Mara (16 page)

‘The people who came to pick her up seemed really friendly. Your father wrote to me that they were unable to have children of their own and that they were overjoyed with this arrangement. It is the best for everyone concerned, Maria.’

‘Not for me.’ I hadn’t realized that I spoke the words out loud, but Mien responded immediately.

‘For you too. You’ll find a husband, you’ll marry and have more children. This wasn’t your one and only chance, Maria.’

Didn’t she understand that I didn’t want that at all? That my body belonged to no man, that I didn’t wish for marriage and more children, but only for my child? The child I had delivered after so much pain?

I let Mien leave without saying goodbye to her. My thoughts kept coming back to those few words she had spoken. Your father. Your father. Your father. My child was gone, given away to a family only the Reverend knew and I was under no illusion that he would ever tell me who they were and where they lived.

I faced the window and looked at the oak branch that moved slowly in the wind. My last hope just burnt to ashes and was carried away on the wind of truth. Unreachable.

‘Did you know about it, Auntie, did you give her the address?’

‘Your parents’ address? Yes, of course.’

‘So you knew?’

‘I thought that it was what you wanted, Maria.’

‘Then why did I have to love her?’ My voice cracked when I remembered the moment I could feel her, my hand on my stomach, a short moment of contact.

‘It isn’t good to hate.’

‘Now I hate all the more.’

Auntie was silent, we both were. She patiently offered me a bowl of soup, a spoon, and a napkin. In silence I started to eat.

‘Maria.’ Auntie began, then stopped, and began again. ‘Maria, if I had known…’

She stopped and I didn’t ask further. What use was regret to me?

I finished my soup and Auntie took the dishes from me. She kissed me on my forehead, bade me good-day and left my room. I refused to answer her and I turned my head away from her kiss. When the door closed behind her I lay down again to look out the window.

I saw clouds, thick gray clouds and I knew it wouldn’t be long for the rain to come. I closed my eyes and I dreamed that I was blown away with the ashes of an incinerated body. I flew tumbling through the air. I grasped around me, trying to catch as much of the ashes as I could, trying to make something new of it. I was looking for new hope. My eyes swept over the fields I flew by, but because the wind blew me so fast I wasn’t able to see anything clearly. All I saw were vague black dots where cows stood, gleaming mirrors where there was water, but no baby anywhere. The distance was too great. And she was too small.

I shouted and stretched out my arms. I kept searching until I was blinded by a thick cloud of dust. I stopped tumbling in the air and fell straight down. The earth rapidly came closer. The wind whistled in my ears and pulled at my clothes that were flapping about me. I closed my eyes and resignedly waited for death.

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was the empty space where the cradle had been. I knew that there was nothing left now that could remind me of the existence of my child. Everything was gone, thoroughly removed. Pulled out like a weed.

My body was young and strong, and after a few days already I felt strong enough to come out of bed.

Auntie Be took me by the arm and carefully guided me to the kitchen, while keeping a close eye on me with every step I took.

‘Here, sit down now, girl.’ She gently pushed me in Grandpa’s chair and I carefully lowered myself.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Fine.’ My breath came in short bursts and my voice was hoarse.

‘In a few more days I’ll feel like my old self again.’

Auntie nodded. She turned and walked to the teapot simmering on the stove.

‘Would you like some tea?’

‘I’d love some, Auntie.’

I didn’t know what else to say, words between us had become pointless. Just the sound of my voice was an accusation, no matter what words came out. She placed the tea beside me and sat down in silence at the table. I looked about me and it was as if I saw everything for the very first time. The pots on the shelf, the little bundles of dried herbs hanging of the beams, one of Grandma’s embroideries. The embroidery was of some wise words I never understood as a child, but I knew the meaning of them only too well now.
Do unto others, as you would have them do unto you.
But was there anyone in my surroundings who had taken these words to heart? Maybe I should also stop conforming to other peoples’ wishes, but simply do what I wanted and no longer obey those who considered themselves to have authority over me.

