Winter's End (5 page)

Once peace and quiet were restored, Helen hid under her sheet and blankets and curled up into a ball. In the darkness she tried to persuade herself that this was only a nightmare and best forgotten, and she did her best to distract her mind by thinking up male and female couples, like Octavo: husband and wife; wizard and witch; fox and vixen; boy and girl. And she trembled as she whispered, very quietly, “Milos and Helen.”

T
he next day was Friday, the day the Skunk came. Helen would have to get a move on if she was going to write her letter to Milos and leave it in the laundry cart before the old man arrived. She took advantage of Miss Mersch’s math lesson, which was from nine to ten. The math teacher was confined to a wheelchair and wouldn’t rush at her to snatch away her half-written letter shouting, “And what, young lady, is this?” She might have an eagle eye, but Helen, like the rest of her friends, was good at covering up.

For a moment she wondered how to begin.
Dear Milos?
They hardly knew each other. . . .
Hi, Milos?
You might say that to anyone. She decided on just
Milos.
He could take it any way he liked. She told him how she had found the library empty, about her return to the boarding school without Milena, and above all about how miserable she felt when she saw little Catharina Pancek taken away to the detention
cell. She wrote about Milena’s amazing voice, saying she’d never have thought her capable of letting anyone down like that. And she asked him to reply soon, adding that she’d be
waiting impatiently
for his letter. Then she cobbled together a makeshift envelope out of another piece of notepaper folded in half and glued together. She took the piece of paper that Milos had given her the day before out of her sock, where she had tucked it away, and carefully copied his name:
Milos Ferenzy. The boys’ boarding school. Fourth year.
Before slipping her letter into the envelope, she paused for a moment to think, and added, under her signature:
By the way, I haven’t even told you anything about myself. I’m seventeen. I like books and chocolate (and I’m glad I met you).

Writing that last line, she felt doubtful and uncertain. Had she said too much? Not enough?

At ten o’clock break, she unobtrusively joined a group of fifth-year girls in one corner of the school yard and asked straight out, “How does the mail service work? Does someone put the letters in the laundry cart and then the Skunk takes them away?”

A tall, slim, and rather pretty girl stared hard at her. “Who do you want to send a letter to?”

“A boy from over there.”

“What year are you in?”

“The fourth year.”

“What’s your name?”

“Helen Dormann.”

“And what’s his?”

“Milos Ferenzy,” said Helen. She blushed, and felt furious with herself.

The older girls conferred by exchanging glances. None of them knew Milos. He’d probably be too young to interest them.

“Give it here,” said the tall girl, and the others spontaneously formed a little barrier around them so that Helen could hand her letter over unnoticed.

“You’re the one who leaves the letters?” Helen asked.

“That’s right.”

“I . . . I don’t have a present for you. Or for the Skunk. I don’t have anything. I didn’t have the time to . . .”

“That’s all right. I’ll bring you the reply. If there is one.”

A little before midday, Helen was looking out the music-room window, which had a view of the yard, and saw the Skunk arrive with his jolting cart. He disappeared into the laundry and came out with a pile of white sheets. The day’s letters must be hidden among them.

Helen hummed, amazed to find how easily the nursery rhyme came back to her from her early childhood.

The days that followed were unbearable. Helen expected to be called to the Tank’s office at any moment. But the summons never came. The lack of reaction to what had happened was worse than anything. It meant that the school staff were sticking to Rule 16: If any pupil does not return after her three hours’ absence, another girl will be sent to the detention cell immediately and will stay there until the runaway is back. Everything was in order; the matter was closed.

None of the girls dared mention Catharina, but everyone thought of her the whole time. Was she managing to sleep? Did they give her anything to eat and drink? Helen questioned a fifth-year girl who had spent a whole night and half the next day in the Sky last year for throwing her soup plate at the refectory wall and shouting that she was “Fed up! Fed up! Fed up!” She wouldn’t say much and seemed mainly anxious to know if Catharina would have had time to get a look at the picture on the beam.

“Is it that important?” asked Helen. “Did you see it yourself?”

“Only for a second or so, but it kept me from going around the bend. Was it you Milena went out with?”

“Yes.”

The girl turned her back. Helen felt that everyone held her responsible for what had happened, or
at least thought she had been Milena’s accomplice. As Milena wasn’t there, they couldn’t tell her what they thought of her, so they took their fury and resentment out on Helen. Only Vera Plasil hadn’t turned against her.

“It isn’t your fault. How could anyone think it was? She’ll come back, I’m sure. I expect she had something really important to do. You wait and see; she’ll do it and she’ll be back.”

“Then why didn’t she tell me anything about it?”

Vera Plasil had no answer to that. She just looked at Helen with sympathy in her big blue eyes.

From Sunday onward Helen was counting not the days but the hours until Friday, when the Skunk came. Time just wouldn’t pass. She made herself imagine the worst to avoid feeling too bad when the moment came: the worst was if she didn’t get a reply from Milos this time and had to wait another week. The mere thought of it was disheartening.

And Milena still didn’t come back. Might never come back . . . until Catharina died in that black hole. The worst moment was suppertime. Since the detention cell was under the refectory cellars, the girls knew that Catharina was close to them, and they had difficulty forcing down what was on their plates.

At last Helen woke up in the morning and it was Friday. At ten to twelve, punctual if none too steady on his feet, the Skunk wheeled his cart of clean sheets across the yard. From the music
room, Helen saw him disappear into the laundry to exchange them for the dirty bed linen.

