Mara (28 page)

‘What a shame,’ I said hoarsely.

‘I’m convinced that your place is on the farm, with your aunt, so I can’t help you.’

‘You mean, you won’t help me.’

‘I can’t.’

I closed my eyes and shrugged my shoulders, I turned round and wanted to walk away from her, but she was quicker and put her hands on my shoulders.

‘Your place is with Auntie Be, that’s where your home is.’

30

F
or days Sister Olivia urged me to return to the farm. She didn’t mention my letter to Mother anymore.

‘It’s not right for you to leave your aunt alone, that is not what she wants.’

‘You don’t know her, I don’t want to expose her to the shame.’

Again and again I repeated my opinion, until the day I was handed a letter from Auntie Be.
The other day I told my friends about you and your daughter. I didn’t want you to have to deal with the burden of telling people the truth of your situation when you come back home. The whole community will know now that you have a daughter. But what they also know is that you will always be welcome with me and that I won’t stand for any malicious talk.

Auntie had cut the ground from under me and now all her friends knew of my shame. Shocked, I let the letter drop onto my lap and it was a few minutes before I was able to continue reading.

The attitude of people in town has been better than I had dared hope for. Maybe it has something to do with one of Reijer’s recent sermons. He preached on the adulterous woman and pointed out to us that not anyone of us is to judge another person, only our Lord can. I don’t know if Reijer had you in mind when he made this sermon, but I sure thought of you when I heard it.

When I had finished reading the letter, I showed it to Sister Olivia. She read it carefully and then she smiled at me.

‘What did I tell you? Your aunt is doing everything she can to get you back on the farm with her. I can quite understand her, I must say.’

I nodded, but said nothing.

Auntie’s letter was on my mind for days and I remembered the moments we had shared. My reluctant reservations, especially in the beginning. Auntie’s persistence and her calloused hand that hand placed my own hand on my belly. Her help with the cradle. Her betrayal that turned out not to be a betrayal at all. Time and time again I thought of the farm and knew it was my home. I was a farm girl and loved life on a farm. Now that I lived in Amsterdam I knew I missed not only Auntie Be, but also the pastures and the woods. I missed the quiet life and I knew I could not make my home here in Amsterdam. Not just because Sister Olivia wouldn’t help me, but also because my heart was elsewhere.

I thought things over thoroughly and struggled in silence with my question.

Could I do this to Auntie Be?

Her letter said yes.

Sister Olivia said yes.

As for myself, there was nothing I wanted more than to return to the farm.

A few days later I made up my mind and I told Sister Olivia.

She embraced me and assured me that it was the right decision. I wrote a letter to Auntie Be and told her that I was coming back. I said goodbye to the mothers and children in the nursery and I thanked all the nuns for their friendly hospitality during my visit to Sister Olivia. They all embraced me and kissed Mara on her little forehead. She had stolen their hearts.

The day of my departure approached and Sister Olivia accompanied me to the station. She pushed the baby carriage with Mara in it. She cooed and smiled at my daughter and my heart melted as I watched.

We reached the large train station and were swallowed up by the throng of people entering through the doors. I suddenly told the nun about my other decision.

‘I’m not going straight to Velp.’

‘You’re not?’

‘No, I have to go to Vlissingen first.’ And further.

The nun stood still and let go of the baby carriage to hug me.

‘You’re doing the right thing, child. You’re doing the right thing.’

Sister Olivia bought a platform ticket so she could walk with me all the way to the train and I bought a single ticket for Vlissingen. On the platform we hugged one more time and I swallowed hard, realizing that this could very well be the last time I would see the old nun.

‘You’ve got a beautiful daughter, Maria. Cherish her and fight for her, keep fighting for her.’

‘I will,’ I whispered. Quickly I turned away and got on the train. I found a window seat so I could wave her goodbye.

