Mara

by Mara (v5. 0) (epub)

  ‘They’re not coming for a friendly visit, Auntie.’

  The words that crossed my lips sounded as harsh as I meant them, but it didn’t seem to faze Auntie. Still humming she shaped the dough into a ball. The dough looked smooth and perfect, as it always did when she baked something.

  ‘At least they’re coming.’

  ‘Yes, they are.’ I turned away and walked out of the kitchen. She didn’t understand, and wouldn’t understand. She would have a shock, the moment she would see my mother, but by then it would be too late.

  Carrying a basket, I plodded along to the garden behind the farmhouse. Auntie once told me that Mother had planted that garden, and she had even tried to tell me that Mother was unequaled in talent in the kitchen, but I had gradually come to the conclusion that she and I were talking about two different women.

  Regardless, I had discovered that I enjoyed working in the garden. The whole winter we had enjoyed turnip, black salsify, parsnip and curly kale. Now, throughout the summer season, strawberry plants and several kinds of berry bushes would supply us with their fruit.

  A few weeks ago we had planted the first seeds for the summer vegetables in small containers filled with dirt. They stood in a row in the kitchen. We made sure we kept the dirt moist and soon I could see the first signs of green shoots pushing their way through the dirt towards the light. Auntie had shown me which of the plants could be transplanted into the garden first and yesterday I had planted and watered them.

  There was a tall fence, grown over with blackberry bushes, that separated the vegetable patch from the little orchard with its plum tree and several varieties of apple and pear trees. The blossoms had flowered abundantly a month earlier and the first buds of new fruit promised a good harvest.

  The only question was, would I be around to enjoy it all? Mother and the Reverend were coming to take me away from here, away from this garden, I knew that full well.

  I crouched down, dejected, on one of the steppingstones that were spread around the garden, and I started to pull away the weeds that had come up. The frost was now completely gone from the ground, and it had been sunny for several days after last week’s rain. The soil was still moist. My hands stirred up the moist dirt and I pulled the weeds out with precision, shook the dirt off and threw the weeds in the basket.

  I had to take care that the herbs weren’t choked by weeds. My gaze swept over the lady’s mantle which had withered during the winter, but new leaves had been lying in wait for more sun and new hope. Despite the cold, the little plant had survived underground.

  If only there was an underground reserve for people to draw strength from when troubles arose. The only one who could help me was Auntie, but she was completely blinded by the anticipation of being reunited with her sister. Could I warn her and at the same time gain her support?

  My hands hurried on while my thoughts busied themselves with the problems I had to deal with. My thoughts circled around the same problem continually. I needed Auntie’s support, she was able to stand up to the Reverend and convince him that I should stay here.

  But Auntie wasn’t gearing up for a confrontation, the only thing she was looking forward to was a reunion with the sister she hadn’t seen for so long. She was expecting a happy homecoming. How could I prepare her for the shock and at the same time convince her to help me?

  I didn’t pay attention as my hand grabbed a small nettle and it stung me viciously. In anger I yanked the plant out of the ground and threw it in the basket, but in doing so it stung me yet more. My hand throbbed and burned and I looked around me for something to alleviate the pain with. In desperation I dug my hand into the cool, damp soil and I let the cold numb the pain to some extend. I looked up and shouted my frustration at the heavens.

  The pain persisted, but I pulled my hand out of the dirt and continued with my work. Wilder now, I roughly pulled young shoots out of the ground and ripped them. I knew that I was leaving the roots behind and the weeds would return, but I didn’t care. Finally I sank down on my knees and hid my face in my hands. I curled myself up, tried to brace myself and ignore the thing I feared, but the images kept coming back to haunt me.

  ‘Mother, why are you so quiet?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You used to be different, we would play together, we would drink our tea and have some cookies. We would pick wildflowers and brighten up the house with them.’ I could have given her more examples, but Mother sat quietly shaking her head, her knitting needles moving faster yet. I said no more.

  ‘It’s all vanity. Nothing but vanity.’

