The second baby was so beautiful that it was more like a lost
jinn
than a human baby. The tiny lips flowering on her rosy skin were moving slightly as if at any moment she would learn how to speak. Madame de Marelle examined it with curiosity at first, and then with hatred. And when she decided that she did not want to see it any more, she pulled her arm away.
Then, with her back to the second baby, and facing the first, she fell into a deep sleep.
Marking the page of the book he was reading with the sapphire-studded dagger that he always kept within reach, Monsieur de Marelle sighed with distress. Even holding the babies in his arms a few minutes ago hadn’t helped. Whenever he felt distressed like this, he started combing his rust-coloured hair with his stubby fingers. He liked his hair. He’d never seen any one else with such hair. This rust-coloured hair was passed from generation to generation in his family. One of the twins resembled its father, but the other one? Who knows, perhaps later on the other baby’s hair would resemble its mother’s. Like her mother, she would wear her hair in a tight bun, never allowing a single strand to escape.
His wife was sleeping again, she’d been sleeping since the birth. Sometimes, as she slept, Monsieur de Marelle sat on the edge of the nut-wood bed and watched her. She’d grown strange in the last year. How difficult her pregnancy had been. It was as if she became more filled with hatred with each passing day, as if every pleasure in life disgusted her. Who knew how long it had been since the light of love had been seen in her eyes. Even though he’d known years ago, when he’d chosen Madeleine as his wife, that she was not in love with him, he’d thought that in time this would be solved. Of course, he was aware of his own faults. Indeed he was quite cruel to her at the beginning of their marriage. When he remembered what he’d done to her in those days, he felt pangs of conscience. But later he straightened out completely, and never hurt Madeleine again. But rather than being made happy by this, she became steadily harder.
He was accustomed to his wife’s coldness, but what had happened in the last year was a mystery to him. She was growing stranger by the day. Recently, she’d wanted to take a long trip in order to get away from the de Marelle estate. Monsieur de Marelle hadn’t objected because he’d thought it would do her good. But even though she’d wanted to take the trip and had spent days preparing, she’d returned almost as soon as she’d set out. When she came back, Monsieur de Marelle was grooming the horses. When he attempted to ask where she’d gone and why she’d returned so soon, Madeleine looked at him in disgust and closed the door of her room without a word. Over time, incidents like this had become so common that Monsieur de Marelle began to wonder whether or not his wife recognised him. As if…as if she mistook him for someone else, someone who wasn’t there. And as if she was fleeing from someone nobody else could see, perhaps a ghost. This region was already better known for its ghost stories than for its yew trees.
In fact, Monsieur de Marelle turned a deaf ear to this twisted reasoning. All he knew was that, for whatever reason, Madeleine’s condition was growing more serious by the day. However, throughout this period he continued having affairs with the maids rather than trying to discover what was going on. Nothing changed. In any event, ever since the beginning of their marriage he had been rebuffed every time he tried to touch her. To tell the truth, though, he wasn’t that put out by the situation. In fact his desire had been quenched the moment he saw the tight bun in which she tied her jet-black hair. However, he deeply wanted an heir. A child with rust-coloured hair just like his!
He’d begun to believe that he would never have an heir when, one day, he found a note from his wife on the desk in his study. The note told him to come to the riverbank the following morning. Monsieur de Marelle went to the riverbank at the appointed time, and began to wait. Madeleine was not too late. But there was something strange about her arrival. For a while she watched her husband from behind a bush, and then approached like a timid animal, sniffing at him. Finally, she sat beside him quietly and obediently. Monsieur de Marelle looked at his wife in astonishment. He tried to understand how this woman who had not let him touch her since they married and looked at him with disgust had changed so suddenly. Then, suddenly, she offered him her lips. The man was astounded; at first out of surprise, and then in a frenzy, he half kissed those lips. His wife behaved as if she wasn’t aware of what was happening. She was unruffled. She let herself go completely. Even when she lay stark naked on the grass, she still behaved strangely; putting her ear to the ground and murmuring.
