I cannot bear the thought of being a wife. To be the drudge of some idiot man, to be at his beck & call, to spend every moment of my day & night as a possession, no better than livestock, a sow to breed squeaking piglets! – I will not give away my name. It is mine and it will always be mine. I hope that Damek is right: maybe Masko will not be able to find anyone to marry me. But what is to stop Masko paying off one of his lickspittle friends to make me an offer, and nosing the king until he sends an order that I marry? I swear if Masko matches me, I will run away! But where can I go? I have nowhere to go.
MIDSUMMER
I’m so angry I would smash every wall in this house! – Yes, & every plate & every bowl & every chair & table – I would break & tear every thing inside & out – & each broken bit I’d break – and when it was all wreckage & splinters grind it under my heels & pound it into the earth – I cannot stop shaking with it, I can barely hold this pen aright –
LATER
So tired now. Damek made me open the door & came in with a broth Mrs Anna cooked for me & so I have eaten although I would much rather not. He is gone now & I would speak to no one else. Everything is quiet & I hear the owl’s hoot through my window & the frogs – outside is a tranquil sky with the moon bright as a silver coin throwing shadows over the ground – it is strange how calm the night is, when there is such tempest in my breast! – I have opened the shutters so that the air flows in all peaceful & dries my cheeks.
Damek told me it is true. He has seen all the accounts. He said everyone in the royal houses knows and I should know too, since I will soon come to womanhood. I can scarce believe – and yet Damek says it is true! – & to have that slug Masko crowing over me is more than I can bear. Him coming into my sewing room & with such arrogance, to tell me that I was to meet with a suitor! & when I said nay & that no ill-bred cur of his low acquaintance would tempt my interest, I, the daughter of Lord Georg Kadar – to have him sneer at me – I feel such a fool. If everyone knew, why not I?
The noble Kadar, he said, well, there are things you don’t know about your noble father. It would make a cat laugh, he said. You sitting there all hoity-toity talking about his fine soul and how he snivelled over the vendetta, like some lily-livered woman. And he said, He was the one who shot that peasant, as the king ordered him, to start the Blood Tax, which had been full-thin from this part of the world because your fine father would not do his duty like a man – & when I said, How dare you speak so of my father when you are not fit to lick his boots! he sniggered & said I should ask the king some time – The revenue needs to come from somewhere, he said, & the Blood Tax is it, and your father was loath to do his share until he was pushed – he was no man! – but he shot his prey in the end, and so be it. & I stood up and called him out like a man, for I swear I would shoot him for my honour and Papa’s & why should I not, even if I am a girl? – & he laughed in my face and spat on the floor – That’s funny enough, a chit calling for honour! – And in defence of your father, he said, who was famed as the first whoremonger in the land! – & as murderous & greedy & foul as the rest of us. You get off your high horse, young lady, he said, and you will meet your suitor or I’ll be damned. – I can’t remember any more he said, for I felt that I would faint – I wanted to kill him – I threw myself at him and tried to scratch his eyes out with my nails & he slapped me to the floor & left.
Oh, Papa! And now I know it’s true. You took your gun and shot out the eye of that poor man who had done nothing wrong save come to the wrong place at the wrong time. & because of that our house echoes with the wailing of women & the village is pocked with empty houses and ruin! – & it is because of you! You, Papa! – I will never forgive you, never – I curse you in your grave, because I thought you more excellent in your soul than these brutish others! – & you were never so! My heart is torn with it, my life is broken – I hate Masko – but he is just a fat cruel idiot. I hate you more.
Damek said, Where do you think the money comes from? What do you think pays for these fine clothes and the food you eat? What is the wealth of the royal house? – He said, Did you never think of the Blood Tax? Did you never wonder why the vendetta never touches those of royal blood? – Oh, I never did, & I am sick with misery & horror – I would tear off these clothes and go naked, for they are woven of blood! – & every meal I have eaten stinks of death! – I taste it in my breath. I am vile, vile, I will never eat again –
The wizards must know, and partake in it – even Ezra, even as much as I have hated him, I thought that he made his laws according to his knowledge and what he thinks is right, which is not itself wrong. – And yet they are all empty and evil –
If this is what it means to be a grown woman I would have stayed in my mother’s curst womb & never been born.
NOVEMBER
How long since last I wrote here? I no longer know or care what the day is. It is wintering now and the winds howl like demons. The snows are coming – I can smell them.
I am so lonely – I want to speak to someone, as if I had a friend. I have no friends now, except this book.