She stood on the platform, alone. Her hands were folded together, an old woman with a friendly smile and an abundance of love. We looked at each other and I lifted Mara up so Sister Olivia could see her.

‘Is this seat taken?’ A voice distracted me and I turned to face the woman who had spoken to me.

‘No, not at all.’

Again I searched for Sister Olivia’s eyes and I noticed how small she was. She stood there so lonely, like an insignificant beacon, while more and more people rushed past her to catch their train. A few men walked up together and their little group split as they passed the nun, three on one side and two on the other. One of the men tripped and swung his arms about in an attempt to catch his balance, and in doing so he touched the upper body of Sister Olivia.

The emotions I saw racing across her face touched me deeply and I recognized them immediately. I saw in those few seconds the fear, the despair and the misery. I saw how she made herself even smaller and wrapped her arms about her, how she created more distance between her and the men by doing a step back, and all of a sudden I understood.

I wanted to get up and go to her, tell her that I understood, thank her for how she had helped me despite her own pain, a pain she apparently still carried with her after all these years. But before I could do anything, the train pulled out. I waved at Sister Olivia, who seemed to have composed herself and waved back, and I held Mara close while I remembered the words Sister Olivia had spoken to me a long time ago.
It was an escape. Nothing but an escape.

One more time our eyes met and I nodded at her to let her know I understood. She put her hand up and waved.

The train accelerated and soon she was gone.

I leaned my head back and thought about the letter I had written and wondered if it was enough, or too much, or not enough al all. How could I know what I should write her? Would Mother understand what I had entrusted to the paper, or would she condemn me and burn the letter?

Words and sentences flashed through my head.
I don’t know how to tell her or where I should start.
Of course I had made an attempt with the letter, but was it enough? Should I have asked Sister Olivia for help?

Did you know about it, Mother, or is all of this news to you and are you shocked by the cold truth?
What would Mother do if she read my letter and would read an accusation into it? I was afraid she would disown me and I would loose her forever. It was very possible that today was the last time I would see the woman who had given birth to me, weaned me, raised me, loved me, and deserted me.

Why did you marry that man? Did he make you happy? Has anything good come of it? Why, why, why? I have so many questions, but see no answers. Can you give me answers? Will you?

It was so hard to believe that Mother and Auntie were sisters. Auntie Be, who always faced her problems head on, but at the same time knew exactly when to remain silent. She always seemed to know exactly which words would heal and when silence was best. I could not remember ever seeing evidence of this tactfulness in my mother. She was silent. In everything. Through everything. And with her silence she closed her eyes and ears for what went on under her own roof.

Oh, Mother, what happened to the woman I once knew?
The memories that had slowly come back to me during my stay at the farm seemed to be not mine but someone else’s. Skipping through the meadows, picking wildflowers. Singing ‘ring around the rosie’, falling down and tickling each other with sprigs of grass. Was that truly my past, or was it all just something I once read in a book, was it all a false memory?

Auntie told me about how things were when I was young, so I know things used to be different. Is there a chance we can go back in time? Where did it go wrong?
I would love to blame the Reverend for all that has gone wrong in my life, but there must have been other reasons. Had it all started the day my father died with the flue? Or later, when Mother agreed to a new marriage, a new home, a new life? Was it her silence or my own silence that had undermined everything? Maybe you will give me some answers.
You can always write me a letter at the farm, I’ll be waiting to hear from you every day.
Auntie as well. She was ready to wrap her arms around Mother and forgive her everything. She would never abandon her sister, even though the story I had told her had hurt her very badly.

I wanted to tell you one more thing…

Forgiveness. Was it more than just a fancy word? My pen had wavered when I had slowly written the words down. The ink had leaked and left stains. The tip of my pen had got caught on the paper and another ink stain had made one of the words illegible. I had had to force myself to start over, to leave the last few lines as they were and to write the words down one by one, without hesitation. It had taken so much effort, but when the words were there, black on white, I had felt triumphant, as if I had just fought and won a heavy battle.

