Mara (19 page)

‘There you are,’ he whispers softly as if to a sick child that just woke up from a feverish dream.

‘Maria!’ Auntie rose and puts her arms around me, which warms me more than all the hot water bottles she heaped around my body.

‘Auntie.’ My voice is no more than a hoarse croaking and I shut my mouth, startled. Has the water damaged my voice?

‘You’ve swallowed a lot of water and vomited a lot as well. Your throat must be sore.’

Only now I notice that she’s right and I nod slowly.

‘Do you think you can you sit up?’

I have to think about this question, and I focus my attention on my limbs. They are still trembling, but it’s less severe. I even feel some warmth that seems to emanate from inside me and not from the bottles that Auntie has put all around my body.

I nod my head but don’t speak. It is as if my body is no longer capable of doing more than one thing at a time. I know that after nodding my head I now need to do something. I turn onto my back so I can push myself up.

Then, as I push myself up with my feet against the end of the bed, it all comes back to me, the hands that touched me! My clothes being pulled off my body. The warmth I felt on my skin.

‘No.’ It is no more than a whisper and they both couldn’t hear it. No!

‘Go away, go away!’

My voice is louder now and they both look up, startled. Again I feel a trembling deep inside me, but it isn’t the cold this time, but a cold fear. I won’t look at Reijer again, but I wait to hear the sound of his leaving footsteps.

But instead I feel Auntie Be’s comforting arms around me again, and she lifts me up as she presses me against herself, and she sits me up against a pillow.

‘Maria, it’s all right, just calm down.’ She hushes me, and softly speaks kind words into my ear and strokes my hair. Somewhere there’s a vague realization that I hear indeed the retreating footsteps I had been waiting for and I now dare to open my eyes. Her face is close to me, and she smiles lovingly. Little wrinkles appear around the corners of her mouth and I can’t stop myself from speaking.

‘Those hands, my clothes.’ I can’t think of anything else to say, but she seems to understand.

‘You were wet and cold, Maria, deathly cold. Reijer helped me, but only with your gown and socks.

‘Those hands,’ I say again.

‘I was the one who touched you, darling, with my hands and with a towel. I had to rub you dry, rub you warm, don’t be upset.’

The sound of clattering cups tells me that Reijer has in fact not left, but is pouring the cocoa I had smelled earlier. I feel new shame when I realize that he has heard everything and must have understood my suspicion.

I look at him warily as he hands me a mug. His smile is friendly, not threatening. His eyes are blue, not black. His hands are soft, not forceful.

‘Thank you,’ I whisper.

During the following night I had fits of frightening dreams. My struggle with the water and those hands, the cold and the warmth, everything played a part but none of it made sense. When I woke up, Auntie was sitting beside my bed and looked at me with concern. She dabbed my forehead with a cold wet cloth, and every now and then she felt my pulse.

‘You’ve got a fever, Maria.’

I shook my head and told her that I didn’t feel anything, that I was fine. There wasn’t anything wrong with me, but before I could speak, my eyes fell shut and I was enveloped again by a new dream. He came to me and brought God’s wrath down on me with his accusations. I had brought this upon myself. Didn’t I know that Judas was burning in hell for his unbelief and betrayal, and worse, for the suicide he had committed? Was I planning on following his example? I should be grateful that someone had rescued me. He laughed shrilly and his cheeks glowed red when he told me what I had to do. My refusal infuriated him and I wasn’t able to resist anymore, so my hands did his bidding. My soul cried out and begged for deliverance, but there was no one who listened and the Reverend always did as he pleased.

I shut him out and again floated away on the water. Why had I not been allowed to stay there, to be carried away by the peaceful currents that could bring me to utter nothingness? A place where I didn’t need to be afraid anymore, a place where the Reverend couldn’t reach me?

Again I woke up and opened my eyes. I saw a vague figure sitting beside my bed, but couldn’t remember who she was. Was it Mother? My lips seemed to crack when I tried to ask her a question, and my tongue was like dried leather and I closed my mouth without uttering a sound. The heat that soared through my body took turns with a shattering cold. On those moments I had no idea where I was and why I wasn’t drifting. Wasn’t the cold supposed to make me numb and carry me away?