Old Ma Crackpot made them repeat that verse for the twelfth time, but Helen wasn’t listening to the others singing anymore.
Oh, let there be a letter for me,
she thought.
Let there be a letter! I can’t wait another whole week.

On her way out of the refectory, a sixth-year girl came up to her. “Are you Helen Dormann?”

“Yes.”

“Here’s your mail, then! And don’t forget the little present next time.”

“I won’t — I promise!” said Helen, beside herself with delight as she put the two envelopes in her pocket. There were two of them! All week she’d been afraid of not getting a letter, and now she had two!

Feverishly, she searched the school yard for Vera Plasil. “Vera, could you wait at the door for me, please?”

The lavatories were dilapidated, but the only place where you could be left in peace on your own for a few moments, so long as there was someone to stand guard at the door. Once inside, Helen took the envelopes out of her coat pocket. Her name was on both,
Helen Dormann, the girls’ boarding school,
and her class,
fourth year,
but the handwriting on
them was different. The first envelope was in Milos’s writing, which she easily recognized, large and neatly connected. The second, an inimitable, almost adult hand, was Milena’s! She opened Milos’s letter first. After all, this was the one she’d been waiting for all week. It was short:

Helen

I got your letter, and here’s mine. I hope it won’t be too Skunk-scented! Bartolomeo didn’t come back the other evening. I have something serious to tell you. Be at the corner of the east and north walls of your school at midnight on Friday. Promise?

Milos

P.S. I haven’t told you about myself either. I’m seventeen. I like Greco-Roman wrestling and eating (and I’m very glad I met you too).

Helen wondered if what she was holding was her first-ever love letter. The repetition of the last sentence of her own letter almost word for word suggested that Milos wanted a close friendship. Emotion almost made her dizzy. So many extraordinary things had been happening these last few days. She put the letter back in its envelope and opened Milena’s, which was longer.

Dear Helen,

I can imagine how angry with me you must be, and I really do understand. But you have to know that I didn’t let you down on purpose.

What happened is this: Bartolomeo came back to the library
just after you left. We talked for over two hours, and at the end of that time, I decided to go on the run with him. We’re leaving tonight. I’m never coming back to the boarding school again.

We were hiding behind the fountain when you passed just now carrying a basket. I don’t know what was in it, but thank you for bringing it for me!

At the moment we’re at my consoler’s house, where I’m writing you this letter. She’ll send it on to you via the Skunk.

There’s so much I’d like to tell you, but I don’t have time. Milos knows all about it. He’ll explain. Ask him.

I hope we’ll meet again. You’ve been my best friend all these years. I’ll never forget you. I’m very sad to say good-bye.

Love and kisses,

Milena

P.S. I feel terrible about Catharina, but I had to do what I’m doing now.

“Helen, I’m getting cold out here. And it’s raining too.”

Waiting at the door, Vera was getting impatient. Helen wiped her eyes with her handkerchief, hid the two envelopes in the inside pocket of her coat, and emerged from the lavatories.

At evening study time, it was as if the ghosts of Milena Bach and Catharina Pancek occupied their empty places in the third row and the front row respectively. The absence of the two girls weighed
on everyone’s mind. Miss Zesch, sweating more than ever, was almost falling asleep.

“What’s Greco-Roman wrestling, Vera?” Helen whispered.

“I think it’s men in swimsuits flinging themselves on each other and each tries to get the other guy down on his back.”

“God — really?”

“And they stink of sweat and grunt a lot.”

“Oh.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Just wondering.”

Helen couldn’t stop thinking of Milos, telling herself all the time that she must be crazy to go falling in love with a boy she’d seen for less than five minutes, and in a dim light too. Another thing was that she couldn’t conjure up his face. The harder she tried to remember it, the more elusive it was. She thought she remembered that Milos wasn’t very tall; his cheeks were rather round, yes; he had curly hair, yes; and a nice smile — yes, yes, and yes again — but she couldn’t visualize him anymore. She decided that what she really wanted was to fall in love, and the first boy to come along would do. She just hoped she wasn’t going to be too badly disappointed.

And what did he want from her? The idea of meeting him by night fascinated her, but it scared her too.
I have something serious to tell you.
What did that mean? And she’d have to get out of the dormitory in the middle of the night. Luckily Miss Zesch,
who was their supervisor again tonight, snored like a pig as soon as she fell asleep, and she didn’t surface again until early morning. She was by far the easiest of all the supervisors to deceive. Much more than Miss Merlute, a silent, cunning insomniac who went poking her long nose around among the rows of beds at any time of night. No, the real danger was from the other girls. Especially Vera, who was always a light sleeper and would want to know where she was going. Helen was tempted to tell Vera what was going on but decided against it. Sensible Vera was capable of waking the whole dormitory when the moment came, just to save Helen from putting herself at risk.

Under the covers, Helen looked at the luminous hands of her watch; it was after ten, and Miss Zesch wasn’t snoring yet. She still wasn’t snoring at eleven. That was very strange. The light was on in her cubicle, but no other sign of life came from it. Was she determined to stay awake through the night now, of all times, and imitate Miss Merlute by prowling around the beds looking like a bird of prey? Helen strained her ears desperately. In the absence of the usual roaring sounds, a gentle little snore would have been enough for her, but even that didn’t come.

At quarter to midnight, her patience exhausted, she decided to try her luck and go out anyway. She glanced at the next bed. Vera was sleeping peacefully with her mouth half open. Reassured, Helen
ventured to sit up. She was going to get out of bed to go to her closet and get her clothes when Miss Zesch opened her cubicle door. Helen first froze like a statue and then lay down again, eyes wide.