  ‘Is it wrong to do those things, things we enjoy?’

  ‘You listen to the Reverend’s preaching when you’re in church, then you’ll know the answer to your question.’

  But Mother, I miss how it used to be. Is it really better like this?

  I didn’t say the words out loud, how could I have? But inside my head I told her everything, and she would listen to me and pull me to her bosom and comfort me. Then she would speak her mind to the Reverend and shake her fist at him in my defense. Then the light would switch on in the darkness and expose his sins in her presence.

  Then we would walk out of the manse together and leave him behind, alone.

  ‘Don’t you miss those days?’ I tried one more time. Maybe, if she said yes, maybe I would find the courage.

  ‘No.’

  I fell silent and we sat together without speaking further. That night the Reverend came to my room and I knew she wouldn’t hear me, wouldn’t rescue me. She didn’t miss those earlier days. I did.

  My knees were wet and sore from kneeling on the ground. The Reverend would come, despise me and humiliate me. And then, when we would return to the manse, everything would go on as before. How could I face him when he’d arrive? I knew I would tremble and stutter, I would obey his every wish. Hadn’t I always done that? Never had I stood up to him or ignored his wishes. Would I be able to now?

  Again I concluded that I needed Auntie’s help and I decided to ask her. First I would tell her about the situation at home, that would convince her, and then I would ask her for help. If necessary I would beg her. I couldn’t return to that place, I just couldn’t.

  I stood up and stretched my sore limbs. My dress was muddy and wet. I beat the mud off as much as possible. Lumps of mud fell on the ground, but the cloth of my dress stayed moist and cold, my whole body shivered, but the thought of the difficult conversation I was about to have made me warm again.

  I was afraid that I would offend Auntie with the things I was about to tell her, but I reminded myself that she would be offended and hurt regardless. Mother’s arrival would be disappointing, because the image she had of her was not the reality. Would it then not be better for me to tell her in advance, so she could be prepared for what was to come?

  I had made my decision and returned to the house, carrying the basket full of weeds on my arm. A tangle of roots, every little plant tangled up with another.

  22

  The truth. Is the truth cruel or justified, honest or cowardly? Should I burden Auntie with what I know? I want to tell her about all those unread letters, and sometimes a little voice inside me urges me on to tell her not only about that, but everything. Absolutely everything.

  When I crossed the barn and headed for the kitchen the aroma of Auntie’s baking welcomed me. It made my mouth water, but knowing that this cake was made for the person I feared most of all, spoiled my appetite. I kicked off my wooden shoes and they landed against the wall.

  ‘Everything all right, Maria?’

  Auntie’s voice came from the kitchen and I knew I should step inside quickly or she’d come out to check on me, wondering what had caused the loud thump against the wall.

  ‘I’m fine, just a moment. I’ll be right there.’

  I felt short of breath, but I wanted to enter the kitchen in a calm frame of mind. I had to come across reasonable and convincing, not as if I was driven by some sense of ri
ghteous piety. If I wanted to gain Auntie’s support, I had to convince her not only with my words, but also with my attitude. It was important that she wouldn’t doubt me. In my mind I rehearsed what I wanted to say, even though it wasn’t much. There were just a few simple facts that I wanted to share with her, enough for her to know that it wasn’t going to be a happy reunion with her sister.

  I smoothed my hair with my fingers, straightened out a lock of hair that had escaped from my bun, and took a deep breath. Then I opened the door to the kitchen, and immediately forgot the words I had meant to say. On the table was the result of her love and trust, cooling off. It was a wonderful apple cake and I knew it would taste delicious. All for them.

  What would happen if I would raise my hand and swipe the cake off the table, so it would end up broken and spoilt on the floor?

  I looked at my feet. They were covered in thick woolen socks and I raised my toes one by one, then lowered them, just to distract myself from that traitorous cake. Auntie skillfully covered the cake with jam, a thick layer, and she looked up when she was finished.

  ‘Would you like to try a piece, Maria?’