I shook my head from side to side and called out, but there was no one who listened. There never was anyone.

Later, Auntie told me that I had been hallucinating and thrashing about for three long days. She had sat at my bedside for those three days almost uninterrupted. Whenever she could, she fed me small amounts of broth, and she would often squeeze a few drops of water on my lips with a wet cloth. She had called for the doctor, but he couldn’t do much more than tell her that the fever simply had to break on its own accord.

Reijer had been the only one who assisted her. Every day he came by and took care of her chores so she could sleep for a few hours. He helped her run the farm, and it was because of him that she could stay at my bedside almost all the time. I frowned when she told me about this and wanted to ask her why a pastor would bother to do a thing like that.

But I said nothing, although the question kept circling round in my head. What kind of a pastor had the time to sit at the bedside of a church member – no, not a church member, but an unwilling, unrepentant, fallen woman? Why did he do that?

On the evening of the third day I opened my eyes and asked with a clear voice for something to eat. Auntie, who sat beside the bed, jumped up for joy and immediately left the room to prepare something for me. At that moment I had no idea of what Auntie had gone through, how much she had worried about me.

I turned my head to the side so I could look out the window. There wasn’t much to see, it was twilight and the oak tree’s outline was blurred. In a short while I would be able to look at the stars. Maybe I’d be able to see the moon too.

I heard Auntie’s footsteps on the stairs and I looked at the door. When she came in I smiled.

‘Why am I in bed?’

‘You’ve been ill, Maria. Very ill.’

I nodded and thought about what she’d said. I had a vague notion that the illness had been caused by cold. Slowly I remembered that I had walked into the water, that I had caused this illness myself, and that someone had saved me from drowning.

‘Why?’

It was no more than a whisper that passed my lips, but I trembled as I spoke and wanted nothing more than call Reijer to account for what he had done. Why had he come after me and pulled me out of the water? Why go through all this trouble for someone who has given up on life?

Reijer was at my bedside and auntie Be was downstairs. She had decided that I needed more rest, although I considered myself quite capable of going down to the kitchen to eat.

‘How are you now?’

Auntie had asked me the same question several times, yet it somehow felt different this time. Was it an accusation? I suddenly realized that Reijer must also have ended up soaked right through to the last thread of his suit, but he had not ended up sick.

‘I’m fine. Thank you.’ My voice was soft but clear. I had been eating and drinking more lately and my voice had become stronger because of it.

‘I’m very glad to hear that, very glad.’ He was silent and seemed to be lost for words. He held his cap crumpled up in his hands, his elbows were leaning on his knees, and he let his head hang despondently. He was silent.

‘Why?’ I asked him. ‘Why did you take me out of the water?’

His head rose up and I saw the pain in his eyes as he looked at me. His face seemed to age as I looked at it.

‘So it’s true,’ I thought I heard him say. He brushed a hand through his hair and made a mess of it. Then he answered me.

‘I saw you struggling in the water, of course I rescued you.’

‘You should have left me there.’ It was peaceful there.

‘You were struggling. I could see you were in distress.’

Struggling? I had no recollection of wanting to escape the water. In my mind and in my dreams I had always been peacefully embraced by the water and I had let it carry me to new worlds, to safe places.

‘I followed you and saw your hands splash above the surface. Then everything fell silent and there was nothing left but some ripples in the water. I ran towards you and pulled you out.’

Reijer continued, but it was more like a summarized account than an answer. It was as if he was trying to memorize for his own benefit how everything had happened. He sounded remote.

I closed my eyes and now I recalled the frightening sensation I had felt when I knew I couldn’t breath anymore. I had opened my mouth in an attempt to breath, but had tasted water instead. I had stretched out my arms to the heavens, and for a moment I had felt the dry air with my fingertips. Then I had let myself slip away into the cold water.

‘I think I ought to thank you,’ I said after a few minutes of silence.

‘You did already.’

Again Reijer fidgeted with his cap. He straightened it out, then crumpled it up again.

‘You’ll ruin your cap that way,’ I couldn’t resist telling him.

He looked at me in surprise, then looked at his hands and saw the crumpled wad he held.

