[guide.chat] chapter five in mysterious ways
- From: vanessa <qwerty1234567a@xxxxxxxxx>
- To: "GUIDE CHAT" <guide.chat@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Wed, 13 Mar 2013 11:46:49 -0000
IN MYSTERIOUS WAYS
Chapter 5
Perhaps I should have returned to Vienna now, and at first I thought of doing
just that. But then I realised I didn't want to leave. I was not ready to
face my mother - not yet, anyway. I was still too angry about what she had
done: the way she had treated Peter, and that she had gone to the police.
Indirectly she had caused the break-up between us.
But I realised deep down she had acted out of love and concern - though it was
a twisted and negative love, causing her to act without reasoning or even
thinking.
Throughout my childhood I had suffered because of the way she was. But I also
remembered how caring she had been when I was very young. Bringing up her
children alone and without help through the war years, had been too much for
her.
Somehow my mother had seen us all through. Even when we were buried in the
rubble after a bomb had hit our building - somehow she'd managed.
I remembered now, how it had been when the war ended, and we had sat, huddled
together with all the other people in the cellar, waiting for the Russians to
come. Rumour had it, they would take everything they could - and on that night
they even took away the young girls in our cellar. I had only been four, but
my oldest sister at fourteen was one of the girls taken away at gunpoint to be
raped again and again - we all heard their screams. And my mother, like all
the others, was held at gunpoint too. She had to remain silent, and could do
nothing, knowing she would be shot otherwise - and what would become of us
children?
My mother had done her best, but she became increasing ill and was always in
pain, finding refuge only in God and religion.
I could not remember our father - I had only been two the last time he came
home. There had never been another man for my mother. I knew she had offers,
she was a good-looking woman. But she stayed alone. Without family or friends
to turn to, she became completely isolated, bitter and twisted, and, as time
went on, totally unpredictable and unreasonable. My mother could get
unexpectedly angry about any small thing. Yet other times she was loving and
kind - you never knew with her. My sisters had left, only my brother stayed,
becoming more and more twisted too. I'd tried to help him again and again, and
always failed.
I had escaped, but he was still there, and I suspected he would stay,
emotionally crippled for life. I was lucky to have got away, and I visited
Mama only occasionally now. After all, she was my mother, and in spite of
everything, deep down I loved her.
But I could not quite forgive her, at least not yet. But knowing she was as
she was, and how she had got to be that way, I felt it did no good chalking up
grudges against her, they would bring nothing. Every discussion turned into an
argument, and was completely futile, because she could not see any reason, or
someone else's point of view - she'd only get angry. As for the break-up - for
that I could not really blame her. I knew if had I remained calm and accepted
Peter ventilating his anger, eventually he would have calmed down, and we'd
have stayed together in spite of his parents' objections. I suspected even now
he was waiting for me to write - and if I did, and wrote a nice letter, perhaps
even apologised, everything would be all right. We'd be as close as we had
been. We'd have a future together again, if I just made the first step. But I
did not want to. I did not want to write, and I had nothing to apologise for.
And most definitely, I didn't want to be nice. I had enough. His words had
gone too deep, perhaps because of my own past and the feelings arising from it,
and never having had anyone to rely on. I wanted something different from the
man I intended sharing my life with. I had trusted Peter completely, and he
had betrayed me.
He had not considered me, but only himself and his parents. Quite obviously he
didn't care about my difficulties, or how I felt. Instead, he had tarred me
with the same brush as my mother, and said her madness might run in the family
and could affect our children. These words had done it. It was over - over
for good. I was better off without him. But in spite of it - or perhaps even
because of it - I didn't want to go back to Vienna, where he was.
Ilse was happy to stay on as long as I did, because before all this happened we
had a really good time. Now she suffered with me, and listened whenever I felt
like talking. I was no fun to be with whatsoever anymore, and I knew it. But
Ilse told me I would get over Peter, and we'd have more enjoyment and some fun
again too - she was sure of it. I just hoped she was right.
But whatever had happened and however sad my situation was now, I liked being
here with Ilse, and I liked having the time to chat with her whenever I wanted
to. We had a good life here, an easy life. We looked after Elisabeth, who was
used to occupying herself - mainly with the dogs - though lately she'd taken to
housework. She'd 'help' putting the Hoover over, and to cook and wash up.
