by Jane Rogers
‘Sister Martha!’ I pull myself together and dump the dirty sheet on the ground. I approach her with my arms open, intending – I do not know – to embrace her? to somehow draw her in. But she flinches as I get close, and then she turns back into the wash-house. Rebekah begins to giggle again, and we all laugh afresh, briefly, guiltily, at Martha’s rejection.
The work goes on and on, for there are still the coloureds to steep and wash; and as the whites dry, the ironing to begin. We work for two days, from dawn till past nine at night. When I think, ‘I am a laundry maid,’ I am no longer angry. It just makes me laugh. It is also the best sauce to cold food that I have ever found!
*
Joanna and I spent this afternoon in the kitchen bottling and making jam from fifteen pound of strawberries sent as a gift from the Israelite farmers at the Moss. We worked slowly, with the back door open to let out the heat of our fire: as I was sawing the sugar blocks into smaller pieces, and she was hulling the fruit, she raised the question of Martha. From the carefulness with which she concentrated on her strawberries, and avoided my eye, I realized that this is something that has been troubling her for a while.
‘Clearly, she has been badly treated,’ I said.
‘Yes indeed. Badly treated, and kept in complete ignorance.’
‘Are you having any success in teaching her?’
‘A little. I am encouraged, at times, to think her mind capable of retaining a certain amount of information.’
‘Her manners at table are improving. I think you are making good progress with her.’
‘Thank you, sister. But –’ She hesitated.
‘Yes?’
‘Have you watched her?’
‘Not closely, no.’
‘I – this may sound foolish perhaps –’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I see her watching us. All of us – any of us – when she is in the room. She watches all the time, like a cat with a mouse.’ She laughed again. ‘It seems fanciful. I know, but sometimes I think –’
‘Yes?’ I said to encourage her, because her speech had trailed off again.
‘Yes. I am sorry. It is a fancy, but it is so strong at times – I feel almost as if she looks on us not as sisters but as – something quite other than herself. She looks on us – almost – with dislike.’
For a moment I was tempted to laugh with her, and dismiss the thing as a fantasy. But a couple of incidents with Martha reared up so strongly in my memory, that I was forced to pause. The first concerned a goose which I had put away in the larder one evening. We had two at table, and this second one was hardly touched, only a few slices taken off the breast. Being the last to leave the kitchen later on that night, I stacked up the cakes which had been baked in the afternoon and left out to cool, to take them into the larder. As I was arranging them into a pile, I heard (through the open kitchen door) footsteps, then the latch to the larder door being lifted. Thinking to find Joanna there with a candle, I set out with my arms full of cakes; but when I got into the corridor, it was quite dark. Suddenly Martha appeared before me, clearly alerted by my footsteps. She stared at me for an instant. I have seen her look blank, as if you were nothing, but this time I am sure there was dislike in her eyes. She was still for a moment – and the only light was that which fell through the open kitchen doorway, so I could not swear to it – then she moved swiftly past me, along the corridor and away. Once I was over my shock I called to her to fetch my candle from the kitchen, but she did not hear me, and disappeared up the stairs.
I set down my cakes and fetched the candle: as I put my goods away in the larder I noticed both legs had been torn off the goose. That must have been her errand.
The second incident was altogether more strange and unpleasant. I came upon her in the garden; well, beyond the garden, because it was the other side of the hedge. I was out there looking at the peas, which I knew were not quite ready, but still we had been sent such a fine basketful from Mrs Paine that I could not help wondering whether ours might be ready soon. The heat of the mid-afternoon sunshine tempted me to stay and walk right round the kitchen garden; which does the household credit, for it is full and flourishing and will provide us with a good deal to eat throughout the late summer and autumn. If I had thought a year ago that I should have a stake in a garden, and know the crops that were growing on! I who have never known more greenery than Hampstead Heath underfoot, or what I might buy at market! But as I walked, in the soft, insect-buzzing haze of the afternoon, enjoying the touch of sunlight on my skin, I noticed something moving behind the hedge. Not, I thought, human, nor in any way menacing. What I imagined was some kind of animal, maybe a fox or a dog – and it was no more than idle curiosity that prompted me to round the hedge and look for it.
