of my younger days coming from Auntie’s kitchen, I was always tempted to eat a lot.
I opened the door and saw Auntie standing in the kitchen with a cloud of steam around her head, and I saw how she just poured out a large ladle full of batter onto the waffle iron on the stove.
‘Waffles!’ I exclaimed.
She turned and smiled broadly.
‘Of course. We can’t have New Year’s Eve without waffles.’
I returned her smile and thought of how Grandma used to bake waffles at this time of year. She had told me once that the waffle iron used to be her mother’s. She had baked her first waffle when she was seven years old, and Grandma had promised me that she would teach me too when I would be that age. That never happened, of course. At seven I no longer lived on the farm.
But this memory was a new one. The years had come and gone without me ever thinking of it, but now that I saw Auntie standing there in that cloud of steam and I could smell the waffles, it all flooded back to me. I remembered just how it used to be.
Grandma used to stand in the kitchen all day baking, and Grandpa would, after his daily chores, come in and set up the long tables in the barn. He would attach three long tables and arrange long benches to go along them.
The whole neighborhood used to be invited, and the tradition was that at around nine o’clock in the evening everyone would show up. Many of the guests would bring delicious treats such as battered apple rings, chicken soup, or oliebollen, the traditional New Year’s doughnut balls. But the only one who made waffles was Grandma. Nobody else was allowed to bake them, and nobody else was allowed to bring them.
‘The butter, Jochem!’ Grandma would call to Grandpa when he was finished setting up the tables and benches. I had so often watched him when Grandpa would pick up a milk can and pour the milk into the butter churn. Next he would get to work with the big churn dash. He often let me help him. With his big hands folded over mine we would hold the dash together and move it up and down in a regular motion. After a while little clumps of butter would appear floating on the milk and I would look up at Grandpa and smile. Again with his big hand over my small hands he would help me scoop up the butter grains and place them in the butter bowl. One time I had forgotten to place the cheesecloth in the bowl so we had to return the butter grains to the churn. Grandpa never got angry with me, but he patiently explained to me that the cheesecloth was important because it allowed the liquid to flow away. He showed me how to do it, and after that I never again forgot to place the cheesecloth in the butter bowl.
After kneading the butter we had to salt and rinse it, and then it was ready.
‘You go and ask Grandma for a spoiled waffle.’ Grandpa would tell me. I would skip to the kitchen and beg Grandma for a waffle that hadn’t turned out well, just so that we could taste and see if the butter was good. Of course the butter always was just right.
Grandpa would spread a thick layer of butter on, and sprinkle it liberally with icing sugar. When he had done all that he would take a knife and very carefully cut out five heart shapes. I would always get three of them and he would always have the other two.
The very first waffle was always the best. That very first waffle…
‘I haven’t had waffles in years, Auntie.’
Auntie turned around and placed her hands on her hips. ‘Well, this year you’ll have them again, you just wait and see. There may not be any guests this year, but I intend to enjoy these waffles with you. I’m using Grandma’s recipe and you’ll see that I make them as delicious as Grandma used to.
‘That sounds wonderful, Auntie.’
‘Will you help me?’
‘I’ve never done this, though.’
‘It isn’t difficult. I prepared the batter this morning already, so the only thing left to do is bake them. You take a big ladle full of batter and pour it onto the iron, then you close it and slowly count to one hundred and twenty. Then you press this here,’ and Auntie pressed on the handle and I saw how the iron turned over and now lay on the stove the other way around, ‘and again you count to one hundred and twenty.’
Auntie counted quietly and then opened up the iron.
There was a beautiful, golden brown waffle all ready for us, and she skillfully popped it out of the iron with a flat spatula. She added it to the mound of waffles she had baked already that morning.
‘Would you like to try?’ She held out the soup ladle. I nodded and took her place at the stove.
I took a ladle full of batter and poured it onto the waffle iron. The hissing steam cloud startled me, but Auntie was right beside me and she gently helped me close the iron. Then I started to count. At one hundred and twenty I quickly glanced at Auntie and when she nodded I pressed the handle and the iron turned over.
Again I counted the seconds and then opened up the waffle iron.
The waffle had turned out marvelously and I looked at Auntie with excitement.
‘Why don’t you sit down and can eat this one,’ she said.
