Rembrandt's Mirror (30 page)

She was still suffering bouts of agonizing cramps and vomiting, with only very brief periods of respite in between. Like labour, he thought, but without anything to show for it in the end. He'd watched the midwife when Cornelia was being born, calm and efficient. Perhaps that's what he had to become: a midwife helping his wife into the next world. He applied poultices of saffron, pigeon droppings and mustard as instructed by Tulp. They were meant to take the heat out of her body but how inadequate these measures were.

Some time in the morning she cried out, ‘The bed's on fire, I'm burning. Help me.'

‘It's the fever, my love.'

‘No, quick, Rembrandt, put it out. Help me.'

She screamed so violently that he had no doubt that she suffered the sensation of burning. He pulled the bedclothes off her and lifted her out of the bed on to the floor but she was still writhing as if being burned alive. He touched her back; the skin was very hot.
Using a jug he sprinkled some water over her hair and chemise. It helped. Her panic subsided.

‘There is no fire, is there?' she said. ‘My body is burning itself up. I wish it was over. How long do you think until I can be dead? My body, it's too strong. It will go on for many a day yet.'

Her body was strong. It was a good thing.

‘Don't give up, Rika, you'll come through this.'

But the words had left behind a great hole where his faith used to be.

She looked at him, as if wanting to believe him. But what good was there in giving her false hope? Perhaps the kindest thing would be to encourage her to forgo drink, to hasten things along as was her wish. He even considered for a moment offering her all of the laudanum. She would die instantly and without pain – but this he could not do. Only God knew if there was still hope.

But given her intense pain and his despair, it seemed time to start administering the laudanum. ‘Tulp gave me this,' he said. ‘It will help with the pain.'

‘What is it?' she asked and already opened her mouth to receive the drops.

‘It's made from opium.'

‘Why did you not tell me about it before? I was in agony,' she said.

‘We have a limited amount of it and I did not want us to run out too early, with the pain getting worse all the time.'

‘What if one takes more than the allotted dose?'

Was her mind bent the same way as his or was she merely wondering about the dosage? ‘Tulp said it would cause delirium and great difficulty in breathing,' he told her.

‘I just hope each dose lasts for a good while. To know it's there and not be able to take it would only be another kind of torture.'

How bitter she sounded, but she was speaking more easily; perhaps the laudanum was already effective. Her chemise was soaked so he helped her take it off, and that's when he saw the swelling in her armpit. The monstrous thing was sticking out half an inch. It looked as if a bone was poking out, stretching the skin and making it appear white and hard. Was it one of the deadly swellings Tulp had described? It was hard to remember his words. He dared not touch it and anyway it was better not to tell her while she was in such despair. She was shivering so he heaped on the blankets.

‘Lie with me,' she said.

‘By Jove,' he replied, ‘the lady is feeling better.'

She smiled. ‘Consorting with a plague victim will easily make you the talk of the town once again; whether you'd get much custom afterwards is another question.'

He laughed, wondering what to do. He was exposed to the disease anyway, so why not lie with her? He'd continue to be strict about keeping a good distance between himself and Titus and Cornelia. He slipped under the blankets. It had been three days now and she was still alive, and what a miracle the few drops of laudanum had worked. He'd discovered a swelling and yet he was feeling hopeful. He had to remember that the laudanum was no cure. It was only masking the pain.

He closed his eyes, lying on his side. She lay facing away from him so he stroked her back and down her arms. He could feel all her ribs, so much of her flesh was gone. Then he held her frail little body against his. He wanted to protect her but all he could do was to look on.

He woke to the sound of chattering teeth. ‘Please, more medicine,' she begged.

‘I'm sorry, Rika, but three hours have not passed since the last dose, not even two.'

She said nothing.

‘We'll have to wait until the clock strikes five. We'll manage till then.'

‘That's easy for you to say.'

‘I'll tell you something to keep your mind off things.'

‘That will have to be some tale,' she said between spasms of chattering. ‘Tell it to someone on the rack – more chance it'll distract them.'

‘Just listen,' he said. ‘We're in the forest, you know, the one you like.'

She groaned, sounding angry, but he continued. ‘It smells of summer grasses and flowers. We are by the pool where I painted you. Remember the big oaks, sheltering us from wind and rain?'

‘Shut up and give me the laudanum.' Her body was shaking ever more violently. But he carried on. Maybe he only kept talking to stop himself from fleeing the room. He focused on the tone of his voice,
making it deeper, to try and penetrate through her pain, to let her know that there was still this world for her to return to. His voice resonated in his chest. The sensation made him feel less panic-stricken.

‘The surface of the lake is smooth, a mirror, not a breath of wind. A few leaves are floating there on the water. The sky, trees and shrubs reflected in it.'

She cried out in pain, unmasking the futility of his efforts. Maybe he could ask Titus to sit with her for a little while. No, he could not expose Titus.

Her eyes were closed, face muscles stretched taut. He closed his eyes to see better, to beat a path to her somehow.

‘Rika, can you hear me?'

There was no answer. Then he thought of something he'd heard the midwife do. ‘When the next cramp comes I'll count so you'll know when it will be over.'