I am shamed to the very pit of my being – broken – soiled as I never thought was possible. My soul has been torn and trampled – if I had thought! – I was foolish and stopped putting the chair against my door since it seemed that Masko would not have me killed. – And the night before last – was it then? or another night? – Masko came home late & drunk and forced his way into my room. Even writing this makes my gorge rise, I have vomited up every meal since –
He broke my rib & I have bruises all over me but none of those wounds hurt as much as the memory of what he did to me. I would cut my own head off to stop that memory. But that is not the worst –
Damek has gone. He tried to murder Masko, after he made me tell what happened. I didn’t want to tell but he made me. I wish he had killed him, I wish he had stabbed him right there in the drawing room – but he is still a boy, he is not as strong as Masko, who is tall as well as fat. Masko grabbed his arm & threw the knife away, and he punched him so hard Damek’s nose was broke and he was knocked out; and then when he was on the ground Masko kicked him until Kush pulled him off, shouting that he oughtn’t to kill the king’s bastard, however much he deserved to be beaten to death. – And Mrs Anna & Kush carried Damek into the kitchen and bathed his poor face until he woke up, swearing like the Devil himself. He said that for all the blood, it wasn’t so bad, and that Masko couldn’t punch to hurt a rabbit, but I don’t believe him.
Then he changed his clothes and packed a bag and left. I begged him not to, I fell to my knees & pleaded that he stay – but he said that he couldn’t stay now, that Masko would have him killed, and he couldn’t protect me here – he said he had a better plan & he would have his revenge. He has gone, I don’t know where, and I doubt I will ever see him again. He said he would carry me in his heart, he said if I dared to think of killing myself he would never forgive me. – But what is there for me to live for? – When I told him I would hang myself, he was more angry than I have ever seen him. He told me to have faith, but oh, it is a bitter, tiny thing, and there is nothing to keep it alight. He said he would come back for me. He said he would come back.
CHRIST MASS
I will not shed a tear on account of Masko ever again. He does not deserve such tribute.
Try how he might, he will never hurt me again, nor demean me, nor cause me to sorrow. Even if he abuse my body, he cannot wound my soul.
I will tend the hatred in my heart as if it is the most precious and delicate seedling, as if it were a nutmeg sent from the palace of the king with the brightest blessings of God. It will sprout into a sapling as graceful as an angel and it will put forth a flower that smells sweeter than ambergris and myrrh and shines like the first sun after winter.
Masko will see it and smile. But when he reaches out his hand to take its beauty, just as he steals everything that is mine, my enmity will strike his heart. He’ll wake to a bitter spring! He’ll find every green thi
ng withered and every hope blackened. The flower will bear the face of my hatred: its petals will rive open like lips and out from its centre will writhe a serpent that will coil about him and crush the light in his soul. Its fangs will pierce his heart with anguish, and it will devour every moment of all the days of his life.
Even his death will not serve for an escape, for my revenge will gnaw his spirit wherever it goes, for all eternity.
I swear this solemnly, that he has not the honour to warrant being named my enemy.
No, even my hatred is too noble for his kind. No, one day I will pluck his soul from his body as a rat is plucked from its hole and thrown onto the midden, and I will turn away as the gross worms eat out his eyes, for ever and ever and ever. Amen.
IV: ANNA
XIX
Much happened in Elbasa in the years I was away, but I heard only the small scraps rumour fed me, since Damek’s letters – the principal mode of my intelligence – ceased after his disappearance. Damek’s leaving was generally explained by his attempt on Masko’s life, and that in turn was presumed to stem from the cruel treatment he had suffered. Until I discovered Lina’s diary, I never knew the real reason for his departure; and I confess that I was never more shocked. I can’t imagine that my mother couldn’t have known, since she would have had to care for Lina’s injuries, but no hint ever passed her lips. Yet it’s easy to understand why Masko’s shameful crime against Lina would have been kept secret by any who cared for her. If it had become known, Lina likely would have been shot: although she was the innocent victim of his wicked lusts, she would have been held to be as much, or perhaps even more, at fault than the criminal himself. Such is the way of justice in the Plateau.
Like most others, including Lina herself, I presumed that Damek must have somehow met his death. I missed him, as I missed all those I loved in that luckless household, and mourned his probable fate. At the same time, I was making my own life, and had my own concerns. Most importantly for me, I met Zef, who was then working as a groom in the king’s stables, and he indicated an interest in me that I was by no means unwilling to return. When a letter unexpectedly arrived from Lina, petitioning the king to send me back to Elbasa to be her maid at the manse, I was torn: my relationship with Zef was still mere acquaintance, although I already preferred him over any man I had met, and had my wishes been consulted, I would have stayed where I was.
The king decided I should go, and so I had no choice but to leave. My joy in returning home was mingled with regret. Our mutual youth meant neither of us had any power to decide for ourselves where to live and work, and so Zef did not declare himself before my departure. I journeyed home with those feelings usually grouped under the phrase “a broken heart”. I can laugh at myself now, since such misunderstandings are long behind us, but it was very painful at the time, as I was sure I should never see him again. In thinking thus, I underestimated Zef’s constancy and determination: after he came of age he travelled here speedily and declared himself. And so you see us now, after many years of a good marriage, the only grief of which is our childlessness. They have been unremarkable years to anyone but ourselves, and make no exciting tale, but I thank God each day for my luck, in finding so early in my life a man who honours the qualities of my mind and heart, and who has never disrespected me for my sex. But I digress.
