Baba Lenka

by S E England

  Grandma Hart made a bit of a fuss. We watched the two women through Nicky’s bedroom window, their arms folded in the street, both still in aprons and slippers.

  “Bet you she says yes, though,” said Nicky.

  “She won’t. I’ll be forced to eat rats’ tails, you’ll see.”

  “Rats’ tails?”

  “Dark brown soup with rubbery bits in it.”

  She screwed up her face for a minute, then the sunshine broke through the clouds and she, like her mother, threw back her head to laugh. “Oh, you mean oxtail soup?”

  “Aye, that’s it.”

  Turned out my gran did agree. I knew why, too – because I hadn’t eaten a thing save a couple of toast fingers with black treacle on them for nearly a week. Two-day-old kidneys were never going to go down my throat in a month of Sundays, and nor was warmed-up tapioca or sliced tongue. The sound of their eating had become increasingly disgusting with every meal. From the never-ending tinkle of tea stirring, the monotonous ticking of the clock, and the succession of slurps and gulps and swallows, it was going to send me stark staring mad. One day I’d run round the room smashing everything in sight, and then it would be the funny farm for sure – from where there was no release. Everyone knew that. The doctors wore white coats and stuck a needle in you, and that was you done.

  Instead, Nicky saved my sanity. And Mrs Dixon put meat on my noodle bones.

  It was so different at their house – with constant music and chitchat – and the food was a delight. That first evening, it was white chicken breast pieces in a spicy tomato sauce. We had the strange banana thing, and then Mrs Dixon put records on. Up to then I’d only heard what was on the radio at Mum and Dad’s – The Carpenters, Gilbert O’Sullivan, Cat Stevens – and Grandad Hart only played military band music. But after tea at Nicky’s, her mother got up and danced. She was a big woman, but her hips swivelled, and the beat was infectious. Initially I sat there, flummoxed and red-faced, stomach swollen with chicken and rice and bananas…but then, well, once you’ve discovered Tamla Motown, ‘Needle in a Haystack’, ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough’, ‘Can I Get a Witness’, and the rest, you find what Lenka called Lebensfreude – the joy of life. And I never wanted to go back to my grandparents’ house ever again. If only it were possible to just move in and stay with the Dixons forever.

  Very quickly we became just as close as little girls are wont to be. It still took months, though, before I confessed to anything more serious. Nicky had a way of pressing for information, a real truth-seeker if ever there was one. And she needled away about my illness, what had happened with Maxine, and where my parents were. So I told her a little. Mostly, I related the nightmares. I never told a living soul about the funeral in Bavaria, but the dreams I was having every single night, well, I told her about those. I told her about the haunted house in Leeds and the wardrobe door creaking open. And then I told her about Lenka – that the ghost that had crept out of the wardrobe was slowly revealing her story in dreams.

  “It’s schizophrenia,” she said decisively. “There’s them in our family who’ve got it.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Yes, it’s where you hear voices and see things other people can’t.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not that.”

  “Well, what is it, then? You said this lady speaks to you at night and you can see her but no one else can.”

  “Aye, but it’s not like hallucinations. That’s what the doctors said, and they gave me pills to stop it happening, but they just knocked me out so I couldn’t even move! And it made it worse. It’s real, Nicky. I don’t expect you to understand, like. But it’s real. She’s real. It’s not madness. I’m not mad, honest.”

  “Well, what about a split personality, then? I think we’ve got that in t’ family an’ all.”

  “No, it i’n’t that. Because I only see her when I’m asleep. It’s only when I go to sleep that she appears, right? I mean, like down to every detail. And not only that, but there’s a story, a whole life story, and it isn’t like a dream where you don’t remember much when you wake up – with this, every single bit of it stays with me. It’s like it actually happened to me personally and it’s a memory not a dream.”

  “That’s right weird, that is.”

  “She doesn’t frighten me anymore, either, not since I let her tell me her story…”

  She was frowning. I’d said too much. She wouldn’t want to be my friend anymore now, would she? And the thought of that was unbearable. We’d been together at her house every day since we’d met. I’d put on weight. Gran was saying I could go to school again soon – at the one in the next village. And I’d found something I loved to do and could do well – I could dance. For the first time since Bavaria, life was colourful again, and it was all thanks to Nicky.

  She stared for a while, then seemed to make up her mind and put her arm around my shoulders. She smelled of spices and soap. “I’ll tell you summat now, but you keep your gob shut about this, Eva, right?”

  “Yeah, course.”

  “I mean it.”

  “I swear.”

  “On your mother’s life.”

  “Yes, I swear on my mother’s life, and my dad’s.

  “And Sooty’s – you said you thought a lot about that cat.”

  “Aye, and Sooty’s life, then.”

  “Right, well my mum does voodoo. It’s where you get a doll and stick pins in it. And sometimes she dances after drinking this special brew and goes into a trance. She does it with my auntie. I’ve seen them.”

  My eyes were out like organ stops. “Bloody ’ell.”

