Mara (8 page)

Concerned, Auntie slowly released me, but I could sense that she kept a close eye on me and I turned around so I could face her.

‘I’m fine,’ I lied. I slowly counted to ten, breathing slowly and deeply.

‘It was just a dizzy spell, nothing more. I guess it’s all part of it.’ I smiled weakly.

‘Let’s do this some other day. Just watch me for now.’ Auntie rose from her stool, took my hand and pulled me up. She looked at me intently to see how I was doing. My legs were shaking, but I stood quietly and did not look away. She did not need to know my weaknesses. Auntie Be nodded, reassured, and sat down between the cow’s legs. With calm movements she continued, and when she finished she took the bucket and stool over to the next cow. I followed her meekly and watched how she worked, but my thoughts were elsewhere, in a lonely and frightful place.

It was not until Auntie had finished milking the cows and emptied the buckets into the milk pail, that the memories disappeared into the background and I calmed down as I helped her washing the buckets. Together we brought the milk pails to the wheelbarrow in the barn. After milking this evening we would have to put all the pails at the road for the milk driver to collect.

Next we walked to the pig house where Auntie kept two sows and one pig for slaughter. As soon as the door opened I could smell the so familiar smell of long ago. Pigs were filthy animals and I held my breath as we walked in. Auntie did not seem to take notice.

‘Next week the butcher will come,’ she said. ‘It’s too bad you won’t be able to join us, Maria, are you sure you won’t…’

‘No, Auntie.’ I interrupted her before she could finish her sentence. ‘Nobody must know that I am here. I will go to my room when the butcher comes and I’ll be fine.’

‘It’s a shame, though.’ Auntie Be rubbed her hands with regret, but seemed to resign herself to the fact that I would not be present at the pig’s slaughter. Personally, I was relieved to have a good excuse.

When I was young I already had a strong dislike for the butcher who would always come for just one day to do his job. The man always wore a big leather belt, weighed down with all sorts of gruesome tools. Grandpa was the only one who seemed to notice my fear and he always made sure that at lunch time the butcher would sit as far away from me as possible. Sometimes, during the meal, Grandpa would give me a conspiratory wink.

‘What will you do in the evenings, when neighbors may drop by for a visit?’

‘I’ll stay in my room then too, I’ll have to. The Reverend was very clear in his letter. Besides…’

I stopped, but my mind wandered back to Mrs. Kleut and her remarks. I looked down and saw how my stomach revealed a slight swelling. I shivered and felt goose bumps on my arms. Auntie could think what she liked, but under no circumstances was I willing to be seen by anyone in this state, least of all the butcher.

Auntie fed the sows and we were soon back outside.

‘Just the chickens now, and then we’ll have breakfast,’ she said and led the way to the chicken coop which was located a little bit further from the farmhouse. She carried a basket with her. I recognized the basket from my youth. Feeding the chickens had been one of the chores I had been allowed to do as a six year old, and I remembered how I enjoyed throwing the grain around for the chickens.

Auntie opened the coop and the chickens came out before the first grain cornels had even touched the ground. While Auntie generously spread the grain around, I stepped into the coop and looked for eggs. I held up my apron and laid the eggs in it one by one. Auntie had some good laying hens and I thought to myself that, if there were always as many eggs as today, these hens must make her a good amount of money on the market.

When we were finished, the day had started to dawn and, as the sun started to brighten the day, we returned to the kitchen where a pile of pancakes awaited us.

7

I
know that inside me life is growing, but how is this possible when I feel so lifeless myself? I feel withered like a dried up autumn leaf, but without the warm golden color that gives warmth and life to an otherwise dead leaf. I hate this creature that has taken over my body. I find it horrible that I no longer have control over my own body, that it grows, but not because I eat, that it hurts, but not because I injured myself.

And I hate him, who is to blame for it all. Hatred is something powerful, I can gain some strength from it. And since I no longer have a mother to encourage me and no God to depend on, strength is what I need.

‘Isn’t it a miracle?’ Auntie nodded toward my stomach, which seemed to grow faster each day. We were working on two more new dresses because of it.