But it was Martha. She had heard me coming, and was watching for me. She had clearly been lying in the ditch, for there were bits of grass and straw stuck all over her clothes – but she was on her feet by the time I saw her. She stood stock still for a moment, then she quite slowly and deliberately lifted up her skirt, gathering it in folds in her large hands as she raised it – right up to her waist. Her private parts were completely naked. She was staring at me, did not look down, or away, even for an instant. It was as if she wished to offer me – what? a threat? a warning? – by this display of her flesh.
I could not make myself turn and move away fast enough: could not reconcile the shock and revulsion that rose in my mind, with my sense of shame at myself for feeling offended, when she probably meant no more by it than the child on the street corner who sticks out his tongue at a stranger; that she did not rightly know what she was doing.
As I told Joanna the tale I found myself softening it, to hide the fact of Martha’s nakedness. Her sensitive concern will dwell for longer, and more sadly, upon the event than I did. When she had heard me out she asked me to pray with her for Sister Martha, to which I readily agreed. For I think it likely that a mightier-than-human influence is needed, to repair that grievous damage inflicted by Martha’s earlier life.
Martha
Eat. Eat. Stuff hot cold sharp sweet. Much. Cram it in. Tear bread crust eat. Dough soft mouth filling. Yellow cheese crumbling sour. Hard egg slippy white. Dry inside. Eat. Shove in mouth. Chew, swallow. Is more. And more. Apple sweet-musty. Cooked flesh, red brown. Grained, tough, teeth go go go. Choke when swallow. Eat. More. Pale melting oh yes cram. No not fish she say stop, the bones. They take it away. In a round brown edge stiff, sweetness. Tarts. Eat. Stuff. Cram. Gorge sweet is best but here is hard soft melting chewing crumbling slipping exploding. After is bucket. Here all together dry wet sweet sour crunching broken. Grab and stuff ah more as much all together –
She slap out. Dodge. ‘Naughty Martha. That is the oughts. For the animals. Not for people.’
Wait. She leave it outside.
Barn belly ache and blow. Like when. Eat. Eat. Outside, guts vomit.
Breathe. Scoop water. Breathe. Now bucket. Take in ditch. Dry potato sweet broken tart hard bone chew.
It hot. In by fires. Fires burn in here, in here, in here.
‘Bring wood please Sister Martha.’
‘Take ashes Sister Martha.’
Hot. Stand. Black in eyes.
‘Martha. Sister Martha! Wake up!’
Move. Take wood. Lift. Stand.
‘She is asleep again. How can she? With that lot in her arms?’
Go, go. Move lift carry go in door out door. Stop lean, wall at back. Black in.
‘Martha no! Go to bed child. Look at her. Is she sick?’
Go. Go step move. Can no – stop. And black.
Eat. Yes. Eat eat. But now. Go round. Sitting. Black.
‘She’s worse than she was before. It’s every time she stops now. She never even – she has not eaten her food tonight. Just sits upright in her chair, fast asleep.’
‘It is not like a normal sleep. When you go near her she –’
‘Yes, jumps awake. She is afraid.’
‘What of?’
‘You see her eyes, her face. She thinks she will be hit. She always wakes just as you get near enough to –’
Hot waves come up. Belly sick. Not sleep. Watch. Jump awake. But black. Coming. It laps. Laps where standing or sitting the hot no-air …
It roof. Over all. Over all day. It roof. No sky dark sky. Barn has roof. But high. At night go in barn. Here in day is roof low all day. It loses air.
Hear them talk. But eyes. Gone. They will not. Hurt. Black.
‘And you are not to get up till I tell you, do you hear?’
Ah. Ah this. This. How can I? I am. I am in this.