After Damek left, Lina moved out of the Red House and set up her household at the manse. Masko was still officially her guardian, since she was neither married nor of age, but he gave her permission to move; perhaps he was secretly ashamed of what he had done, and was weary of having Lina under his roof, a constant, silent reminder of his crime. Until I arrived, she was assigned a young girl, Fatima’s great-niece, Irli, to be her maid, and lived as a recluse, seldom seen in the village except when she attended church. This was so foreign to the Lina I had known that I was astonished, but my mother insisted that womanhood had changed her, and that she had become meek and biddable. I confess that, until I saw her myself, I found this impossible to believe.
The reason for my return also astonished me. Lina was to be married, and I was asked to be the housekeeper for her new household. Her troth had been given to a handsome young man, Tibor Alcahil, whom I knew only by sight, but who was said to be of steady character and minor but established wealth. It was hard to imagine a greater contrast to Damek, and I thought she must be changed indeed to make such an alliance.
It was wise of Lina to distance herself from Masko, by becoming the de facto mistress of the manse; although he continued as her official guardian, her move away from the Red House gained her respect in the eyes of the villagers. In the years that he was Lord of Elbasa, Masko had succeeded in making everyone despise him; not the lowest lackey said his name but to spit. He had no shame in flaunting the women he brought up from the south, in order to scandalize the northerners. He even took his whores to church, thus putting the priests and wizards in a rare unity of outrage.
The wizards and priests grudgingly tolerate each other because the king, for his own reasons, insists that they must; but it is at best a jealous truce. It is proverbial that on any given topic, one side will automatically disagree with the other. On the question of Masko’s scandalous behaviour, Father Cantor and the Wizard Ezra actually made a joint representation to the king that he be divested of his property and exiled from the Plateau. I heard about it while I was still serving in the palace: it attracted much gossip, not only because such a proposition had never before been made, but also because the king refused the submission. It confirmed my belief that the king’s detestation of the Lord Kadar was so bitter that he wanted to see his estate entirely dispersed by Masko’s extravagance and mismanagement, and had chosen him deliberately, knowing his character, to ensure this design. Masko of course knew of this representation, and when the king refused it, he became more arrogant than ever. But he was even then sowing the seed of his own downfall.
XX
You might imagine with what feelings I packed my trunk and made my way home. Although it was yet early in the year, it was an unpleasant journey: the heat was excessive, and a storm was building. On the final day of my journey bruise-coloured clouds began to pile in the sky, and the air became ever closer and more sultry, so that the sweat trickled down my back underneath my corset. To make matters worse, I was tormented by midges that swarmed in hosts out of the grasses, and which bit any exposed skin. Both the carter and myself were anxious to arrive in Elbasa before the storm broke over our heads. To my inexpressible relief, we reached the Red House just as the first fat raindrops began to fall in the dust.
My mother was glad to see me, although without any demonstration that others might have thought appropriate for close family members who were now reunited after a sundering of seven years. She embraced me briefly, and commented that I had grown tall. She was as shy and awkward as I was: when my mother had last seen me, I had still been a girl scarce out of childhood, and now I was a grown woman. I was shocked by how much she had aged: during my absence she had become old. Her hair was now completely white. Her arms, which had been strong and capable, were grown thin and knotty, and deep, bitter lines ran from her nose to her mouth, writing her unhappiness on her face. We met almost as strangers, and although we both felt moved by our meeting, we were equally unable to express our feelings.
We sat for a time in the kitchen, and she brewed me a tisane as the storm broke over the village and began to hammer the roofs and howl about the trees. It was clearly impossible for me to go up to the manse that night, and gradually, as she answered my questions about what had happened in the village in my absence, the atmosphere between us thawed.
She told me of the major events since I had left, which I have recounted so far as they related to Lina and Damek; but there was much other news as well. She spoke of new marriages, and of births and deaths (there were many more deaths, as the vendetta still burned its slow fatality through Elbasa and Skip). These events, which had once been my first concerns, now
seemed to have no relation to my life. This grieved and surprised me; I hadn’t realized until then how much my absence had changed me. I attempted to tell her about my years in the palace, and of Zef, who was foremost in my thoughts, but she showed little beyond polite interest and I soon dropped the subject. I went to sleep that night with an oppressed heart, wondering whether I would always feel like a stranger in the place I had thought of as my home.
The following morning the storm had passed and I made my way on foot to the manse. My trunk was to be sent on later, and after the dust and discomfort of the previous day’s journey, I was glad of the chance to walk in the cool air, which was cleansed and fresh after the night rains, and to look about the village I had not seen for so many years. It was a melancholy journey: because I was used to the grand halls and fine outbuildings of the palace, Elbasa seemed smaller and meaner than I remembered, and I noticed how many houses, like Fatima’s, were deserted and falling into ruin.
Lina was waiting for me at the manse, and embraced me with a far warmer emotion than my mother had. “Oh, Anna!” she said at last, as she stood back and studied my face, blinking tears from her eyes. “How glad I am you’re home. I was trembling that the king would not permit it. He never would before! And how grown up you are now!”
Black Spring Page 12
