by Nōnen Títi
“Promise.”
After dinner that evening, Granannie decides that we’ll all sit in the summer room, since it has more space. “This time I will tell a story,” she says. “It’s the story of how we came to be this big family on this lonely farm. There’s been some talk lately about giving it up. It is getting too much work, and Will and I certainly don’t need this much space, yet it has been home for so long. The other option is that we hand it over to some of our children. Now, I’m not a storyteller like your grandfather, so bear with me.” She leans back in her easy chair. Miranda cuddles into Grandpa Will’s deep armchair. Mum shares the sofa with Nikos and Uncle Charl has the beanbag. Jerome and I sit on the floor between them.
“I guess you all heard about old Alistair Paterson, who came here in 1898 with a young wife and baby daughter. He was a labourer, struggling to make a living, housed in a shack without proper protection from the weather. It wasn’t the cold that caused problems; after all, they were used to that. It was the heat of the summers that they couldn’t bear. Two sons were born in that tiny hut before it went up in flames with their four-year-old girl inside it. The next house was a little better, but no luxury with four growing boys. They worked day in and day out to make enough to secure a piece of land for themselves and over time the land they owned has grown to what we have now, most of it after Rurik took over. He was the third son and your great-grandfather. I won’t go into much detail, but all four boys went to Europe to fight in the Great War; only Rurik returned and he brought back with him his wife, Marie, seven years older than he was, pregnant, and without a word of English. The baby she carried was stillborn. Another died in infancy, after which they had six life children including myself, your grand-maman Beth and Grandpa Glenn.
“The story I want to tell you is that of my mother, Marie. The farm was a lot of work and Rurik wasn’t an easy person to begin with. She had no social life and no relatives willing to help her out. We grew up working hard, and though our mother did teach us, we never had any formal schooling. This was a place full of immigrants, since cheap land away from the coast was all they could afford. Most of them had a different culture and a different language than we did. As I said, Marie never learned more English than the very basics. The other women were stuck in exactly the same situation, but cultural bias and superstitions kept them from meeting on a friendly basis.
“Just before the war – the Second World War – a relative came over from France. He was eighteen and at risk of being recruited. This was, of course, your grandpa Jerry. I was only thirteen then and hardly interested in this new farmhand, but my mother adored him; finally, somebody other than us children she could talk with about more than bread and milk. Sadly that joy lasted barely four years. Jerry openly spoke out against Rurik encouraging my brothers to join the army. Alistair didn’t have much choice, but Stuart went because my father said it was his duty. He called Jerry a traitor to his country and said he was a coward and no longer welcome. So my mother lost her one companion along with her sons and then she lost me. I blamed my father for sending them, for his hypocrisy, and joined Jerry in town. He worked for a doctor and got me a cleaning job in that same house.
“After the war Jerry’s parents arrived and brought along our two orphaned cousins, Sabine and Will. They were still children then. My mother took them in and raised them. During the next nine years I trained and worked as a nurse and I would hear what went on at home through my cousins. I’m sure my mother was kept up to date about my life, so she would have known that I married Jerry, but she wasn’t allowed to attend. My father refused to recognize our existence and so when Marie, your aunt Marie, was born, my mother didn’t get to see her namesake. She suffered in silence but she didn’t disobey her husband. My sense of honour found that so unimaginable that I refused to give in to my siblings and cousins when they tried to pressure me into a secret meeting. I thought she should fight for her rights.
“You see, it wasn’t just Rurik who was what Grandpa Will calls a stubborn old fart. Apologizing to my father was out of the question regardless of the suffering I caused her. She never got to see the baby, nor the second one, who we called Gerard after Grandfather Leclerq, deliberately skipping all Paterson links. To make a long story short, my mother died of heartache without having ever seen a grandchild. Will and Beth, who were expecting Rory, married in silence while in mourning. My father became a bitter old man, possibly because he, too, felt guilty, and died six years later. Beth and Will moved back to the farm, but I only returned here after Sabine died in childbirth so that Beth wouldn’t have to bring up five children on her own. This was a year before Charl was born.
“Since then we’ve been five adults and all decisions were made by majority vote. This was Will’s idea, to keep me from dominating. You see, in my opinion, this family has been both cursed and blessed. The Paterson curse is this streak of stubborn unforgiving that won’t allow us to say sorry or admit a wrong. The blessing is the Leclerq side, though like my mother, Beth would have considered it a curse. Their inability to make a stand against pressure, always afraid that people wouldn’t accept them, afraid to express their anger so much that it made them physically ill, and yet with a great sense of individuality that was suppressed. Sensitive and yet capable of intense hate, the supporter as opposed to the dominator, who stood behind those she loved despite her own wishes. That is, until somebody went too far. In a moment of total rage Beth stabbed my father after hearing that Stuart had died. She walked out of the house, apparently calm, took a knife and stabbed him. At that point my mother took Beth’s side and it was Rurik who had to beg them both to come home. In my mind, though, Beth wasn’t cursed. I think she was blessed with the most beautiful personality ever. Now I need hardly explain which of you inherited my curse and who is blessed with Beth’s.