Mother, I want to forgive you, even if you didn’t know anything about it at all, for it hurts when I think of how things could have been. If you believe in Auntie Be’s God, than please pray to Him.
One more line I had added to my letter. After that I had picked up the page and waved it about to dry the ink. With slow, thoughtful movements I had folded the page in three, and put it into the envelope. I had written the address neatly on the outside of the envelope, but had not added a return address. I also hadn’t closed the envelope.

Even now, while I carried the envelope in my skirt pocket, it was still open.

From Amsterdam to Rotterdam to Roosendaal. The journey was long and uneventful. I nodded politely at the other passengers, but didn’t start any conversations. The regular motion of the wheels on the train track felt comforting and every now and then I would doze off. At other times I would play with Mara and somehow manage to change her diaper in my cramped surroundings. In Roosendaal I transferred to the train for Vlissingen and I found a quiet spot, away from other passengers. I was glad to find the train fairly empty.

As I sat down, I took the letter from my skirt pocket and it crunched between my fingers. I rubbed my thumb and index finger over the paper. Just a while longer and I could give it to Mother. While the train came closer and closer to my temporary destination, my fingers kept rubbing and rubbing the envelope. I knew I was rubbing a smooth spot onto the paper, and it got softer and thinner, but I couldn’t stop myself. This letter was my last hope, my last attempt at finding my mother back.

31

W
hen I stood on firm ground again I pushed the baby carriage to the first manned ticket booth I could find. My suitcase was balancing precariously on the carriage and it took some skillful maneuvering to reach the booth without incident. I was glad that Mara kept looking up contentedly and didn’t seem to notice how flustered I was. Although the journey so far had gone much better than I had dared hope for, I was still a novice at it, and in the train I had been wondering for a long time what to do about the final part of my journey. In the end I decided that it would be best to stay the night in Vlissingen and finish the last part of the journey the next day. Of course this meant that I had to find lodgings for the night and I shuddered at the thought of everything that could go wrong.

I had reached the ticket booth and saw an older man with alert eyes, quite a different man from the sleepy fellow who had spoken to me so impatiently on my initial journey.

‘Good afternoon, sir.’

‘Ma’am.’

‘I would like to stay the night in Vlissingen and was wondering if you could recommend a place.’

The man blinked a few times and then he smiled.

‘My sister has some rooms for rent. I’m sure you could stay with her.’

It almost seemed too good to be true, but I felt exhausted and I nodded gratefully.

‘Can you tell me how to find her house?’

He nodded and started to tell me, but my head was in a whirl and I had lost track long before he finished his explanation.

‘Hold on, I’ll write it down for you.’

He took pen and paper and started to write quickly.

‘If you hurry, you may still be in time to join them for a warm meal.’

He handed me the paper and I looked at the drawing he had made and the directions he had written down.

‘Thank you, sir, thank you very much.’

‘Not at all, ma’am. You think you’ll be able to find it with that?’

I nodded and thanked him once again. Then I stepped aside to make room for the next person. I glanced back and saw the man at the booth give me a quick wave.

Holding on to the slip of paper, I followed the signs to the exit of the train station. This time I felt less lost in the large hall with its enormous doors on each side. Maybe because I was more mature now. I also pushed a sizable baby carriage with a suitcase on top so I was something for other passengers to reckon with. But I’m sure it was more than that, it was something within myself.

I walked outside through the center doors. The little map in my hand told me I had to turn right and immediately right again. According to the man’s brief directions I should reach his sister’s house within five minutes. I slowly continued and carefully checked each street name to see if I followed the directions correctly. It was indeed not far and even at my leisurely pace I reached my destination, Fish Lane, very soon. Number twenty-four turned out to be a well kept house with a sign hanging at the front announcing that there were rooms available. I couldn’t help giving a sigh of relief when I found out that the man at the station hadn’t just spun me a tale.