‘Why a miracle?’ I was genuinely surprised. In my opinion my stomach grew into monstrous proportions because of a being I had never wanted.

‘It’s new life that is growing in you. If all goes well, it will have everything it should have.’ Auntie’s head was bent over the material and while she spoke, her nimble hands pulled the fabric quickly through the sewing machine, her voice sounded melancholy.

‘I don’t believe in miracles,’ I said gruffly. I didn’t want to speak of the thing that was slowly but surely taking over my body.

‘Maria.’ Now Auntie did raise her head. I noticed a moistness in the corner of her eye, but within moments it was gone.

‘Woman was created to bear children.’

She looked down again and her fingers seemed to pull the fabric through even faster. Up and down, up and down, the dark blue thread easily slipped through the fabric and sewed the pieces together. I took no notice of her words, they simply slipped off me and I didn’t respond. What could I have said, after all?

Auntie believed in God and in miracles. But I had turned my back to that God of hers. I saw a different god, though, one who punished and tested, a god who made some people his servants and gave them all authority, a god who refused to care about simple folk who send up hopeful prayers to him.

‘What have I done?’

‘You disobeyed, you lied to me.’

He towered over me and his presence alone was enough to make me utterly helpless. My voice turned soundless, my legs could no longer run, my hands no longer fight. Again he was there. And he was the one in control.

I don’t want to be punished, God. I really tried my hardest, truly. Please call him back. Please call him to serve you, so he’ll forget about me, let him be too busy serving you to bother and torture me.
I cautiously glanced at him, expecting him to be called away any moment, to leave for church or a sick church member. I was convinced that he would leave and once more I sent up a silent prayer.
But there was no one listening.

‘Maria, Maria!’

I blinked, confused, and the first thing I noticed was a big knot in my thread, on top of the seam I had been stitching.

‘Are you all right?’

I nodded, pulled on the needle and saw the knot tighten. Despondently I put away the needle and took a pin so I could untangle the knot with it.

‘Let’s call it a day. How about I pour us some coffee?’

I looked at the knot and thought of the dress we were making. I nodded, it had been enough for today.

The first dress was done. Without me noticing Auntie had untangled the knot and finished sewing the hem. She had even added a four-inch hem which she had decorated with a brightly colored embroidery of flowers and fresh green shoots. The embroidery was stunningly beautiful, way too beautiful for me and much too beautiful for this hideous dress. I swallowed hard and shook my head. Why did she do this? Didn’t she realize that I despised this dress and everything it signified? Auntie watched me expectantly, but I couldn’t be happy about this gift.

‘Don’t you like it?’ Her shoulders seemed to droop a bit, as if they were already weighed down by the burden of my dismissing headshake.

‘Yes, I do,’ I whispered. Again I looked at the embroidery and I thought of the many hours she must have spent working on it. My mother called embroidering a labor of love, because it was so time consuming and because you got nothing in return for it besides beauty. A labor of love indeed. The words floated through my mind for a moment, but then they disappeared amongst the many loveless memories I had.

‘I’ll try the dress on.’

I turned away, avoiding Auntie’s eyes, and brought the dress upstairs. I didn’t want to see the disappointment on her face and I didn’t want to apologize and tell her how I truly admired her handiwork. The dress was worthlessly beautiful. In a few months time, as soon as I would have no use for it anymore, I would burn the dress. So why did she go through such trouble? Did she really think she’d be doing me a favor?

I peeled off my old dress, which was too tight, and I let the new one slip over my head. I didn’t want to look at the hem, her handiwork, as it just hovered over my feet. Instead I thought of new reasons why she shouldn’t have done this. Didn’t Auntie realize that the hem is the one part of a dress that always gets dirty and grimy? What was she trying to tell me? It may look beautiful, but it would always be covered in a layer of dust and grime. Did she mean to say that I was like this embroidered hem, always dirty and soiled?

I straightened my shoulders and went downstairs. I was determined not to speak another word about this dress. It was too beautiful for me, too beautiful for what it concealed.

8

S
omeone has seen me. It was unexpected. I was supposed to keep my condition hidden from everyone. The Reverend was very clear in his letter to Auntie, and if she were to follow his wishes to the letter, I would be indoors day and night.