  She already had the knife in her hand, and plates on the table. She seemed to be unaware of my reluctance, didn’t seem to realize what she was doing.

  ‘After all, we’re not sure exactly what day they’ll come, so we might as well enjoy a few pieces of this cake. If the cake is finished before they come, I’ll just bake another.’

  That was just like her. Not for a moment would she wonder to herself why she should go through so much trouble for her sister’s visit. She just did. How could I possibly convince her?

  ‘Would you mind if I prepared your room for their stay? You could share my room for the time being?’

  I had not expected this at all and I froze, unable to respond. I stared at the cake while I thought of their bodies in my bed. My bed!

  ‘No. No. I do mind. I don’t want them to come, I don’t want to see them, I don’t want to hear anything about it!’ I began to talk louder and louder until I furiously shouted words into the kitchen. They seemed to bounce off the windows, returning straight to me, tormenting me with their truth.

  ‘NO!’

  I lost all control, my foot stepped forward, my hand swung back and then forward again, my mouth shouting in fury. I swung my hand exactly where I wanted it to.

  The cake pan clattered onto the floor, chunks of delicious smelling cake flew through the kitchen, against cupboards. Auntie shrieked in alarm and my hand returned to my side. I saw apple and cake in places where there shouldn’t have been.

  Everything fell quiet and my mouth closed shut in shocked silence.

  What had I done? I saw how a lumpy mixture of apples and raisins slowly oozed down the pan rack, leaving a slippery trail behind, until it reached the edge and dropped onto the floor.

  I sank down to the floor, picked up the cake pan and began to scoop the pieces of cake up with both hands. I picked up chunks and put them back into the pan. I crawled across the floor on my knees and found more apple and raisins, stuck on table legs, on cupboards, on seats. My tears fell on the floor and my dress rubbed them away as I shuffled across the floor. I pressed the pieces into the cake pan, tried to re-shape them, tried to fit them like puzzle pieces. My hands were sticky with sugar and jam, but I paid no attention to it, I kept trying to put the cake back together.

  I didn’t dare look up at Auntie.

  I stayed on the floor, my head bent over the baking pan, my eyes gazed at the shapeless mess. I couldn’t bake a new cake, I had never made one myself. The few times that I had helped Auntie in the kitchen I had done more damage than good, so there was nothing I could do for her.

  I sat on the floor, defeated. Auntie would be furious with me. Any moment now she would give me an ear full, pick up her bible and read admonishing verses to me, put me in my place and punish me.

  I wanted to shield myself from her fury and my fear, I wanted to cover my ears and eyes with my hands and slip out of the kitchen, but I knew I had to wait for her. She was the one who had been offended and I was to blame. This time there was no doubt whatsoever as to who was guilty and deserved punishment.

  I was alerted by the scraping sound of a chair being moved. My muscles tensed as I waited in silence for what would happen. Two feet came in view and I could tell she sat down. Another moment and I would know what my punishment would be. I closed my eyes and waited.

  In my mind I heard the Reverend’s voice teaching me about the ten commandments, placing extra emphasis on the fifth commandment. A shiver went through my body. What would she say?

  A deep sigh finally broke the silence that had lingered in the kitchen from the moment that I had thrown the cake off the table in anger. The sound of her sigh pierced the fear that surrounded me and I dared to slowly lift my head.

  Auntie Be sat on a chair, her legs a little bit apart, her elbows on the table, her head in her hands. I saw how she brought a finger to her cheek and slowly scooped off a sticky lump of cake that had ended up there. She put the finger into her mouth and sucked it clean. She closed her eyes and didn’t say a word until her mouth was empty.

  ‘Delicious.’

  No! It’s not delicious. It can’t be, it mustn’t be.

  ‘Don’t say that.’ I said with trembling voice.

  ‘But child, this cake is delicious. You can say what you like, but I know how to bake a cake.’

  ‘It’s disgusting.’ I forgot my fear for her wrath and thought of the Reverend and hated him.

  ‘The cake may be in pieces, but it still tastes very good, believe me.’ She reached with her hand and scooped up another chunk.