BODY.
Wait. I tell.
I come awake. Not by the barking or shook/kicked. I come myself up the black to top of water floating. I sway side to side beneath the surface grey, lightening, floating knowing it nearer up up up to pop. I bring. Body. In rays it go all down down thighs calves ankles feet toes to my ends. In rays it go up belly sides breasts back shoulders arms hands fingers. It go up my neck and spread like a flower about my head. It come from between my legs where.
‘Cunt’ he said. Do not think.
But now. Watch. I like still. Flat. On bed. Heavy warm blankets spread even on top, neck to toe. Face up. No moving. Watch.
Where it begin? I say from cunt. But no. Circling. Crossing toes, round, touching fingers, round, brushing cheek. Coming round. Spreading to ankles, wrists, neck the cool sheet brushing my neck. Neck is a thousand points, this is the new. I in each I feel. I each one softly piercingly in to I each dot of dust of me – skin – neck – it feels in me as if. What? Rain maybe when it come down hard and fast and the drops on skin hit and spatter and make all the surface joint together – that there, before they join, when all is a thousand separate hits my neck is that many. But not hit. Shining – each one warm. Yes. This time it go round and round. I am a backwards water circle. Ripples grow bigger but spreading in round and round and getting higher passing in breasts and thighs with sweetness rounding hotter higher in and in to centre now where sucking in great hole in water as if a stone was heaved to have made them all round and round with sweet hot sweet in and round and in.
See? Flashing. It dance. Suddenly lift and dance. My whole body. Springing up at all joints and most pulsing rippling in the centre there it leap and dance for very sweetness. And when the movement go I am light and warm as new-licked calves.
Is this what? Do they all? In new bodies. Each part is feeling. More I lie and sleep and float, anywhere, the ripples begin. Outside each speck of my skin touching sheet or nightdress or more skin shines me its sweet feeling: inside the shapes of lungs breasts belly womb buttocks are rounded glowing I am alight inside and out my body dance it dance with life alone without me move a muscle and in it every movement feeling joy.
‘May the Lord have pity on her. See how she twitches and jumps. More like a dog than a human being. Oh Sister Dinah, watch her legs, the way they tremble. She must be remembering … some nightmare … running away perhaps. She arches her back!’
‘Best let her sleep, Sister Joanna.’
‘But do you think sleep like this can be refreshing? Look, she is convulsed – panting –’
‘But then she becomes calmer, see. My sister had nightmares – she used to sleepwalk – after she started on at the mill. My mother warned us never to waken her. I think there is a greater terror in the sudden wrench from dreaming –’
‘It may be. We must trust in God’s hidden purposes. At least she can sleep how: do you remember how she crouched there whimpering at first, and would not lie in the bed? I will wake her at suppertime, and you can give her some broth. No, do not come down. You are performing a great service in watching with her, Sister Dinah.’
‘I could try to sew, while she sleeps, Sister Joanna. The light by the window here is good. I am sure I can learn.’
‘Very well. I will send Sister Rebekah up with some hemming. Look at her face now. She seems to reach a kind of peace, after that struggle. She smiles, and her breath comes easier. Truly, His love conquers all evil.’
‘Yes, Sister. You will not forget to send Rebekah?’
Ah. I stay here now. My body. Every speck ripples as I am water, shining in the light I flow. I am. This body. I fill my shape. Delight.
See this. They bring me in. All voices going around, like bees swarming moving in one but each single too. My head is filled with sound so much I can hardly move. Sanctuary, they say. It is higher than barn but built around light which flows through top, the centre. Points of orange flame dancing here here here. And people. More than I have seen. I try to
But the voices. Also noises of things with voices. Hooting crashing sprinkling spraying and sounds like gales breaking trees. I see men doing it.
‘Hush, Sister Martha,’ Joanna tells me. ‘The musicians are playing.’ I try to because the sweet smell wants to go in to my throat I try to
but so much sounding fills my head my head to bursting so many so much fill me over the top as the rounded surface of water on the bucket will swell swell then break and drop I break. Too full.
