Black Spring (17 page)

S
o 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 sniveled 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 sometime — 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 honor 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 honor! — And in defense 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.

H
ow 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 broken 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.

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 abuses 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 thing 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 center 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 honor 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, forever and ever and ever. Amen.

M
uch happened in Elbasa in the years I was away, but I heard only the small scraps rumor 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 important 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 traveled 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 honors the qualities of my mind and heart and who has never disrespected me for my sex. But I digress.