Sylvia (10 page)

Perhaps I should confess that I cried out in alarm and pushed her away, but my body was so washed with a feeling of serenity that I simply let her be, thinking this new intimacy a lesson in womanly loving. No! That too is a lie. I hungered for more such caring. I had not been embraced in a loving way since I was a child, nor received a kiss or felt the soft touch of another woman. The widow Johanna who now held me to her breast caused me to sob softly for the memory of my mother and my lost childhood.

Some might say that I was still a child and that the widow Johanna had not the right to instruct me as she had done, and by touching me she had violated my body in a way no different to my father. Perhaps they are right: a woman's body is sacred unto herself and I had not given her permission to touch me in so intimate a manner. All I can say in defence of both of us is that at the age of eleven I did not see it as a violation. I now know that most young girls discover this pleasure without instruction, but I had not done so myself. That part of my body had been so crudely violated by my father that I saw it as unclean, forever changed and the cause of most of my subsequent misery and deep sense of having sinned. Now I had been shown that it could also be a source of personal pleasure, but of course, after my initial euphoria, my first concern was whether this too was a sin. I knew well that selfish pleasure is regarded as sinful.

‘Is what we have done a sin, Frau Johanna?' I asked.

She gave a merry laugh then kissed me lightly on the cheek. ‘No, I think not,' she replied, and then seemed to think for a moment. ‘But then again, there is such a welter of sins, of mays and may nots, all the declarations of men, bishops and priests, holy men and hermits, clerics, clerks and lay preachers. They seem to all be vying with each other to proclaim new and better ways to accuse women of sinning. What know we of the latest declaration when today's blessing becomes tomorrow's sin? Methinks such womanly matters should not be left to a priest to decide upon. Sometimes we must go to our own conscience for confirmation. If what I have shown you is a sin, then every convent and nunnery has its share of sinners. But, if it is wrong to do as we have done, then it is I and not thou who is the sinner, for you came unknowingly to this bed with your thoughts chaste and pure. You must decide, as every woman must, if you wish to embrace the virgin's knight.'

‘Why call they it the virgin's knight
?
' I asked.

‘Ah, I cannot say for sure, but think it somewhat like this: the mounting of a woman by a man is seldom what a young maid hopes for in her imagination. She wishes a brave knight returned from a pilgrimage will come to “pluck the flower”, but she gets instead a ploughboy who, drunk on cider, grunts and farts and groans and thrusts with only his own pleasure in mind, then rolls over, burps and sets to snoring. It is, for the most part, a great deal of noise from every orifice but in the sum of it there is little that might resound to please her.' She gave a short laugh. ‘But, ah, when she chooses her own lover, even if it be only in her head, then she may have the shining knight himself.'

I laughed at her clever reply. I had seen it often in the village, a young maid, perhaps two years older than myself, her belly swollen with child, the result of a brief dalliance with some oaf met at a travelling fair and taken for a hasty rutting behind a haystack.

‘Thank you, Johanna,' I said quietly, though I was yet very confused.

We lay still for some time but then she must have sensed my confusion because I heard her take an inward breath. ‘You are still too young to know your own mind and have not yet been with a tender man you love or suckled at your breasts an infant of your own. Try to wait until you are sure you know what you want, Sylvia,' she cautioned me again. ‘Randy young men will pester you and in their whingeing make you feel guilty, accusing you of hurting their feelings by showing no love for them. The urge you feel within you to lie with a man will often become very strong, the strongest emotion a woman, who deep within her desires offspring, can possibly feel. But a fatherless child on your hip when you yourself are not yet fully a grown woman will earn the scorn of others and destroy your life. Better the virgin's knight than such a calamity.' She paused, then said, ‘Hear you what I say, Sylvia Honeyeater, that is what I mean by keeping to the company of women.'

‘Aye, Frau Johanna, I thank you again.'

‘Then it is goodnight.' She kissed me, then turned from me to slumber.