We sat together in silence and I looked round me, drank my tea and thought things over. Every now and then I would glance Auntie’s way and to me it seemed as if she had shrunk, shriveled up. She sat quietly and lonely at the table with the six chairs. But not lonely enough.

How was it possible that this woman had collaborated in this betrayal? I had grown to love her, she had slowly started to fill the hole left behind by my mother as she had withdrawn herself more and more over the years. So, again I felt emptiness, such bitter emptiness.

‘The tea was nice, Auntie.’ I reached for the newspaper that was on the table and pulled it toward me. I started to read, ignoring Auntie, but the words on the paper didn’t interest me much. I read about a tramp who had been taken into custody, I read about the growing unemployment and about people in financial trouble, but how important could money be compared to the love I had for my child?

As I read, Auntie pottered about in the kitchen. I suspected she’d probably like to talk to me if I would give her the chance, but I kept reading, ignoring her presence. In the end she left the kitchen and I could hear her wooden shoes clip-clop through the attached barn. She would find comfort with her cows and she would have no shortage of other things to keep her occupied after that.

Now that Auntie had left I could close the paper, and I stared out the kitchen window without seeing anything. My breasts hurt and I could feel moisture escaping. Reluctantly I rose, slowly. I had to get back to bed. Just then Auntie returned to the kitchen.

‘I’ll walk with you.’

Auntie came toward me and hooked her arm solidly into mine. She smiled at me. I looked at her in silence and clenched my teeth hard together, because inside my head echoed all the words and accusations I wanted to shout at her. But not a word crossed my lips, and her eyes told me this may have been the harshest accusation of all.

17

S
even days passed in a whirl of thoughts and dreams. I slept many hours of the day, and when I was awake, all I could think of was Mara. Each day my body ached less, my breasts were less full and the pressure became less as my milk dried up. But every now and then I still felt the, by now so familiar tingling sensation and I still regularly had to change my undershirt because the milk had started to flow again. I cherished every stain and wished the milk could keep coming, so I could feed her when I would have her back.

Auntie looked after me very well. She was kind as always and baked something special for me almost daily. The meals were nourishing and substantial, but I often pushed my plate away as soon as she had left the room. We didn’t speak.

Auntie tried, but I couldn’t find any words to say to her. Every word I thought of got tangled up in hatred and I couldn’t get it out of my mouth. She had let me down so very much and there was nothing left of the easy bond we used to have. I also couldn’t think of Reijer without feeling betrayed by him, and every time Auntie told me that he had asked about me, I would turn my head away, close my eyes to lock them both out.

After the seventh day I decided I was strong enough to get up and stay out of bed for the day. I didn’t talk to Auntie about it, but simply picked up my clothes in the morning and got dressed. Auntie was in the kitchen baking pancakes. My arrival didn’t seem to surprise her. She greeted me kindly and soon enough we sat down at breakfast together as if nothing had happened in the last week.

The only difference was our silence.

In the end, after reminding me three times not to tire myself out, Auntie left to do her work. I didn’t respond and just stared at her, waiting for her to leave. She left soon, but quickly returned with a book that she put on the table in front of me. Then she left for the barn and I warily picked up the book and opened it. The words just danced in front of me and wouldn’t form sentences. Where would Mara be? How could I be sitting here reading a book while I should be looking for her? I tried to figure out a way that I could find her back, as I had been trying so often these days, but every time I ended up with the same problem. Without help I wouldn’t be able to find her, and there was no one willing to help me.

Then I heard her crying.

With a jerk I was pulled out of my contemplations and I sat rigid in my chair. Incredulously I lowered my book slowly and stood up. I held my breath as I listened closely, wondering if I would hear the sound again.

Yes, there it was again!

She was near by! With relieve I started to laugh out loud, a noise that sounded very strange to my own ears. I turned around on the spot and tried to locate the origin of the crying I had heard. On my socked feet I started to walk through the kitchen. A hot burst of anger at Auntie, who had been responsible for all this, flashed through me, but it was quickly chased away by the joy I felt when I heard the crying again. It came from upstairs, I had to go up.

