by Rae Agatha
Matylda remembered endless discussions about the Bible, about God, always in the sense of being afraid of him, or awaiting the Judgment Day. All she was able to comprehend back then was that God was a severe master of the universe, ready to strike anyone that did not obey him, but, at the same time, he was the most merciful and loving thing, the creator who wanted nothing more but for people to love him, and never cared about anything else but to be cherished by them. The contradictory nature of this concept hadn’t struck her until she was in high school. Until that moment she was a good girl, the kind that would pray before going to sleep, help her mom at housework, keep her legs together while wearing a skirt and make sure her shoes were always clean.
In the town where they lived there was one wooden Catholic church and since Piotr Nowak was the owner of the sawmill, he did his best to have a good relationship with the parish priest who would often ask him to mend something; either to replace the roof with a new one, or to refresh the floors, or he would order new benches from time to time. To put it in a nutshell, Piotr Nowak had big orders from the church almost every year. Not to mention the presbytery where the priests lived;sometimes he would build new steps to serve the priests, sometimes the balustrade needed maintenance; it was a good deal living peacefully with the parish.
Matylda’s mom taught Polish and art, but her favorite subject to teach was religion. Since in Poland it was in Church’s power to delegate people to teach religion at schools, their methodological background and abilities were not too important - all they had to do was to keep on telling children about God – and since Ewa Nowak’s husband had had such a good relationship with the parish priest, the latter pulled some strings and Piotr’s wife became a catechist, a religious instruction teacher.
Due to the close friendship with the parish priest, both Ewa and Piotr did everything in their power to serve as an example of a perfect, flawless Catholic family in the town. Ewa would warn the children at school against Halloween, that it was in fact a devilish celebration, very dangerous for the children’s souls. She would strongly criticize them for listening to rock or heavy metal music or kick them out of the classes for wearing tees with their favorite bands which she did not approve.
Before Christmas there was a little controversy at school when some of the parents came to the principal to complain about Ewa for telling the kids that the paper chains on Christmas trees were nothing else but the representation of the serpent, one of Satan’s many forms, and thus should not have been hung on the them, that it was a sin. Many of the children became afraid that having an ornamented Christmas tree was in fact dangerous for their families’ salvation and begged their parents to get rid of them. The principal, who also cared about having a good relationship with the parish priest; because he would often organize fund-raisers for the school, told them Mrs. Nowak was probably joking and that the kids took it too seriously. He promised to talk with her about it, but he never did.
Ewa loved reading children stories about God, especially the metaphorical ones, those were her favorite. The one she loved in particular was about a telephone pole having a conversation with a tree and being envious that the tree was growing and thus being closer to God with every year, and the pole had no chance for a similar blessing.The tree would reply that God loved everyone, no matter how tall or short they were (apart from homosexuals, drug and alcohol addicts, prostitutes or infidels, she would always add under her breath). Amen.
The religion classes with smaller children were far more pleasant for her. The children loved all the stories, they loved drawing the portraits of Jesus and Virgin Mary, singing, participating in quizzes concerning the pope or the history of the Church. They would always come to the mass on Sunday. Ewa would often see them there and pray to God, thanking him for giving her the opportunity to help save their souls.
The older children, the middle school ones, were, basically, unbearable. They hardly paid attention to what she was saying, they would often ask her mean, inconvenient questions, like for example since God was almighty, would it be possible for him to create a stone he wouldn’t be able to pick up. They would listen to music or do homework during the classes; they would wear make-up or talk on the phones during lessons. No respect for her, no respect for God. Ewa would justify it by their dumb age, the hormones, but most of all, by the lack of proper upbringing at home. She would often look at them, girls especially, and would imagine most of them becoming homeless or prostitutes. Or both. Some of them, apart from wearing make-up, dyed their hair and almost all of them were unhealthily interested in boys. Ewa observed them and was more and more convinced, with every year, that first of all there was no help for those girls and secondly, that she would never let Matylda become one of them.
The Nowaks always sat in the front row in the church. They were the town’s elite; respected for their professions, for their friendship with the parish priest. Matylda’s parents claimed they never paid attention to it, although they certainly never opposed when they were regularly enlisted as the parish’s benefactors. They felt the pressure of being the model family, no matter if they were to bear the testimony of faith at home within the family or among people. They would always receive the Communion, they would never party or even listen to music during the Lent, they would go to church every Sunday, to the confession every first Friday of the month, would be present every evening on the rosary in May and October, donate money for flowers to ornament the church for the First Communion every year, they would always follow the priests during the Corpus Christi procession and arrange one of the altars in the garden of their home, they would always make sure their children would say their morning and evening prayers. Their son, Adam was an altar boy and they would often confess to the parish priest they wanted nothing more for their children than for at least one of them to discover, to feel ;priestly or nun vocation; nothing would have made them more proud and satisfied as parents. The priest would then tell them they needed to pray for that and rely on God’s wisdom, choices and decisions.