  ‘I want to destroy him.’ That was what I wanted, destroy him in full view of his god and his congregation, crush him, dump him down the cesspool, leave him to choke on his own stinking despair.

  ‘This cake is already destroyed, Maria. Destroyed, but still tasty.’

  ‘Filthy, will never be clean again.’ We’re virgins until our virginity is taken from us, after that there is no way back. Something is torn, forever, irreparable. Broken pieces are all that’s left, filled with little bits of hope, until that hope is gone too and nothing is left at all. My anger and fear struggled, and words chased each other around inside my head like mad bees chasing out intruders. Then I finally opened my mouth.

  ‘He always came to me. When mother was away. When mother was asleep.’

  I sank back onto the floor and wrapped my arms around my knees. Slowly I rocked myself while silent tears rolled down my cheeks and fell down. They left salty circles on the red tiles. I left them, uncaring.

  ‘I did call for her, really. At first out loud, but later in my head, I would cry out, but not even God heard me.’

  I remembered large hands, heavy breathing.

  ‘I deserved it, he said. “It’s the will of God that I punish you,” he said. He was cruel, he hurt me, and he turned me away when in the end…’

  Mara!

  Her calloused hands pulled me toward her and she sat down on the floor beside me. I kept rocking back and forth. Back and forth, back and forth.

  ‘Oh, my child, oh, my child.’

  ‘Mother did nothing. She didn’t hear me. I think she didn’t hear me. I don’t know.’ The words left my mouth faster and faster, now that all my worries came out in the open and I could hear them with my own ears as I spoke them out loud for the very first time.

  ‘He is her father and he took her away from me, he took everything and gave nothing in return.’

  Back and forth, back and forth. New tears fell on the tiles, new stains, salty spots on the floor. People would walk over them, the spots would be covered up by dirt and in the end they would be scrubbed away with a brush and soapy water. Nothing would remain of them.

  ‘It started a long time ago already and sometimes it seemed that life had always been that way, as if I had not had a happier life before. But I knew that things used to be different,
this farm used to be my home. I was happy here with Father and Mother, Grandpa and Grandma, and with you. Until he came and they married. And now he’ll return. He wants to take me back to that house.’

  ‘Oh, my child.’

  ‘I don’t want to give him any cake, don’t want to give him a place to sleep, don’t want to give him food to eat.’

  Back and forth. My buttocks hurt, my back felt as if a heavy weight had been weighing down on it for days, but I couldn’t stop rocking. My fingers had let go of my shoulders and I had taken hold of the hem of my skirt and pulled and twisted at it. The fabric bunched up between my fingers, and then I straightened it out again, just to start all over again.

  ‘He can’t have any cake.’

  ‘I won’t give him any cake, darling. I won’t.’

  I was silent. My heart seemed to return to its proper place, no longer high in my throat, choking the words before they left my mouth, but further down, in my chest. It hurt, everything hurt.

  I was silent. What else was left to say? The pieces that constituted my life were lying about in this now dirty kitchen, apple, shame, cake, raisins, rape.

  ‘I am so sorry, Maria. So sorry.’

  Auntie stroked my back, tucked some loose strands of hair behind my ears and wiped a tear from my face. I looked at her and saw her cheeks were wet and I realized she also had left her tearful imprints on this floor. Her tears were blending with mine. I cried as I wiped them away with my hand, I tried to take them away, but all I did was make moist smudges on the floor.

  We leaned against each other in silence, on the hard kitchen floor. Finally Auntie broke the silence. Instead of remaining quiet and moving on to regular daily tasks she asked the first question.

  ‘When did it all start, Maria?’

  I swallowed hard as I considered her question. If I closed my eyes, all I saw was the torment he put me through again and again, but when exactly had it started?

  ‘I think it started when I… got older.’ Did I have to tell her that he had come to me when I had had my period for the first time, at the moment that my body began to show the shapes of a woman? That he at first only touched my developing breasts, and that the rest all came later? Did it make any difference?