She screamed and he counted, ‘Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four.' She relaxed. He stopped counting. ‘There, now it's over. You can rest a while.'

When he noticed her body tensing again after a few minutes he counted again, this time from seven, so that the end of the count-down would coincide with the ending of the cramp. It did. She breathed out. They went on like this for the best part of an hour. They were ruled by the rhythm of the cramps; he had to keep pace with her pain, hoping she could use his voice as an anchor to keep her from insanity.

Finally the cramps lessened of their own accord, which was probably just another stage of the illness. She lay still and he relaxed, relieved that things had eased for the moment.

Then she whispered, ‘Open this. Undo the buttons, please!'

But she was not wearing anything. Had her mind gone? He pulled away the cover to make her feel that she was unconstrained.

To his surprise, she pushed herself up a little to a half-sitting position and then pointed at her stomach and legs. ‘This, look at this.'

He could not comprehend her meaning. She continued in a very reasonable tone. ‘That body there – can you not see – it's dying. We need to get rid of it. See? It stinks. Do something!'

She looked at him, expectant and so sanguine. Then, with a speed he would not have thought possible, she grabbed the knife he'd left on the side table for chopping herbs for poultices. It was sharp. She held it to her stomach, the point digging into her.

‘I'm sewn into this thing; we need to cut it open so I can get out.'

‘No, my love, it's your body. You can't get out.'

‘What do you mean I can't? You cannot expect me to stay in this cadaver.'

He grabbed her wrist with one hand and wrested the knife from her. She screamed and struggled.

He did not know what to do or say so he locked his arm around her until she tired. Then the clock struck five in the afternoon and he gave her more laudanum. As her body grew heavier and looser
beside him he whispered, ‘I'm walking with you to the gate and if it opens we'll go through it, together.'

‘Yes, my love,' she replied, ‘to the invisible.'

He played with the idea of drinking all the morphine as soon as she'd died, then perhaps they really could go together. It was such a comforting thought that he held on to it. The sensation of the glass vial against his lips, the liquid going down his throat, a soft nothing embracing him. And then he sang to her to help her into sleep.

I pray you may sleep until you are home
.

I pray you not suffer the tiniest storm
.

When we're together we'll sail once again

The waves gently rocking, our two hearts to one
,

As vast as the ocean, till all else is gone
.

I'd never heard him sing before. And once I'd drifted off – not into the dullness of sleep but into a clear and present wakefulness – I was deep inside the forest, deeper than I had ever ventured before. The birds were singing, as if right by my ear, and the air was like balm. I let my wrap drop from my shoulders, not caring where it fell, skipping like a young girl ever further into the wood. After a while, I slowed to an ambling pace. My skirt seemed an encumbrance, so I undid it and left it behind, along with my cap and chemise. I could feel each blade of the soft grass brushing against my calves. When I
reached a small clearing I stopped to contemplate the realm of green; the canopy above, the light-speckled grass, the network of branches and leaves that formed the undergrowth and grassy ground that led across the clearing to the other side. There was no path, only the glittering light which beckoned between the leaves, making me wish to reach it. I crossed the clearing and soon arrived at the shimmering waters of a round lake, as vividly blue as Rembrandt's azurite. He always said to use it sparingly, for it likes to draw attention to itself.

The air, thick with honeysuckle, roused me to walk on, along the bank through the tall grasses. Occasionally I climbed over a fallen tree or branches. There was no trace of anyone having set foot here – a virgin place. A heron stood on stalky legs poised to dart for fish.

I looked at the water, smooth and alive. The entire lake a mirror, containing heron, shore, sky and overhanging trees. On a whim, I turned my back to the lake and looked at it through my legs. Everything was upside down, throwing what had previously seemed solid into question and making the fluid world seem tangible. As I righted myself I did my best to hang on to the illusion that the lake was the substantial world. I would dive into the impenetrable bank and find myself a pigment suspended in a fluid universe of countless things. Of course as soon as my foot touched the water a flurry of ripples passed through the syrupy green.

I waded in further. The water was pleasantly cool. I wanted to be fully immersed. It scaled my stomach, breast and neck, sending before me spreading circles.

I swam a few strokes to get warm, underwater plants brushing against my legs, but soon they were left behind as the water ran deep. A breeze rustled through the trees and then whipped up wavelets all around me, spraying my cheek. I looked up at the vast sky above. A heron crossed the blue, taking no notice of me.

I held my breath, floating still, buoyed up by the water. What an expanse of swaying azurite. Then, with my eyes only just above the surface, I noticed tiny pondskaters, their feet making indentations on the water. Little waves lapped against the back of my head and then my body was gone as if I'd bled into the blue. I did not have to move at all and yet I did not sink.

I breathed out a long breath. No care for ever breathing in again, breathing out was all. Empty – full, as the mirror-lake, waves, sun sparkle, a drop of dew. Water in water.

He woke up, still in bed with her. It was night now. She was so quiet, no laboured breathing. Was she still breathing? He put his ear to her mouth and yes, he felt her breath. Relief, but would it not be better if it was over? No, he decided, not yet, it was too soon, too soon for him.