Elisabeth was not much work; she ate whatever we did, as her mother also did on
times. Though more often now, Jane Ashworth did not get up until the
afternoon, and ate nothing as far as we knew until late in the evening, when
she cooked something just for herself, and for Hugh, if he was here.
Darling Hugh, as she called him, stayed the night occasionally, since the
party. He was one of the newly qualified flying instructors, and Jane adored
him. What his feelings were, I was not so sure.
A quiet man around forty with rugged good looks, Hugh was polite, but distant.
He never chatted with us. On occasion I'd seen him embarrassed, especially in
the mornings, when I took the first cup of tea to Jane's room, and he was in
her bed. And though I always offered to bring him a cup too, Hugh always
refused with just a curt: "no, thank you."
I would have brought two cups, or perhaps even a pot of tea, had I known he was
here. But we could never tell. Hugh was rarely about in the evening, but
arrived very late - usually after Ilse and I went to bed. He never came during
the day or stayed on in the morning, and he didn't take Jane out at all, though
she would meet him in the flying club. But even so - to Ilse and me this did
not seem much of a relationship, and we felt sorry for Jane. But she didn't
talk about Hugh, so we knew very little about him, except that he would leave
soon and go back to Scotland, and then Jane would be alone again too.
Actually, we didn't call her Jane anymore, at least not to her face. It was
Mrs Ashworth now. After Peter left, she had explained that as Au Pairs, it
would be more appropriate to address her as Mrs Ashworth. We found this
strange at first, but got so used to it, we often called her Mrs Ashworth even
when we were alone and talked about her - which we frequently did, but usually
in a nice way, because we were quite fond of her.
There were some very positive things about Jane - Mrs Ashworth. For one, she
paid us well: twenty pound each every week - that was a lot. I could save
almost three times as much as at home.
And at home I had to work forty-eight hours per week, getting up at five thirty
to leave at six for my journey to work. At seven I would sit at my typewriter,
where I had to stay, except for the half hour at lunchtime and a ten minute
break mid-morning. At five, I'd leave for my journey home, to get in at six.
Ilse had worked similar hours. By comparison, we had a life of leisure here,
and earned far more money.
It was fun sharing everything, and to organise our day as we pleased. We could
get up when we wanted, and usually arrived in the kitchen around eight. As
soon as Elisabeth got up she came to the kitchen too, dressed as best as she
could. Jane never got up before noon, so the morning was ours. We let the
dogs out, made tea, and saw to it that Elisabeth was washed and dressed
properly, and her long blond curls brushed and tied with a ribbon. This little
girl hardly ever objected to anything, and didn't grizzle or cry. Now that she
had a little attention she blossomed, talked more and wet herself less, proud
of the praise she received.
Our morning chores finished, we had breakfast, often a cooked English
breakfast, still a novelty for us. We loved these leisurely breakfasts, with a
choice of eggs, bacon or sausages, or just baked beans and delicious fresh
toast, and marmalade of course. After breakfast we'd make another pot of tea,
and sit talking for a while. Elisabeth usually joined in as well; she was
beginning to talk much more now. Then we would play with her. Around ten,
we'd take a cup of tea up to Jane - Mrs Ashworth now. Usually she was still
asleep - especially if she was alone - and we'd leave the tea by her bedside,
having been told not to wake her.
Later in the morning Ilse and I worked for a while. We had made a kind of
timetable, delegating this time of day to anything that needed doing,
especially housework. But as everything was so neglected, we reasoned however
much we did would hardly be noticed, and, considering the state of the house,
was a waste of time anyway. So we'd sort out the big range every day, sweep
the kitchen as well as the pantry, and the scullery occasionally too. Once a
week we'd wipe over all the obvious places, and vacuum the hall and the rooms
which were in use, with Elisabeth following us with a duster, trying to get in
on the action. The dogs were trailing behind, and so, between us, we made a
game of it all.
In the dining room we had to be careful nothing would get damaged, so in here
Ilse and I came alone. This room needed more care, as Mrs Ashworth received
her guests here. So every morning we'd clean the grate and lay a new fire, and
put the Hoover over if necessary, before spreading a little polish on the
furniture, so Jane could smell we'd been working.