  “So I know, like, what you’re saying about ghosts is true. There are spirits, Eva. But you’ve got to be right careful because there are bad ones, really bad evil ones.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, you know how you were saying she scared you, this old woman, when she were coming out o’ t’ wardrobe? Well, the really bad ones mean to scare you and scare you bad. At first, they pretend to be your friend or a dead person you once knew – to get your trust so you let them in. You can send them to other people an’ all and make evil things ’appen to them, but once you work with these evil spirits, you owe them your soul, right? You can’t go back, not ever. So you have to decide. And me, I want to be with Jesus. I’m just saying.”

  I looked back into those chestnut eyes for the longest time. How could I tell her? How could I tell her it was not only far too late to decide, but there had never been a choice? That whatever force was behind Lenka was now channelling through me? That with every drip-fed dream, the story lost a little more Lebensfreude – and dipped its quill into a darker pot of ink for the next chapter? Invited…accepted…

  She took my hand. “I’ll always be here for you.”

  “Thank you.” She seemed older than time, far older than me, anyway. But I wondered if she would be if she had any idea what was coming.

  Her eyes searched mine, seeing what others could not. “I see the wolf in there, Eva. And I’m still here for you.”

  Good people did exist, people who saw the darkness in others and still loved them. She was one of them. And I think in that moment a tiny part of my spirit was preserved – a locket buried deeply inside an attic chest, safely stored until the time was right.

  My eyes, Eva’s eyes, prickled. The only way, the only course ahead, was to live as Eva Hart by day and Lenka by night – the sun and the moon. I could and would keep them separate for as long as possible, at least until the story was told. Then maybe Baba Lenka would leave me alone? I mean, that was what she wanted, right? All she wanted…

  But of course, I had no concept of how unspeakable, evil and inconceivably horrific the story would be. If I had, perhaps even at that late stage a different choice might have been made.

  ***

  Part Two: Baba Lenka

  ‘Weaving spiders, come not here.’

  Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act 2, Scene 2. Shakespeare.<
br />
  Bohemian Grove.

  Chapter Eleven

  Wolfsheule, Bohemia

  1890

  The day after Lenka Heller turned sixteen, her mother called her into the kitchen.

  “Daughter, there are things you need to know. You are now of age.” Indicating a seat at the opposite side of the table, she poured them both a cup of honey mead.

  Lenka looked over her shoulder at the sweet autumnal day she’d planned to spend with Oskar. Apples weighed down the trees, and the air was heady with ripe fruit and warm earth. He lived in a wooden house on the nearby lake. Known as Teufelssee, the expanse of water was still and dark even in summer, with mountain mists shrouding it for much of the year. In her mind she was already running through the forest to meet him on the shore.

  “Sit down!” her mother said again.

  Lenka sighed. “Can’t it wait? I wanted to—”

  “No, it can’t. Come, drink some mead with me.”

  She slumped onto a chair and took a sip. Laced with spices and vodka, the liquor shocked her throat, and she gasped. Her mother had never given her alcohol in her life. This must be serious. “I suppose this is about boys?”

  “No.”

  She took another sip and tried not to cough. “Mutter, I know about, you know—”

  “Lenka, this is not about boys. This is about your family, where you come from and who you really are. It’s time you knew.” Clara took a deep breath before downing her own cup of mead in one.

  “Who I am? But—”

  “You have asked many times about…about your abilities.”

  Lenka frowned. “And you have always refused to answer.”

  “Yes, because you were too young to know. I wanted to put it off for as long as possible, to allow you to enjoy your childhood. But now your grandmother is very ill, seriously so, and this cannot be delayed. I’m not sure how much longer she can hold out, and there are things you must be told.”

  “This grandmother I have never seen? Where is she? What is she dying of? She cannot be so old—”

  “Not so old, no. But she is riddled with the worms of disease and weakens by the day.” Clara dipped her head. “I am sorry you have never seen her, but there were important reasons. It was not easy to be around one such as her.”

  “So where is she? How do you know all this if she is not here?”

  “So many questions.” She poured herself another cup. “Drink yours, Lenka. You will need it.”

  “Why? Why will I need it?”

  “Because I am afraid for you. You have to be prepared—”

  “Mutter, I don’t understand any of this.”

  “Your grandmother lives far away, in Romania. That is where I was born. I left because of what my mother carries and because soon it will be what you carry, too – call it a legacy – and it is this you must be prepared for.”

  Lenka drank the mead, beginning to relish the warmth spreading through her veins. Now her dark grey eyes met her mother’s head-on. “Prepared for what?”

  “To receive your gift. Some will say gift, others might say curse. But it is an extraordinarily powerful one. A generation, sometimes two, will be skipped depending on the lifespan of the carrier, but it is passed down the female line of our family, and there is nothing that can be done about it. As such, you are to inherit Baba Olga’s gift – soon, possibly within days.”

  “And this gift concerns my abilities? But I already have it – I know things about people without being told, I hear whispers and thoughts and—”

  Clara Heller shook her head. “No, no, that’s child’s play. So you see ghosts, know what’s about to happen before it happens, hear a voice telling you someone’s inner secrets. So can many a gypsy. Those tricks are easy. Even I—”

  “Yet you told me to keep it to myself.”