I hesitated for a moment, but then I shook my head. ‘You sit down instead and have it. My first waffle is for you.’
She smiled at me and took the waffle from me, and while Auntie ate her waffle at the kitchen table, I made another, and another.
That afternoon I made butter myself.
Evening fell and we sat together in the front room, a room I hardly ever entered, since most of our daily chores centered round the kitchen. In the front ro
om was a flat top stove that radiated a pleasant, warm glow, but it was unusual for me to be sitting here and I felt uncomfortable. The clock ticked away the seconds and the year would soon be over. Only a little longer and it would be all behind us. If only it was this easy to put other things behind you as well.
I thought about the year ahead of me and I shivered as I considered all that was yet to come.
Auntie suddenly interrupted my thoughts. ‘Do you also feel uncomfortable sitting here?’
‘It is a little strange,’ I admitted.
‘Then come, let’s welcome the new year in the kitchen.’ Auntie already got up and lifted the bowl of waffles from the table. I got up too and took the icing sugar and butter. I followed Auntie to the kitchen. Immediately I felt more at ease and I smiled at Auntie as I sat down.
We both had just grabbed another waffle when, all of a sudden, we heard footsteps outside. Startled by the noise I quickly pushed my seat back and stood up. My sudden movement made the chair fall back onto the floor, so I quickly picked it up. Auntie motioned me to calm down and waited at the door until I had left the kitchen by another door. Quickly I climbed up the stairs and tiptoed into my room. I lay down on the bed. It seemed I would be entering the new year in solitude. I thought of the waffle lying on the table downstairs and I rubbed my stomach in regret. As long as there were visitors I wouldn’t be able to have any more waffles.
I sat up when I heard a creaking on the stairs.
‘Maria?’ Auntie knocked on the door.
‘Reverend Bosch has dropped by, will you come down again?’
Reverend Bosch? In that case I most definitely would stay up here.
‘I…’
‘He came especially for your sake. He thought our New Year’s Eve would be a bit lonely.’
‘But I want…’
‘It’s up to you, Maria.’
Auntie looked at me for a moment and waited for me to make up my mind. When I didn’t respond she closed the door and I could hear her footsteps go down the stairs. Quickly I climbed off the bed and followed her without really thinking my decision through.
‘Auntie, wait, I’m coming.’ I followed her down the stairs and was relieved to see her waiting for me. Together we returned to the kitchen and I nodded in greeting to the preacher. He rose and waited for me to take my seat before he sat down again himself.
Then followed an awkward silence that Auntie broke by offering the Reverend some waffles.
‘That sounds delicious,’ he said.
Relieved to be able to do something I pulled my plate toward me and cut my waffle into five pretty heart shapes. I started to eat in silence while I wondered to myself how I could have been so stupid as to come down with Auntie. I took a quick glance at the clock and saw that we still had an hour and a half to go. I sighed so deeply that the icing sugar went flying like a cloud of dust and made me sneeze.
Reverend Bosch burst into laughter, at first hesitantly, but then wholeheartedly. Auntie also laughed and wiped her hand over my face. Then she showed me the white on her finger.
I remained gruff and silent, but when the two of them didn’t look at me any more, I smiled and took another bite from one of the heart shapes.
13
It won’t be long now and I’ll be a woman with a child. Will I be like my mother? That idea frightens me. Should I blame her for not protecting me, or should I be grateful to her for the happy years we shared?
Now that I haven’t seen or spoken to her for so long, I find it harder and harder to understand why she never protected me. Was he really that powerful? Was she unable to stand up to him and protect me?
My hatred for him is as strong as ever, and every thought that turns to him I smother in the flames of my anger, and the fear I once felt for him now seems to be unjustified. I am stronger now, my hatred gives me strength.
For several days I had tortured myself over the knowledge that there was nothing for it but to involve Auntie in the necessary preparations.
In the end Auntie Be brought the topic up herself.
‘How much longer now, Maria?’
Her question took me by surprise and I suddenly realized that I wasn’t really sure! From the moment that I had discovered what was going on with me, I had tried to ignore the fact that I was pregnant, that I had a child growing inside me, with such determination, that I never paid any attention to the date and least of all looked ahead anticipating the moment that this child would leave my body. My mouth fell open, and for a while I stared into my auntie’s eyes, speechless.