“Well, thanks very much then,” Uncle Charl says.
“You weren’t so much cursed as spoiled rotten,” Granannie retorts. “You gave your mother a hell of a time. One thing about a curse, however, is that once you know about it, you can prevent it from taking over. That isn’t always easy. Jerry and Will both stopped me many times from going too far. So now you know. We won’t allow you to hurt others with it anymore, Mariette, because in the end you hurt yourself more and that hurt, if kept inside, is very destructive. Your grandfather has gone over there to see what can be done to sort out the mess.”
Shit. “There isn’t anything to sort out. I’m not going back there next year. I’m not signing any more contracts. I won’t this time.”
“Tut, tut, tut,” she replies.
“Neither am I ever going back. She already hurt everybody anyway. I want to stay here. Can’t you get Dad to take over the farm?” Miranda asks.
In spite of her dig there, I might suddenly have an ally in my little sister. That hopeful notion lasts until Mum starts to drown it. “No, we can’t. You will both have to go to school, if not there then somewhere else, but we can’t live here.”
While Miranda pouts I decide that this little sparkle will have to learn to swim really fast, because I’m not giving up on this chance yet. I support Miranda, mention Jerome’s idea about homeschooling and remind Mum of how miserable and lonely it will be if the neighbours won’t talk to her, just like Granannie’s mother.
“Maybe we could move.”
“But every school is the same. The same problems will happen in the next place. You heard Granannie; I haven’t got a choice except to argue the system and-”
“Hold it right there! Your grandmother said you would have to learn to control it, not start using it as an excuse to get what you want,” Nikos says to me.
“But it could take years to learn it, so in the meantime we could get kicked out again. Soon there won’t be any neighbourhood left to go; just our name will be enough…”
“I think we’ve heard enough out of you; you can go to bed,” Granannie says.
“But it isn’t even nine yet.” I can’t come up with somethin
g more intelligent so fast.
“I wasn’t concerned with the time. I was referring to you manipulating the conversation not even five minutes after I told you I won’t let you use it against people anymore.”
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not, and I want you to go to bed.”
My grandmother has also just told me that she has that same stubborn streak and with that, that she won’t give in, but I don’t want to be sent away like a small child in front of my mother, uncles and little sister. “I never go to bed before Miranda.”
Jerome nudges me to stop arguing, but how can I possibly just stand up and go? …And how can I not? This is my grandmother telling me, the one I respect; the one who won’t hesitate to repeat her words with her hands if I don’t go, and that in front of Miranda.
So I go, glaring at Mum, closing the door just a little too hard. I imagine them smiling about me. I can’t do this. I’m not going back to sitting in the principal’s office with Grandpa Will. They won’t let me anyway, but I’m not going anywhere else either. I need to get out of here.
I take a few steps up the stairs, stamping my feet and then tiptoe back down and go out the door, closing it without a sound. I crouch under the window to get to the back of the house where the path to the village starts behind the shed. Not that I’m intending to go there; I have no money.
“Mariette?”
Shit. I pretend not to hear him and keep walking – a little faster. It isn’t even fair. He took my side, but here I go again. His footsteps speed up, gaining on me, so without meaning to I end up running.
“Mariette.” He reaches for my arm, but I jerk away, feeling guilty as I do it. It’s dark by now, but I can make out the path in the vague moonlight. I have no idea where I’m going.
I end up going nowhere, because he manages to get a hold of me the second time and I land on the floor with a bit of a crash. Before I can do anything he sits on top of me.
“You once asked me to stop you from going too far; well, that’s what I’m doing, Mariette. It isn’t your fault,” he says.
I try to push him off until my hands hit the ground beside my head and I can’t move anymore. “You don’t understand.”
“Maybe I do. Maybe you’re more like my dad than we both realized. He ran, Mariette, but it didn’t work. You were right that doctors and pills didn’t help my dad. What helped him was Grandpa Will putting the hurt on the outside and I think that could help you too.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do, because you tried to make Mr Fokker do it, but he isn’t in the right social position. It wouldn’t be fair.”
“Could you just get off me?”
“Not until you promise to come home with me.”
“I’d lie anyway.”
“Then I won’t move. We’ll just stay here forever. Is that better than dealing with it?” he asks.
“But it won’t help. Nothing will. I wouldn’t even care if they hit me or whatever, but it’s useless.”
“Why?”
“Because it won’t turn back the clock, will it?”
“It wasn’t you who caused him to die, Mariette. People get heart attacks. There’s no guarantee he wouldn’t have had one if this war had never happened.”
“No guarantee he would have, either. It’s still Schrödinger’s cat; he won’t come out of the box alive.”
“In which case we’ll have no choice but to destroy the box, Mariette.”
“Why? You don’t have to worry that I’ll kill myself. If it would help get him back… But even that won’t work.”
“So does running away bring him back?”
“No.”
“Then don’t run.”
As if that’s so easy right now. His body isn’t heavy, just warm and his eyes are smiling, but not like those other times. This is the Jerome from last night. I study the Milky Way above us. It’s peaceful here, silent and safe.