II
There were things they wouldn’t discuss at home at all including other religions or cultures. Some of the things were simply ignored by Matylda and Adam’s parents like her plead to attend dance classes organized in school or his interest in aikido lessons; dancing would inevitably lead to debauchery, martial arts were forbidden as they served as a threshold introducing harmful, from a Catholic perspective, eastern philosophies and could have led to being possessed by the devil. Ewa and Piotr’s kids were not allowed to read Harry Potter’s stories, watch television in the evening, they also had no Internet connection as it was too difficult to control and prevent the harmful content from spoiling the children.
One of the topics that were absolutely prohibited at their home was;sex and everything that was in any way connected to it. Matylda clearly remembered one morning when her mother went to Adam’s room to wake him up for breakfast. She quickly walked out and, visibly stirred, went to their father, whispered something to his ear, very upset. Piotr looked at her attentively, nodded his head, walked to Adam’s room and closed the door. He spent about forty minutes there, after which they both walked out, Adam with eyes red and swollen from crying, their father with a worried but determined look on his face. Adam went straight to the bathroom and Ewa came to his room and quickly changed his sheets. Matylda was observing this whole situation with a mix of interest and anxiety; she was very curious as to what happened, but at the same time, she had a feeling it was better not to know, because apparently it was something horrible, something shocking. Adam walked out of the bathroom about twenty minutes later, came to their parents and told them something quietly. The expression on his face was terrifying; he was guilty, embarrassed. Piotr and Ewa listened to what he had to say, the father patted him on the shoulder and the mother hugged him. All Matylda was able to hear, while observing everything from the kitchen, was Piotr telling Adam “not to do it again as it saddens Jesus,” who seemed horrified he had saddened
the Son of God. When he came to the kitchen to eat breakfast, she asked him what happened, but he only angrily hissed at her that it wasn’t her business. Since that morning, as a rule, neither Adam nor Matylda were allowed to have their doors closed for the night.
It wasn’t until years later that he would tell her he stained the bed as he experienced his first ever nocturnal emission; something that was beyond his control, but because he hadn’t known it then yet, and was immediately infected by the sense of guilt, it had caused him a massive amount of stress, shame and discomfort for years on.
A similar situation happened to Matylda when she was almost thirteen years old. She remembered the morning when she woke up with a strange, anxious feeling that something was wrong. It was quiet at home, everyone was still asleep, as it was Sunday. Matylda looked at the clock on her wall. 5:30 am. She tried to fall asleep again, but couldn’t. She sat on the bed, looked around. Nothing seemed strange or different. Then she realized she felt moist between her legs and looked at her quilt - it had a visible red stain on it. Matylda felt her heart beating faster as she was uncovering herself. Blood. It was everywhere. On the sheets, on her pajamas, some of it soaked through and stained the mattress.
She immediately jumped out of bed, looked at it terrified, not comprehending what was happening. Matylda looked at the floor and saw two drops of blood splashing on it, leaving red blots on the carpet. She panicked, started crying, ran toward the parents’ bedroom, rolled in and kneeled by her mother’s side.
“Mom! Mom!” She was crying shaking Ewa’s arm. “Mom, wake up, I’m dying!” She sobbed.
Ewa looked at her at first sleepy, but once she saw the expression on her daughter’s face, she immediately opened her eyes and looked at her.
“Matylda, for heaven’s sake, what are you doing?”
“Mom, I don’t want to die,” she kept on crying,
“What are you talking about, get up,” Ewa said and sat on the bed.
When Matylda got up, she spotted her pajamas.
“To the bathroom, now!” She said harshly and pointed at the door.
Matylda ran toward the bathroom. Ewa came after her, walked inside.
“Take your clothes off and take a shower,” she ordered coldly and went out. She came back seconds later, furious, closed the bathroom door and said angrily: “What did you do?! The bed, the sheets, it’s all ruined, nothing will ever wash those stains!”
“I’m sorry Mom, I didn’t know,” she was crying. Ewa realized
Matylda was unable to undress herself, her hands were shaking, so she quite brutally took off the pajamas of her, hurting her as she was pulling her hair while doing it.
“Get into the tub,” she said pointing at it. Matylda did as she was told and Ewa turned on cold water and started pouring in on her daughter’s head who was now screaming.
“Stop screaming, you’ve done enough,” Ewa hissed and roughly washed her daughter. When the bath was over, she handed her the towel and left the bathroom. Matylda was standing in the tub shaking of cold, not comprehending anything; neither what was happening to her, nor her mother’s emotions. She felt guilty of ruining the bed, guilty of making her mom mad, but most of all, she was still scared she was dying.
Ewa came back to the bathroom with the stained sheets in her hands. She threw them into the washing machine along with Matylda’s stained pajamas and turned it on. She gave her daughter fresh underwear and clothes and handed her a sanitary napkin.
“When you bleed, use this. Stick it to the inner side of your underpants. Change it two or three times a day.”