  “Yes, because look, Lenka – see what happens to those who admit such things. There are people who can still remember the massacre of witches. Look how they ripped those women from their homes and tortured them in filthy jails. This was the worst-affected area in the whole of Europe – nine hundred just in this country, more than anywhere else in the world. Churchmen accuse us of worshipping the devil. So, yes, keep it to yourself. But know this: what you think you have is nothing, nothing at all to what will soon be yours. We, you and I, are not German like your father. Your father comes from the Black Forest; his father before him made clocks! You and I are from a caravan of wanderers still looking for their place on earth.”

  “I thought you said you were from Romania.”

  “Your grandmother gave birth to me there and stayed awhile. The rest of the family settled around her, as they would. It is where the family is at this point in time.” She poured them each another cup of mead. “But now your grandma is dying, and so we must go there; this is what I am trying to say. You especially must be there at the end, so she can tell you what you need to know.”

  “But that will take days, weeks!” Thoughts of Oskar filled her mind, and her eyes widened, the words catching in her throat as the implication set in. “No, I want to stay here. I don’t need to know these things, and I don’t want to go all that way—”

  “Enough. You will go. There are matters that must be directly passed on – this is real, and—”

  “I know it’s real, Mutter, and I am not the least bit afraid of it, either.”

  “You know nothing.”

  “So you keep saying.”

  “Ach, you cannot imagine how important this is. What you are about to inherit is thousands and thousands of years old, from a force older than human time. At the very least you need to be informed and prepared because the very power of it could kill you if you don’t control it. Lenka, I cannot stress enough—”

  “I’m not frightened of this. I speak to demons all the time and get them to do stuff for me. I have the boy I want, I have beauty, and I have power already. I do not need to see my grandma – this woman I have never met. It will take days to get to Romania, and I do not want to go.” She stood up.

  Clara’s voice rose. “Sit down at once. I have not finished. Listen to me! You do not know everything; you are just sixteen, and we are talking about your heritage, your own grandmother. Have respect!”

  Reluctantly, Lenka sat down, twiddling her empty cup around and around.

  “I shall start again. Your grandmother did not use the powers she was given, and, as such, her body has been unable to withstand the dark energy. She has suffered disease from the age of a child and is tormented day and night. It is not good to be around her. I could tell you things, terrible things, of her tearing out her own hair, shouting at invisible demons day and night, vomiting back all her food, writhing on the floor in terrible agony, and sometimes I would find her, when I was a small child, Lenka, so imagine this…I would find my mother crumpled in a corner, clutching her head and screaming with the pain, covered in running sores, just begging the demons to leave her alone. She said there were not just dozens of them but hundreds around her, waiting for commands she would not give. The pressure would mount and mount, until the family had to hide her for fear she would be locked away in a hospital for the insane.”

  “This will not happen to me. No, I will not go.”

  “If you do not go, then the same fate awaits you without doubt. You have to know what you are dealing with. You need the information so you can make your choice. Lenka, I do not know how to help you because, whether you like it or not, this is coming your way.”

  Lenka hardened her jaw and turned away from her mother’s pleading stare.

  “How come it missed you out? You see things, you hear things, you have the house filled with herbs, and I see you making spells—”

  “Yes, we have second sight, all of us. But the legacy I am talking about is a sorcery of the darkest kind. Sometimes it will be passed on, or received if requested, from a dying sorceress. But the most powerful sorceress is the one who is born with it, a Bluthexe. As soon as a sorceress in the bl
oodline is dead, the full power must be transferred along with all the demonic servants allocated for her bidding – or it will follow her into the afterlife. You know other realms exist; you know it well. But what we have in our family is a direct channel to the force behind the darkest entity of all.”

  “Why is this in our family? What is this caravan of people who never settled? We are gypsies, then, yes?”

  “Not originally. I believe, from the elders and from my mother, we come from Russia, but that is far back in time. Since then, we have travelled through all of Europe, and now here you and I are in Bohemia. From here I feel we will eventually move west. Yes, much further west—”

  “Always on the move, why?”

  “Because…because we have to…”

  Lenka frowned. “I do not understand. And what is the purpose of these demons that are not invoked? What do they want with us, apart from to torment us to death if we don’t work for them?”

  “No, it is not to work for them. It is they who work for you. You are the one who lives – a mighty sorceress with a powerful channel from the dark source directly to humans, to God’s creation.”

  “So what do they want from me?”

  “To destroy God’s creation, Lenka. That is your fate. To dull the spirit of mankind or, better still, destroy it. This is hatred of God Himself, do you not understand? Evil beyond anything most people could ever comprehend or wish to. Which does not mean it doesn’t exist, of course.”

  Lenka’s eyes widened as they sat there in what had felt, until moments ago, like an ordinary day - the farmhouse kitchen scented with wood smoke and the door open to the fragrance of falling fruit.

  “So now you see, don’t you?” Clara said. “How important it is that you visit your grandma on her deathbed. Why you must know what to do. Or do you choose illness, madness and a lifetime of torment that will surely follow you into the hereafter?”