I drop.
‘Help Sister Martha out, Samuel. Sister Hannah, take her other arm. Quickly now, before the prayers. I thank you.’
I read. Joanna and I sit at table. She opens the Bible. In there are little black shapes. She points to one.
‘In’
‘In’
‘the’
‘the’ The next one is long, like a spattering of piss on dusty ground.
‘beginning’
‘beginning’
‘Good, now together.’
‘In the beginning.’
They give me to eat. Fresh bread, with butter. Oatcakes. Yellow cheese. Milk. Potatoes (cooked). Meat, in a whole piece, sometimes hot. Cabbage. Warm porridge. Gooseberries, perserved and cooked in sweet pastry. Tea, a hot drink. They bring food to table and when they have eaten they take some away. At night she gives it to the dogs.
They eat like birds picking and pecking. They do not eat everything on their plates.
Joanna teaches me. She names things. I know these words inside, but my mouth and throat are not familiar with their sounds. My voice is loud like barking inside my head.
There are fires in the rooms. There are clear squares in walls to see out, which are hard to touch. They keep out rain and wind. There are beds, one each, with white sheets and brown wool blanket. I can sleep. There is a jug with water and a bowl for washing with soap and a white cloth to wipe the water off.
There are white clothes. Dinah puts her arms through holes in the stays and pulls it over her head. She pulls the laces tight one by one and ties it. My fingers cannot hold laces or tie them, or the little hooks and buttons on the dress, or the boots, or fine needles for sewing or thin paper sheets of books that must be turned. Their neat little fingers run like spiders. Dinah fixes me into the clothes.
Joanna brings me into a room with a fire. She takes off the clothes and makes me sit in a tub of water. The water is hot. She pours water over my head and cleans my hair. When it is dry she rubs it with a brush to pull it down and with scissors she cuts out parts that are stuck. She pulls the brush right through it, then she puts the bonnet on me again. She says, ‘When it grows long I will braid it for you.’ She puts ointment on my hands and feet, as she does it she says, ‘Oh child, child,’ and her tears drop on my legs like hot rain.
There is a privvy with a seat. The shit falls far down, into water. I can sit there alone as long as I like.
At evening we sit upstairs. I do not fall asleep. I am sitting keeping still, but I stay awake. Dinah talks to a creature I cannot see called God. She tells me talk to him. I see each thing and its colour. The floor, gold planks with round brown eyes staring up. Window clear to outside. I move my head and the tree I see waves. It moves slowly as I. Then suddenly it ripples in water, jumps to a new place. New leaves are green. New green. Green leaves. This colour must be talking to God. I cannot say. This colour is light an
d dark. Shining or in shadow. Inside green there is a purple. Sometimes other colours also: yellow, silver, blue. More I look more I see. When light goes colour changes, green has gone. The sun goes down sky turns grey and leaves turn black. They hide each other with blackness, but tree still jumps in the window. I see.
I touch. The blanket I touch is now soft, the top one hairy as a sow’s back. I lay my face on pillow and cold linen is smooth. I hear linen stretch and crease under my ear and the feathers sigh together. My own heart booms inside. Outside Dinah’s breathing shakes the air and outside that birds call and hoot. I swell, I swell, I will burst. My nostrils seize air, warm from my body sweet from fresh linen, touched by Dinah’s scent of sharp clean vinegar. I can follow each of them through the house by her smell. Joanna is water but kept in the pool, deep but not fresh; water underground. Leah, fish. Dinah, edge of vinegar, hers is the best smell, clean and sour. I want to put my nose on her skin. Rachel and Rebekah are bread with the mustiness of yeast. There is something close about their smell close and for eating. Hannah is blood, metal but salty. The man is earth, the inside of earth when leaves and small animals have rotted away. Moist black earth when you cut it open with a plough.
