Mara

Critical Acclaim for
Mara

Mara
by Lisette van de Heg is in many ways a pleasant surprise.

[…] You are pulled into the story and sympathize intensely with the injustice done to main character, Mara. Lisette van de Heg is a promise, that will hopefully write many more beautiful books.

– EO (Evangelische Omroep)

The descriptions of [Mara’s] feelings are magnificent.

– De Waarheidsvriend

Abuse of power of a protestant spiritual leader did [in the novel’s time] not necessarily harm vulnerable children in boarding-schools, but their lust was aimed mainly at vulnerable women. Lisette van de Heg dared to portray such a young woman and to show the poignant consequences of sexual abuse. She knows how to do this credibly and without giving cheap solutions, […] a spirited book by a committed author with unmistakable talent.

–
Lydeke van Beek,
Protestant.nl

Author Lisette van de Heg has drawn the main character with great emphatic ability. Mara is the victim of abuse and has been brainwashed completely by the culprit. It is Mara’s own fault. God is very far away. God belongs to the perpetrator, who calls the abuse a punishment from God. This spiritual destruction is an added crime besides the abuse of crossing physical borders. Van de Heg is able to narrate very visually, without verbiage. She has written a credible, hopeful novel about life after abuse.

–
Martha Aalbers,
Nederlands Dagblad

The main character of this story goes on through a credible growth and the author does not easily brush off the major questions of life. […] Her novel holds the reader’s breathless attention thanks to an excellent build up of tension in the story, the smooth wording and an exact character drawing.

–
Enny de Bruijn,
Reformatorisch Dagblad

Mara

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Heg, Lisette van de, 1983-

[Mara. English]

Mara / Lisette van de Heg; Inge van Delft.

Translation of: Mara.

Issued in print and electronic formats.

ISBN 978-1-77161-001-8 (pbk.).--ISBN 978-1-77161-002-5 (html).--

ISBN 978-1-77161-003-2 (pdf)

I. Delft, Inge van, translator II. Title. III. Title: Mara. English.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

Pubished by Mosaic Press, Oakville, Ontario, Canada, 2014.

Distributed in the United States by Bookmasters (
www.bookmasters.com
).

Distributed in the U.K. by Gazelle Book Services (
www.gazellebookservices.co.uk
).

MOSAIC PRESS, Publishers

Copyright © 2014, Lisette van de Heg.

Originally published by Uitgeverij Vuurbaak/Plateau, Barneveld, The Netherlands.

English language translation copyright © 2014, Inge van Delft

Printed and bound in Canada.

Cover design by Eric Normann.

Cover photo by Samantha Villagran (
http://www.freeimages.com/profile/sammylee
)

ISBN Paperback 978-1-77161-001-8

ePub 978-1-77161-002-5

ePDF 978-1-77161-003-2

Mosaic Press gratefully acknowledges the assistance of the OMDC (Ontario Media Development Corporation) in support of our publishing program.

MOSAIC PRESS

1252 Speers Road, Units 1 & 2

Oakville, Ontario L6L 5N9

phone: (905) 825-2130

[email protected]

www.mosaic-press.com

Mara

Lisette van de Heg

Translated by Inge van Delft

Other titles by Lisette van de Heg

Noor,
2011

Sub Rosa,
2012

Later,
2014

For more information on the author, please visit:
http://www.lisettevandeheg.nl
/

‘He heals the brokenhearted
and binds up their wounds.’
 
(Psalm 147:3)

1

I
t was still pitch black outside when it was time to leave. I had not been able to sleep at all. Slowly I dressed myself for the journey that lay ahead. I would have to dress warm for this cold, dreary night. With every layer of clothing I added another protective barrier for my body. Then I pressed my hand against the cold glass of my bedroom window as I looked out one last time. The heavens were weeping.

My mother, however, did not shed a tear. She still refused to even look at me and did not speak a word. I reached for her, hugged her and I hoped for a word, a gesture, a kiss. But there was nothing. She was like carved marble, devoid of any emotion. At last I kissed her on the cheek and let go of her. I clenched my teeth and turned away from her to pick up my suitcases.