With two steps at a time I ran up the stairs and I threw open my bedroom door and stood still at the threshold. No, of course, not here. Not here. I had to look in Auntie’s room. I returned to the little hall and pushed down the door handle as carefully as I could. The door creaked open and I looked inside. At once I saw that there was no cradle, no child.

But the crying…

I closed my eyes and concentrated again. The sound was still there, but now it seemed to be further away than before. I closed the door of Auntie’s room and slowly climbed down the stairs. Had I really been mistaken?

Maybe she was in the front room, or in the ‘opkamer’, the little room above the cellar, or in the cellar?

I entered the kitchen, determined to search the whole house, but Auntie was in the kitchen and looked at me with an odd look in her eyes.

She had lied to me!

‘Is something the matter, Maria?’

‘No, nothing at all.’ My voice quivered, but I looked her straight in the eye and forced her to think that nothing had changed.

‘I made some tea. Come sit down.’

Obediently I sat down. In silence we drank our tea. My anger grew and grew. Did Auntie really think she could keep this secret from me? I could hear my own child crying and she sat here beside me, drank her tea and acted as if Mara was no longer here. How could she do this to me?

I poured my tea from the cup into the saucer so it would cool faster and I drank it as quickly as I could. Then I pulled at the little fringes of the tablecloth and quickly made little braids. Three strands entwined, four, five, six. I tried all sorts of combinations and impatiently pulled at the strings that wouldn’t stay put. Finally Auntie had finished her tea and left the kitchen. I waited a short while until I heard her wooden shoes clip-clop in the barn and then I got up to.

The crying had stopped, but I knew what I had heard. I knew she had to be here somewhere. I first checked the front room. Nothing.

Then I searched the ‘opkamer’. Nothing.

The cellar next. Nothing.

Again I went upstairs and this time I also checked underneath Auntie’s bed and also underneath my own. I pulled open the closets to look for her. Then I remembered the third door and I went to the hayloft. She could be anywhere!

I returned to my room to get a lamp. I lit it and returned to the hayloft. I started on the left, the side where we had found the cradle, and I searched the loft yard by yard.

But there was no child.

Defeated, I slowly climbed down the stairs. I returned to the kitchen. Then I remembered that I hadn’t searched the attached barn. As I searched I held my breath and kept my ears alert. I had heard her, maybe I would hear her again.

But there was nothing.

Without hesitating any longer, I stepped into my wooden shoes and went out to look for Auntie. I found her in the garden and when I called her she looked at me with hope in her eyes and a smile at her mouth.

‘Where is she, Auntie?’

Her face turned pale, and her smile disappeared.

‘What do you mean, Maria?’

‘I heard her.’

‘Who did you hear? What are you talking about?’

‘Mara is here, isn’t she? Bring me to her.’

I went up to Auntie with large steps, my hands on my hips and ready to take her on. She couldn’t take my child from me.

‘Mara? My child, she isn’t…’

‘I heard her crying. I could hear her crying, Auntie, don’t deny it.’ I swallowed my despair and remained strong for my daughter’s sake.

‘You must have imagined it, there is no child here. Mien took her away.’

‘Don’t lie to me!’

She shook her head, and I stamped my foot on the ground. Then I turned around. I would look for her myself, as long as it would take for me to find her. I stomped over the yard and kicked at the chickens and the dog. I threw the doors open and pulled everything out of everywhere. I searched every corner of the farm, all day.

I found nothing.

And at night, in bed, after a silent meal with Auntie Be, I still thought I heard her crying. From somewhere deep. I listened intently. The sound remained constant, even when I covered my ears with my hands and hid under the blanket. Then I realized that the sound was in my head. The sound was only inside my head, securely lodged inside.

It was all I had left of her. She was gone.

Forever gone.

18

W
hy is it that the woman I have grown to love and trust, has turned out to be a traitor? Sometimes she looks at me and her large eyes speak to me. I see regret in her eyes, but I don’t know if it is regret for what she has done, or regret for what has come of it. Our relationship has turned cold. I only speak to her when I need to. In the end she has turned out to be just like the rest of them.