‘I don’t know.’
‘We’ll need to make some preparations, you know, like the doctor…’ Auntie Be rose up from her seat and started to pace through the kitchen, waving her hands about wildly. I had never seen her like that before.
‘I had thought you would at least know when the child is due!’ She kept pacing and waving her hands about, mumbling words I couldn’t hear.
‘The doctor. First the doctor.’ Finally she stood still and spoke clearly again, but her words scared me.
‘No doctor, please, no.’ I knew I was begging, but how could I possibly allow her to invite a strange man into the house who would examine my body and who would determine how far my pregnancy had progressed? It was unthinkable.
‘Auntie, don’t do it! I just need to think things over first, I’ll figure it out.’
Auntie’s eyebrows jumped up in surprise. ‘Think things over first? What is there to think about? You’re pregnant, child, whether you like it or not. What we need is a doctor who can examine you and determine how far along you are.’
I shot up and stood close beside her. I placed my hands on her shoulders and said very clearly: ‘No doctor. Please. I’ll count back and figure it out, really Auntie.’
She shook her head and I felt fear and disappointment.
‘The exact date is important, but it is just as important for someone to have a good look at you. We have to call in the doctor.’
I shook my head. I was being stubborn and disrespectful. I was afraid.
She sighed deeply and I could smell her breath. It had a hint of the laurier licorice she liked to nibble on every now and then. I knew I had won.
‘I’ll call Mien instead.’
Mien!
‘Is Mien still alive?’ Mien used to be a midwife and to my mind she must be as old as the large oak tree in the yard. She had helped deliver me, my mother, my aunt, and I suspected she had also been around at my Grandma’s birth but I wasn’t sure of that.
‘She’s still alive and as bright as ever. You won’t mind if I ask her to come?’
I shook my head reluctantly. I would have preferred to spend my days in seclusion within the safe walls of the farmhouse. But my confinement would come to an end and maybe sooner than I had expected.
Five days later Mien arrived. Auntie had sent her a message by post and she had, also by post, informed us of her arrival time. She had caught a ride with the postman and nimbly walked onto the yard. She walked just as quickly as she used to, and her short little legs moved with a speed that amazed me. Auntie Be had to laugh and assured me that Mien probably wasn’t quite as old as I thought. I had my doubts but wasn’t about to argue the point.
‘Maria, Maria. It’s been so long since I saw you last. You’re so grown-up!’ Mien was just as I remembered her, down to the flowered apron. The only difference was that I was now taller than the tiny midwife.
I let her embrace me, and a few of her escaped hairs tickled my nose and almost made me sneeze. I wasn’t sure what to say. After all, my belly spoke for itself.
At first Mien didn’t comment on it. She moved her basket to her other hand and followed Auntie inside. She had a seat in the kitchen with something to drink. Auntie Be and Mien caught up with each other about all the news from the area, and I sat with them, quietly listening and feeling my stomach protest. It felt like the nausea from the first few months had returned and I felt more and more miserable. My hands held
on to the tablecloth and felt for the fringes. My restless fingers started to braid and knot and braid yet some more.
Auntie Be didn’t comment on my busy hands, but suggested that Mien have a chat with me first. She had a few more chores to take care of, she said, so she disappeared outside and left the two of us together.
Mien looked me deep in the eye, silently, and then nodded slowly.
‘You don’t have to tell me anything, and I won’t ask you anything. Does that sound all right?’ she said finally.
Immediately my stomach settled down, and I inhaled deeply and exhaled even deeper as I nodded. My fingers relentlessly continued their restless braiding, but Mien didn’t seem to mind and for me it was a most welcome distraction to keep my hands busy.
‘I would guess you’re about seven months now,’ Mien said suddenly. She gestured for me to stand up and she placed her hands on my stomach, pressing her fingers in the skin here and there. She grumbled a little and nodded, next she fumbled around in her basket.
I was about to tell her that it was a bit more than seven months, but she was too quick for me. She grabbed a measuring tape and measured the girth of my waist. Again her hands moved over my stomach, but I felt no fear the way I used to when he touched me. I knew she was doing something different. She was looking for the child. In the end she nodded with approval.
‘Eight months is closer to it, isn’t it?’ She asked finally.
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