It had been a long day since I'd decided to wash the muddy hem of my dress by the side of the brook. I was beginning to discover that life can be a very confusing business and I was not at all sure whether I was Sylvia Now or Sylvia Then. But as sleep finally overcame me, what I did sense was that I had returned to my mother's world. I was to learn it was a country no male can occupy or ever comprehend, be he Pope or cardinal, abbot, bishop or priest or any man, even a ratcatcher who stills the barking dogs and marches children to the magic of his flute.

I awoke just as it was growing light outside. The widow Johanna was already up and dressed. A fire blazed on the hearth and the smell of cooking pervaded the cottage. The lamp had been trimmed as it was still near dark within the cottage. I glanced over at the three children who slept blissfully, too young to know how difficult a process life can be. Only yesterday I had arrived in this village more child than maid and today I would leave it knowing I was soon to become a woman. I walked over to where my dress lay together with my Father John bag and stout stave. Both his generous gifts had served me well and had, in the few days I'd possessed them, become a part of me.

‘Good morrow, Sylvia,' Johanna said quietly, then reached out and picked up my dress. ‘This is dry but the cloth is old and much patched and will not last much longer.' She pointed to the circle of light thrown by the lamp where I observed a fresh garment lay. ‘You shall have one of my own that no longer fits me. It will be large on you but we can alter it to fit.' She indicated my old gown. ‘This one we will use for your bleeding. Alas, I have no boots or clogs your size, but if you will tarry a little longer this morning we will inquire of the bootmaker who may have a second-hand pair that will fit you.'

I thanked her profusely for the dress but then said, ‘The boots are of no concern. I have not owned a pair since I was seven and my feet are well accustomed to the cold.'

‘Phfft! Will your young man not buy you boots? His own are stout enough and his clothes are of a good fit and not much worn.'

I had not told her that we had known each other but a day and were only travelling companions. Reinhardt the Ratcatcher and I had fitted so well together the previous night in the square that the widow Johanna must have taken us for a pair of wandering musicians well practised as a duo. Apart from cautioning me against his amorous intentions she had not seemed curious about our relationship, assuming by the ragged way I looked that he cared only for himself. It was a notion that fitted well enough with the opinion she seemed to have of men and was one most people would possess of a wandering minstrel.

‘We only met yesterday, Frau Johanna,' I now told her.

‘Oh, now I understand!' she exclaimed. ‘I have misjudged you, Sylvia.'

‘How may that be?' I asked, curious.

‘When you told me of your father I believed you – it is as common as sunrise. But when I cautioned you against the piper it was because you are on the cusp of womanhood and if you are sleeping with him now you are yet safe from becoming pregnant, but when your bleeding comes, after that you will not be.'

‘But he told you that I was chaste and asked last night that I might share a widow's bed?'

‘Phfft! He is a minstrel and like his kind saw only what advantage there was for him in suggesting his piety and your chastity. I did not for one moment believe him. Now I see that you
are
chaste and had I not doubted it, I would not have instructed you as I did.'

‘But I am grateful that you did!' I protested. ‘For lack of a mother I know nought of such things.'

‘Yours is a cautionary tale, Sylvia. I must make sure my own daughters are not so ignorant when the times comes.' She smiled. ‘It is I who am now grateful to you. Come, let me show you how to make and fit the strips of cloth that will cope with your womanhood. But first you must have a slip so that you can attach them.' She reached over and handed me a linen undergarment. ‘It is old, my own when I was your age, but the linen is still good and I shall give you pins to keep against the time.'

The three girls were up well before sunrise and we broke our fast on a bowl of gruel and pickled cabbage and made our way to the square. Frau Johanna asked me if I knew what the promised miracle might be, but I couldn't say. ‘I do not think his flute, no matter how good the melody, will get me dancing in the morning cold,' she laughed.

‘Oh we shall dance, Mama!' Gerta, the eldest of her children, cried, hopping ahead of us with her two sisters following and crying out in imitation of the older, ‘We shall dance! We shall dance!'

‘Nor will I be able to sing,' I replied. ‘He has a silvered tongue and I hope only that what might happen will not disappoint and will be worth the early rising.' I clutched at the neck of my new second-hand dress with both my hands. ‘Today is almost winter come,' I shivered.