‘Yeah.’

He straightened the cap out again and placed it on his knee. Then he looked up at me.

‘Why Maria? Do I have any right to know why you did it? Was it me, did I drive you to it?’

I closed my eyes and turned my head away. Of course he would ask that question, I should have known. Wasn’t it a pastor’s duty to address every sin committed by his flock?

What should I say in response?

I struggled with the possible answers I could give him, but Reijer didn’t wait and continued.

‘I don’t think you’re ready to confide in me yet, and maybe you’ll never be.’ He was quiet and held his hand out and took my hand in his.

‘Look at me, Maria.’

I shivered at his touch. I saw the large, rough, hairy fingers, and I thought of those other large fingers, smooth and soft. I closed my eyes, then opened them again. The sweat on my hand formed a thin, slippery film between the palms of our hands. I squeezed his hand with all my strength while I tried so hard not to run away again, even if just in my mind. I couldn’t do it though and I pulled my hand away with a jerk. I hid my face behind my hair and didn’t dare to look at Reijer.

‘You may not be able to trust me, but your aunt is a good woman. Tell her what’s troubling you. I’m convinced she’ll be able to help you.’

He waited until I met his eyes again and he nodded at me before he stood up, his cap in his hand again.

‘Goodbye, Maria.’

I closed my eyes, didn’t answer, and let him go.

20

I
t is strange how irrelevant and meaningless my former anger at Auntie now seems. There is nothing left of my hard feelings. Everything has been washed away by the water that carried me. I don’t think I am capable of feeling anger toward Auntie any longer. I understand some things better now. What I don’t know yet is what to do with my knowledge.

Instead of my child, a letter from the Reverend arrived. It was addressed to Auntie, but after she had read it, she quietly handed the letter to me. My eyes swept over the words, which were as unpleasant as his voice, but I felt nothing. No anger, no fear, no love, no longing. In silence I read the words that summoned me back home now that everything was resolved. In all of two sentences Auntie was thanked for her time and effort – there was no mention of repayment of her expenses – and if she could please drop me off at the station for my train journey home. I was expected to leave in a week, exactly six months after I had been sent off. Just like a parcel, return to sender.

The letter made me think about my future. So far, I had not had the courage to look beyond the next chore, but now I had to face the fact that I was expected home in a week. No, not home. That was not my home and it never would be. I was expected to return to my personal hell, under the watchful eye of god’s servant.

I picked up the letter again and crumpled it in a furious gesture. The crumpled ball of paper in my hand brought me no satisfaction and I straightened out the paper. Then I continued by tearing strips off it, tearing up the letter sentence by sentence. I ripped the sentences into words, the words into letters and the letters I threw into the stove. Ashes you are and ashes you’ll remain.

I would not return to that place. Not even for Mother, for she would continue to fail in her task of protecting me from evil, just like I had failed to be a good mother to Mara, despite my intentions.

I preferred to stay here on the farm, it was the only place where I had felt safe, the only place where I had been happy. But it was also the place where I lived in anger, although the anger was now starting to crumble away. My anger seemed to be no longer justified. It now felt more like an easy solution for an impossible problem. For, as long as I felt contempt for Auntie and blamed her, I was free to consider myself blameless.

‘Maria.’ Instantly I was aware of the pain that came through in that one word. As if I had been deaf and now suddenly could hear properly, it was her tone that spoke to me, not the word itself.

I looked up and met her eyes without really seeing her. If I were to stay, I would be living with this woman. I couldn’t throw up barriers and ignore her for the rest of my life. I could no longer turn away from her hopeful, loving heart. Right now was the time to make a new choice. Right now I had to face the question: which of the two will I be able to bear, his judgment or her love?

My hands slid over the fringes of the tablecloth and I slowly picked apart one of the braids I had twisted earlier. The envelope that the letter had arrived in lay on the center of the table, like a dividing line between us, between our two worlds. Finally Auntie was the first to move as she stretched out her hand to pick up her cup of coffee to have another sip. I followed her example and in silence we drank our coffee. The coffee was cold by now. When our cups were empty, I heard the scraping of her chair as she pushed it back across the tiles. I looked up and stopped her with my words.