Even after making love, she continued lying on the ground as she had been. She raised her head only for a moment and said they would not see each other any more. It was as if she wasn’t speaking to her husband, but to the world in general; or to someone he couldn’t see. Then, suddenly, she went pale, and was perfectly still, as if she has seen something terrifying. A moment later she jumped up and ran towards the mansion half-dressed. As he watched his wife anxiously for a while, Monsieur de Marelle tried to understand the dream in which they were struggling so desperately.
But it seemed that it wasn’t a dream. It couldn’t be, because his wife was getting bigger by the day. Pregnancy made her stranger, and more ill-tempered. In the following months, she never left her room, and spent her days staring blankly at statues of the Virgin Mary. Even though Monsieur de Marelle knew he wasn’t wanted, he visited her frequently, to see if she needed anything, and each time he left his wife with a distress deep enough to cast a shadow over the joy his rust-haired heir had brought him
Finally the day of the birth arrived. It was a terrible, stormy night. While the wind and the rain and the thunder raged outside, and the huge mansion shook, Monsieur de Marelle paced back and forth in the corridors, trying in vain to hear his wife’s screams. Hours later he tired of pacing, and secluded himself in his library, where he ceaselessly combed his rust-coloured hair with his stubby fingers as he waited. That’s how the twins were born. Since that moment, Madame de Marelle had been buried in an endless sleep. She was always sleeping. Sometimes, at the least expected moments, she woke up and looked around with bewildered eyes. Then they would bring the babies to be nursed. It happened the same way every time. She would nurse the rust-coloured baby for a long time, but when it was the beautiful one’s turn, she turned her back and went back to sleep. In the end they had to hire a wet nurse for the second baby.
A suitable woman was found in one of the surrounding villages. She was young and robust. She smelled of sheep’s wool and cheese and straw. She had recently given birth. She had so much milk that even if she nursed not just one but a dozen babies her swollen breasts still would not diminish easily. The wet nurse loved the beautiful baby as soon as she saw it. She admired the baby as she nursed her; she smiled as if it was her own beauty rather than the baby’s that she was so proud of. When from time to time she was asked to nurse the ugly baby as well, she begrudged him the little milk that flowed into his mouth. As for Monsieur de Marelle, he was pleased to see the difference between his wife and the peasant woman; with curiosity, he watched these two different women and the way they became close to the two different babies. As he watched, his belief that women were strange creatures grew stronger.
The wet nurse was quite pleased to feel Monsieur de Marelle’s curious gazes. And one day, when the baby was dozing in her arms, she took her chapped nipple out of the baby’s small mouth and offered it to the man. After that, she began to neglect the beautiful baby. Although she continued to nurse her, her primary duty in the mansion now was not to feed the baby, but to feed the father.
One day the wet nurse, following Monsieur de Marelle, found herself in the room where the bookcases were. She’d never stepped foot in this room before.
As she gazed at the crowded shelves, a painting on the wall caught her eye. There was a hole in the golden relief of the frame. At first sight, it was like a half-open mouth; you know, an opening to the unknown just like the Innocent Face’s mouth which bites and tears off the hands of sinners. This frame, this painting… Suddenly the wet nurse screamed. She grew pale and scurried around the room looking about frantically. As she could not see anything else to cover it with, she hurriedly took off her shawl and covered the painting, groping as she tried to avoid looking in that direction. Meanwhile, Monsieur de Marelle must have been flabbergasted since he couldn’t say a word or ask what was going on, but simply watched her frantic movements with wide eyes. But the young woman told him anyway.
‘I’ve heard about this painting. All of the women in the village know about it. They all talk about it. Once, a young man lived here. He worked with the major-domo. He was so beautiful that those who saw him lost their senses. The owner of the mansion was a widow; she fell in love with the young man. But the young man didn’t want her. The woman suffered a great deal. Then one day the young man disappeared. They found his body in the forest; under a yew tree. No one understood how it had happened. The widow ran to the spot as soon as she heard. She carried the body by herself to the riverbank. Then she embraced the body and didn’t leave it. She wept there for days. She chased off everyone who approached. In the end, they had to drag the woman away from the body in order to bury it.’
The wet nurse was breathless from talking so quickly. After gulping down the wine Monsieur de Marelle offered her, she calmed down a bit and began talking more slowly.