I didn’t take much with me. Just my clothes, a wedding picture of my parents (for years I had kept this hidden away), some writing paper and a pen. Nothing but small items, and I realized that my existence was so insignificant that I could pack it up in a couple of plain suitcases.

I opened the door and stepped out into the rain with my suitcases in hand, and a travel bag hanging off my shoulder. I started to walk and did not look back, for I knew the Reverend would be following me. The sound of footsteps behind me confirmed this. He would accompany me on the first part of my journey.

He did not speak a word. We walked the path around the manse, through the gate, into Hooghe Breet Street, past the little white church, toward Harbour Street. Our footsteps echoed loudly in the dark, deserted street. It would not be this quiet in Harbor Street. Fishermen would already be hard at work there, and just about ready to set sail.

I shivered when a few raindrops fell in my neck. The silence between us was broken only by the sound of our echoing footsteps and the rain pouring down from the rooftops beside us. The silence was like a humming sound in my ears. It grew louder and louder to the point where I wanted to cover my ears with my hands and shut everything out. But I could not. I had two suitcases to carry. So I just waited for his words of admonition. But still no words broke the silence. I took a deep breath of relief when I saw, in the distance, the first flickers of hurricane lanterns. People. Voices. Noise.

One last time I glanced back over my shoulder, to the past, and I wished my mother were there behind me, loving, as she used to be. But she was not there and I turned again to look ahead of me. There, in front of me, was my future. My mother would no longer be a part of it. I had come to realize that much. My mother had chosen him, and nothing could change that.

Finally he broke the silence, and also my thoughts of mother, with his commanding words.

‘Give me your suitcases, Maria.’

Of course, we had to keep up appearances. Outward appearances were always so important to him. He was always concerned of what others would perceive.

‘Here you are.’ I had to stop myself from dropping the suitcases right there and simply keep walking. Instead, I stopped, and handed him the suitcases. Even though I was wearing gloves, I shuddered when our hands briefly touched. I looked down at the ground and waited for him to start walking again. There was only a short distance left to go.

When we came to the end of Harbor Street, the smell of seawater and fish welcomed us. Also the sounds of men shouting, chains rattling and here and there a starting engine drifted our way. These were the sounds that would accompany me on my journey. I obediently followed the Reverend as he walked up to a cutter bearing the name ‘Coby’.

‘Good mornin’, Rev’rend!’

‘Pieters.’ The Reverend nodded slightly, but his shoulders tensed, and I could tell that the thick local dialect annoyed him. I never did find out why he had agreed to accept the call to preach in this distant corner of the country. He could not possibly have expected to find educated people living and working here?

‘Mornin’, Maria.’

‘Good morning, Pieters.’ My voice was no more than a whisper, but Pieters did not seem to notice. He gestured for us to come aboard and he took the suitcases from the Reverend. He showed me the hatch and started to open it, but I shook my head. I preferred to stay on deck despite the rain. Below it would be dark and stuffy, stifling and lonely. Pieters chatted with the Reverend while pointing me toward a place in the center of the cutter where I could take a seat, in between the barrels, which normally would transport the cutter’s catch of mussels. I ignored the conversation, and strolled along past the barrels, toward the bow. Canal water lightly sprayed upwards and mingled with the continual rain.

‘I am leaving now, Maria. Take good care of your aunt.’ I had not heard him approach me and I started. Playing the part of a loving father he leaned toward me and kissed my cheek. At the same time he hissed a vicious word in my ear. I shuddered and couldn’t hide it from him. He remained very close to me and smiled down at me.

‘You know it’s true,’ he whispered. ‘You’re no better than Helène.’

His breath singed my skin and I wanted to get away from him, but there was no room. There was only the rail. And the canal. An impossible possibility since I couldn’t swim. My eyes searched for Pieters, but he was busy and didn’t concern himself with us. I did not want to breathe in the smell of the Reverend, and tried to hold my breath.

Finally the Reverend took a small step back, and with relieve I breathed more freely. He kept staring at me intently and expectantly, until I realized what he was waiting for.