Matylda sniffed and took it from her, looked at it carefully; it was the very first time in her life she was looking at something like that. She was looking at her mother questionably.
“What, you don’t understand?” Ewa took the napkin, showed her the sticky side and attached it to her underwear. “That’s how you do it.”
“Mom, what is happening to me?”
She looked at Matylda, still angry, still unhappy.
“I’m sorry I woke you up, I had no idea what to do,” the girl said quietly.
“It will be happening to you every month now. Women – they function this way. It’s because the very first one of us disobeyed God. There’s no point talking about it, and we won’t, not now, not ever. You’re not dying, I can only tell you this.”
Matylda was looking at her, her eyes were wide open.
“Every month?
“Yes. You should write in a calendar when it happens, it’ll be easier to predict it then. We’re going to church in about three hours; make sure you pray to God and apologize him for all this; for my stress, for ruining things, and promise him you would never disappoint me like that again. Oh, and one more thing, what happened here, it might provoke you to look after boys now. Be careful, they’re not trustworthy. End of story,” Ewa walked out of the bedroom.
***
It wasn’t until almost a year later that Matylda found out that what was happening to her once a month was absolutely normal, that it wasn’t any punishment for sins, that it was called period and it was a sign that her body was now ready to become pregnant. The only reason why she found out was because she overheard girls from her class talking about it. They were exchanging their experiences, the information they had, as if it was nothing to be ashamed of, as if it wasn’t a sin to talk at such ease about it. That was the very first time a thought appeared in Matylda’s head that perhaps her mom wasn’t always right.
III
When Matylda was fifteen she started thinking about sex. Not often, but there were times she would catch herself on fantasizing, on allowing her mind to drift in the areas unknown to her yet, but very pleasant. She thought at first that maybe it was partially triggered off when she saw some boys from school reading adult magazine, looking at posters and photos that Matylda spotted as she was passing them by. The younger Matylda felt guilty about those thoughts at first, but the pleasant feelings and sensations that appeared with them were too tempting to let them go. The older Matylda thought it was caused by the fact she was maturing that it was as simple as that.
She experienced it for the first time one night when she was having an erotic dream. It wasn’t even anything precise, a collage of snapshots that made her heart beat faster. Matylda did not know what was happening but she woke up regretting it was over. The feeling that was accompanying her was so new and pleasant, she was mesmerized. At first, she felt remorse, after all, she might not have fully comprehended what it was all about, but deep down, under her skin, she knew it was something her parents would disapprove, most probably due to the religious reasons, just as always when they felt inconvenient or had no knowledge about something.
The moment Matylda realized the period had no evil meaning, that it was the most natural thing in the world for women, that was the time she started becoming suspicious if, in fact, her parents truly were right about the things they would teach her and Adam. She was becoming more critical with every year, had a feeling that some pebbles started falling down from the wall surrounding her built by Ewa and Piotr.
One evening, when she was about fourteen, she saw information in the evening news about a 3-year-old boy beaten to death by his parents. They showed a horrifying picture of the child on TV; there wasn’t a single spot on his body that wasn’t bruised or scratched. The anchorman also said the child had suffered from undernourishment and that its body indicated various forms of other physical tortures apart from beating. Matylda was watching all this in horror and remembered asking her parents why God did not help the boy or why he was born in the first place since his whole existence was limited to being beaten by the people that were supposed to love him most in the world. Her mother told her off for talking things dangerously close to blasphemy, that a single idea of questioning God’s wisdom and choices was a precedent uncanny at their house. Her father did not say anything, he just said that the only thing she could do now was to pray for the boy’s parents
so they could understand their sin and avoid going to hell. Matylda thought that hell was exactly where they belonged and couldn’t imagine helping them in any way, even if it only meant praying for them. It was a different story to pray for the health of a person’s loved ones, for the world’s peace, for a good test result even, but not for two psychopaths who killed their 3-years-old baby boy. Matylda kept on thinking about that boy, imagined how scared he must have been, how lonely and she thought if someone like that did not deserve God’s intervention, help, saving, then who did? It was so unfair, on absolutely every level, from every angle, she couldn’t sleep for a couple of nights as she kept on processing that news. Something wasn’t right; it made no sense, whatsoever.
She was curious of other people, intuitively felt there was more to life than what her parents would say and allow for. The older Matylda was, the more convinced she was becoming that the religious upbringing used fear as its main asset while shaping her life. Everything was basically coming down to being afraid of God, God’s punishment, God’s anger, God’s disappointed. It seemed to be the best solution for most of the problematic things that Matylda or Adam would ask their parents about. They were not allowed to go to a concert, to read a comic book, to go to the movies as the things they would listen to or watch might have caused God’s anger. Apart from the fact that it was ruining their teenager lives and relationships with their peers, at some point, it made Matylda begin to think that God must have been one crazy psychopath, punishing people for being, well, people. The whole idea of God losing his patience was somehow contradictory to his other merciful, loving and forgiving countenance but her parents never seemed to see any clash between those two things.