Yet, I take care for my own sake too, that no one sees me. I never leave the farmyard and never go for a walk without the dog. He hears any passer-by approaching from a great distance and warns me with loud barks. When the postman arrives, I hide in the stable or the farmhouse, and when Auntie has visitors I make sure I’m in my room. Some of the looks I would get from people in our church, and the remarks by Mrs. Kleut taught me that no one is to know about the shame I carry.

‘It’s not good for you,’ Auntie said recently, but I knew it could not be helped, so I shrugged my shoulders. Yet, she found a way around it. She just doesn’t realize how hard it is for me to face other people now that I am so clearly… you know what.

‘We’re having a guest for dinner tomorrow, Maria.’ Auntie’s words startled me and I called out in surprise.

‘What!’

‘I have invited a good friend of mine. He has been our preacher for a year now and I am very fond of him.’

No! Not a preacher.
‘You’re a whore, Maria. The child is a bastard and cannot exist before God and the community.’

‘You can’t, don’t do it.’

‘Yes, I will.’ Auntie sounded determined. I sat down, defeated, holding my head in my hands.
I am a servant of Allmighty God, do not talk back to me.

‘Why?’ I asked in the end.

‘Why not? He’s my preacher and a friend, Maria. Besides, he’s a young man and it’s good for you to meet other people.

‘But my…’

‘He won’t condemn you, Maria.’

Yes, he will. It’s his job, his privilege and his duty.

The chair almost fell when I rose and left the kitchen. I stepped into the wooden shoes that Auntie had brought me from the market, and I walked out. I called the dog and he ran around my feet, barking, but I ignored him. With my arms wrapped around my body I tried to keep the cold at bay, and I walked through the garden. It looked withered and dead. I continued toward the small orchard. I stood still, leaning back against the wall that separated the garden from the orchard, and slowly the cool outside air calmed me down.

A preacher is coming to visit, a preacher of all things.

I turned around and thumped my head against the wall. Then I spread my hands and hit as hard as I could. Over and over I hit the wall, until the skin of my hands tingled. I kept hitting, until I could feel my skin scratch and tear, until I saw blood on the wall. Only then did I stop.

Bewildered I stared at my hands and what I had done to them. Blood mixed with dust and formed lines in my palms. I spit in my hands and rubbed them together. I tried to ignore the biting pain and spit once more. Then I rubbed my hands on my apron and called the dog back.

‘It’s time to get to work.’

We’re having a preacher over.

He was tall and his blue eyes were surrounded by little wrinkles. His hair was covered by a cap, but he removed the cap as soon as he stepped in the door. He had blond hair that was oddly flattened by the cap. Before his eyes met mine I turned away to the stove. A pastor with a cap? Why didn’t he wear a top hat, and where was his black suit? He looked more like a farmer.

‘It’s vital that no one in church will be able to find fault with me, Maria.
So I expect you to dress appropriately, and your behavior must be irreproachable.’

‘I do my best.’

‘Remember, you are the pastor’s daughter, don’t you ever forget that. People in church will watch you and will judge you.’

Condemn, is what he meant, he just didn’t say it.

‘Maria, isn’t it?’ His voice hesitated for just a second after he said my name.

I lifted up a bowl before I turned around to face him.

‘Yes.’

I quickly circled around him and placed the bowl on the table, my hands moist with sweat. I could also feel a droplet of sweat at my nose. I quickly wiped it away and stood for a moment at the table, wondering what I should do. Should I sit down, or turn around to welcome the intruder? When he said my name again, I decided to turn around.

‘Reverend Bosch.’ He held out his hand in greeting. I stared at it, not knowing what to do. How could I shake the hand of this man, a servant of God? I kept staring, still not knowing what to do, until he lowered his hand and smiled at me.

At that moment Auntie broke the silence.

‘Shall we sit down to eat?’

I was grateful for her rescue and I quickly took the chair nearest to me and sat down. I straightened my back, drew my chair close up to the table, so my stomach was hidden by the tablecloth. The way Reverend Bosch sat down told me that he was used to coming here and sit at the head of the table, on Grandpa’s seat. What was he doing here?