“Do you remember my poem, Mariette? Could you let me be your rein? I promise you that I’ll stick it out in that school with you if I have to.”
“Really?”
“Really; just promise me that you won’t run.”
I give in then, because he’s right and I can’t resist this offer. The others are in the kitchen when we get back. I don’t look at Mum, but I can sense her relief. “We’re going to bed,” Granannie says.
I climb the stairs ahead of my grandmother. We get changed in silence. She doesn’t look at me. What I expect is a lecture once we’re in bed, but even that doesn’t come. I can’t do this again. “Are you angry with me, Granannie?”
“What I want is for you to reassess your priorities, Mariette. Respect for other people is vital; it’s vital for a person’s self-image. Remember what you said about the boys treating you like bait and the school seeing you as an irrelevant number? I believe you’re treating your mother like a servant. You talk about integrity, so consider what you are doing.”
With that she turns over and leaves me to feel bad all by myself.
On Wednesday we return to Doomsville. We leave right after lunch. I say goodbye to Miranda first. “Try to talk her into living here, will you? She’ll listen to you.”
Mum embraces Jerome and gives me a quick kiss. “Please listen to your grandfather,” she says.
I’d like to remind her that I still have a father too, but I bite my lip. “You just have a good holiday. Don’t worry, I’m not totally stupid either.”
“I never said you were stupid. You just have a habit of doing stupid things.”
“Thanks for the compliment, Mum.”
Since we’re all meant to come back for Christmas, I tell Granannie that I’ll see her soon.
“I want you to remember something, Mariette: I want you to remember that we all love you, each in a different way. If Grandpa Will gets angry, it will be with what you do or say, not with who you are. There’s a huge difference.”
“I know that.”
“Good, because many people nowadays can’t see that. Your mum and dad have to be parents in a society that disregards the differences between behaviour and a person. So they’re way too tolerant out of fear of losing you, even if Gerard should know better, and I think he does. Like Alison, they try to be modern parents and are pressured by the general opinion. That might be why you and Stuart were left with hurt and guilt over that night. Glen and Toine didn’t have that problem because they paid their due. I want you to remember this when you get back and forever after.”
“What is everybody trying to prepare me for, Granannie?”
“You work it out; you’re not dumb.” She kisses me goodbye.
During the ride home Uncle Charl and Nikos are talking about the farm. “I can revive her herb garden to grow the ingredients for soap and shampoo and sell them over the net,” Uncle Charl says.
From the conversation that follows I conclude that they’re planning to live on the farm. Jerome looks at me and I know that he’s thinking what I am.
“You don’t have to feel obliged to keep your promise,” I tell him. “You have to choose to live with your family. It’s only fair. Besides, no school will accept me anyway.”
He doesn’t respond to that, but I sense his relief. At home Dad and Grandpa Will have sandwiches ready for all of us. Kathleen is there too.
“What’s with this skipping school all week?” she asks.
“We were at the farm. When are you going to Europe?”
“Probably in February. Dad found a little hotel in the south of France, dead cheap. It needs a lot of work, but we’ll start all over.”
“Lucky you.”
“Yeah, lucky. We’ll finally be closer to our relatives; I always envied you for that. And we’ve got French lessons every day with a tutor, but I think I’d prefer your grandpapa teaching me.”
Grandpa Will grins at us from above the two-thousand-piece jigsaw he’s got spread out over the table. “That’ll be for you,” he tells
me when Dad stands up to answer the doorbell.
Mr Fokker smiles at my surprise. “So what are you, in the pen awaiting Christmas, or will you survive?” he asks, and sits down next to Jerome.
“I was actually hoping it would be Christmas before you could ask me that question, just so I could pretend it never happened.”
“Do you remember what you told me when I first asked for a sequel? …So how is it you knew that but you still went and made the same mistakes, even after your grandfather warned you of the consequences more or less literally?”
“Because I’m stupid?”
“Good point. Or could it be that people only learn from experience? And if they do, then you might be fortunate to have had your lesson when there’s still time to start over.”
“But there isn’t.”
He sighs and shakes his head slowly, as if agreeing. “I could take you to see Cheryl sometime next week. Did you know she has your poems waiting for you?” he asks Jerome.
“Yes, I was going to visit her. I just wasn’t sure.”
“I’ll take you.”
“What will you do now?” Kathleen asks him.
“That’s what I came here for. I’d like to have your permission, Mariette, to use some of your essays in a book I’m hoping to write about those ever-repeating events in history that keep being excused with all the words you discussed. I’ll call it ‘According to the Dictionary’ and my first reference would be to you.”
“Really? Yeah, sure you can use them. I still have your other book.”
“You can keep it. You might need it for your studies. You see, I’ve been offered another job recently. It seems that some students were kicked out of high school and since they’ll be living on a farm far away, they’ll need a private tutor.”
“For real?” I look at Dad and my uncles, who don’t contradict it.
“Yes, and since I was going to write a letter of recommendation for those same students in case they ever want to get into a course somewhere, I’ll have to make sure that my standards are extremely high. You’ll beg to be allowed back to school.”