‘Before the funeral, the widow hired an artist to paint the young man’s portrait. She also had a frame made. The hole in the frame was just like the mouth of Innocent Face. Then she hung the picture beside her bed. Every day she suffered terribly when she looked at that picture. It had been a sin to desire the young man so much, and she thought the young man had died because of this. Every night she put her hand into the hole to see if she was a sinner or not. In the end, she went completely mad. The picture was also lost. All of the women in the village know this story. The picture is said to be cursed. Because the young man was very beautiful. He could make any woman fall in love with him. He captured the hearts of virgins in particular. Any virgin who saw him lost her senses. That picture must be covered. It mustn’t be looked at.’
After the wet nurse had had a bit more wine, she asked calmly: ‘But how did it get here? I thought it was hidden.’
‘Last year… Madeleine hung it here. Madeleine…’
Monsieur de Marelle could not finish his words. He suddenly had a terrible headache. Abruptly, he rushed out of the room. He strode towards the babies; he picked up the beautiful baby and ran back to the library. He uncovered the picture against the objections of the wet nurse and put the baby and the picture side-by-side. Without any doubt, the beautiful baby’s face was a smaller copy of the young man’s. The moment Monsieur de Marelle saw the resemblance, he hated the beautiful baby. From now on, he no longer wanted to see it. Because every time he looked at it, he would see the face of the man his wife had become infatuated with, and he would remember her betrayal.
Not all children grow up alike. Some children grow up diluting the dense thickness of time through the existence of those who love them, sip by sip. Some drink the time without mixing it, gulp by gulp. The baby they called the beautiful baby was one of these, and before she emerged from infancy, she had her share of loneliness. First, her twin brother, who left their mother’s womb before her, then her mother, then the wet nurse and finally her father all left her. She was to grow up alone, far away from them.
She spent her time wandering around the countryside or getting lost in the yew forest. She also often went to the riverbank. She loved it there. Something about the river drew her to it. She would sit there for hours, dangling her legs in the water: she would strain to see her reflection in the wildly flowing water. Sometimes she was so absorbed in her reflection rippling on the surface of the water that she didn’t even realise the sun had set or that it was getting dark. She wasn’t afraid to spend the night there; or of the sounds of the night. In any event, no one at home would miss her. Her mother always looked at her face with shame, the wet nurse with doubt, her father with hatred and her twin brother with jealousy. Whoever saw her either made a face or avoided her eyes. Only the river smiled when it saw Annabelle, telling her that there was nothing to be sad about, telling her that her magical beauty was reminiscent of a beautiful
jinn
. And giving her the good news that she could fly away whenever she wished, fluttering her wings just like a
jinn
.
To tell the truth, it was not a strange coincidence that Annabelle could live her life without leaving the de Marelle estate, and that she could grow old watching herself in the river.
It was the beginning of autumn. Yellow leaves were leaping into space and falling onto the water one by one as if they were in competition. There was a fragile and hollow haste in nature. During these days, a wandering theatre company stopped to rest near the river. All the actors seemed to be tired of life. They picked out the lice wearily, memorised their parts, washed their laundry, spooned up cabbage soup without exchanging a word. But one of them stopped working and became engrossed in watching the girl not far away who was dangling her legs in the river. This little, ignorant, unlovable, arrogant man was the owner of the troupe. After watching Annabelle for quite some time, he turned to his friends and said: ‘Everybody should see such beauty!’
Sometimes a lot of things happen at once. The owner of the troupe left the de Marelle mansion blissfully happy, even though when he knocked on the door he’d had little hope. His luck was better than he’d expected. First he was astounded by the news that Annabelle was not a maid, but the daughter of the owner of the mansion; then he was amazed that even though she was, nobody objected to her joining the troupe. It happened so easily that the owner of the troupe felt anxious that someone might ruin it all, so he decided that it was auspicious to leave the de Marelle estate as soon as possible and he gathered the troupe together and they hurried off. He still didn’t know what skills Annabelle had. If her voice was as beautiful as her appearance, she could sing during the intervals; perhaps she could join the dancing girls or a new part could be written for her. However it was, he was sure that this
jinn
faced girl would bring good luck to the troupe that had so much misfortune recently. He’d even found a name for the girl: La Belle Annabelle!