Several dozen village folk were waiting at the oak tree, stamping their feet, their arms folded about their breasts, their vapoured breath rising in the morning cold. They nodded to the widow Johanna who seemed well respected, and also to me, but did not speak.

Reinhardt and Red the Belly had not yet arrived when the sun was past the rim of the hills. The birds in the nearby woods were well into their morning song and a large crowd had assembled when at last the two men came towards us. It was clear to see that both were the worse for wear, with Red the Belly's hair aflame and wilder than ever and his nose a bulbous lighted globe, while the ratcatcher's pretty face appeared a ghostly white, his hat askew upon his tousled head. Reinhardt came up to me, his eyes red-rimmed and raw, indicated the oak tree and in a whisper said, ‘Come stand with me, Sylvia, the cider has destroyed me and my head throbs like the clappers of hell.'

Frau Johanna next to me cried out in a jolly voice for all to hear, ‘Good morrow, young man! Is it not a perfect day for a miracle? We come with the greatest expectations!'

A murmur rose from the crowd and Reinhardt the Ratcatcher gave her a sour look. I followed him to the base of the tree. ‘That one has a raspy tongue,' he growled, then groaned, ‘Oh, my stomach is full of speck and cabbage that wishes to return to the cook!'

‘We have come to witness a miracle!' a strident voice in the crowd complained. ‘You said it would be at sunrise!'

‘Aye!' several others called. ‘The miracle at sunrise!'

‘I think there will be worse than your sore head and regurgitating stomach to come if you don't do as you promised!'

I whispered, then added, ‘Nor do I look forward to my share of their wrath.'

‘Can you not sing?' he begged.

‘No! It is too cold, my voice is not yet warmed to the high notes. Anyway, singing is
not
a miracle!'

‘I think I'm going to be sick,' he groaned again.

‘Be sick then!' I cried, my voice trembling. ‘That will finally do it! We shall be lucky to get out of this place alive!'

‘Can you do nothing?' he begged plaintively. ‘Something to calm them while I recover? My mouth is as dry as monk's parchment – I cannot play the flute!'

‘It is not I who promised the miracle,' I protested.

‘Oh sweet Jesus!' he exclaimed, bringing both hands up to his head.

‘Do not blaspheme or we shall be the worse for it and more!' I hissed.

‘Miracle! Miracle! Miracle!' the crowd began to chant.

‘Come, lad, are you not made of stouter stuff?' Red the Belly called out. Then addressing the crowd, ‘Last night when the cider talked, he promised to make puppy dogs fly and turn cats into tigers, turtles into turtle-doves!'

‘Miracle! Miracle! Miracle!' the crowd continued to chant.

Reinhardt turned green before my eyes and rushing behind the oak tree brought up all of Frau Red the Belly's splendid repast, so that the men present clapped and cheered and the woman turned their heads away and cried out in disgust.

Then came the word ‘Trickster!' followed by ‘Buffoon!' – this from Red the Belly, now turned leader and the ratcatcher's tormentor.

The angry crowd started to draw closer. I could bear it no longer and as had happened with the Miracle of the Gloria I was not aware of my next action. Putting up my hand to command their silence I stepped forward and from my mouth came the coarse mating call of the jay; this I followed with all the mating calls of the birds I could so clearly hear in yonder woods. Soon enough they came in flocks, until the bare-leafed oak tree was clothed anew with the fresh colour and brightness of every bird that flew in the heavens. Some came to sit upon my head and shoulders, others perched along my outstretched arms, and all did sing so that no one in the crowd could hear themselves if they should speak. Then the miracle occurred. Reinhardt the Ratcatcher, all the better for the contents of his stomach missing, came to stand beside me, no doubt to accept some part of the unexpected glory of the birds. A crow flew down from a branch above and landed, wings flapping, upon his head and shat, crow shit running between his eyes and down his pretty nose. Whereupon I sang a single soprano note and the birds all rose to the sky in a vast cloud and flew away.