Twice a week the washing and ironing had to be done. But the machine did the
washing, and to save on the ironing, Ilse and I wore mostly clothes needing
little or no ironing, choosing Elisabeth's garments accordingly too. Jane saw
to her own clothes, at least to her underwear and negligees and her blouses. I
suspected she didn't trust us with these delicate and probably quite expensive
items - rightly so, as we had a little problem with the colours once, and
everything turned a pale shade of pink.
We also prepared the meals, but didn't consider cooking a chore; after all, we
had to eat too. At home I also had to cook, and do the shopping, which Mrs
Ashworth did every week.
So, on the whole, we had little incentive to return to Vienna, we had it much
better here. But I couldn't really enjoy my life - at least not as much as in
the beginning - because each one of my thoughts led to Peter. I was still
hurting so much. I could not get him out of my mind. But this would be no
better in Vienna, if anything, because of judo I'd be reminded of him more.
Even changing to another club would not solve the problem, because I couldn't
go to championships or any other event without running into Peter. And
everyone knew about us, and would ask about him. No, it was better to stay
here in England for a while.
But I missed judo, and it was time to train on a regular basis again. I'd been
to the nearest club once before, just after Peter left, hoping it would
distract me. It certainly had, and turned out a very unusual evening.
Peter had told me about this club and how to get there. So one evening I took
the bus to the small town where it was located. I arrived half-hour early and
the door was still locked. Looking around the pretty little town square, I
discovered a pub. It was a chilly evening in early December and already
pitch-dark, except for the street lights and the lit up windows of the houses.
The bright pub windows looked inviting, and when the door opened to spill a few
people out - laughing, happy people - I walked inside. I found myself in
smallish room with much brass and dark wood, a door opening to a larger room
where more people sat, enjoying a meal. The light was dim, it was warm, cosy,
and although the people were talking and laughing, they did so quietly, and
everything had a muted, and a cosy quality.
The room was crowded, but one small table was free. I sat down, and when the
barkeeper approached I ordered whisky, wanting to blend in. Jane Ashworth
always drank whisky, and somehow I had come to believe this was the national
drink here in England. As I looked around, I soon realised this was a wrong
assumption. But I had ordered already, and as I felt comfortable here and
appreciated my surroundings, I relaxed. With plenty of time until the training
would start, I took my ladies-pipe out which I smoked on occasion, put tobacco
into the bowl and lit it, slowly drawing the smoke into my lungs.
Peter had bought me this pipe. It had a long stem, slightly curved and
elegant, a pipe designed for a lady. Back home, this kind of pipe was
fashionable just then. It was healthier to smoke a pipe than cigarettes,
because of the paper, so Peter had said - who did not smoke at all, but hadn't
objected to any of my weaknesses.
In Vienna, it was nothing very unusual for a woman to smoke such a pipe, but
obviously here it was different, because everyone looked at me. "Where are you
from?" asked the barkeeper as he brought my whisky.
"From Vienna," I replied, wanting to pay for my drink, but he said it was
already paid for. By a turn of his head he indicated a man at the bar, an
older man with a moustache, who smoked a pipe too and smiled at me briefly,
nodding his head in my direction.
I didn't know what to do. Was this just a friendly, welcoming gesture? Was it
acceptable to let a stranger pay for my drink? Or should I refuse? I didn't
know what was proper. The barkeeper asked me all sorts of questions, how I
liked England, what I thought of this town, and, why was I here? Other people
joined in, all of them men, because I was the only woman in here except for one
very young girl, who sat in the furthest corner with a youth, her boyfriend
probably, as they were so clearly occupied just with each other.
When I said I was waiting for the judo club to open, their interest increased,
everyone wanted to know why a girl should want to do judo. I could not answer
this question to their full satisfaction, and asked in return what it was like
here in England regarding women and judo. I was told firmly, that no woman, or
girl, for that matter, would ever think of practising judo. It was a sport
only for men. For a girl to do judo was quite unthinkable; it just was not
done.
Perhaps they expected this would put me off going to the club, so I explained
that in Austria I was often the only girl too. More questions kept coming,
along with more whisky, and I no longer knew who had ordered or paid for my
drinks. So I accepted each glass graciously, and after drinking three or four
large whiskeys, I decided enough was enough, and it was time to go. The
barkeeper didn't let me pay anything, assuring me it was all paid for. So I
thanked the men, put my pipe away and said my farewells, with all of them
smiling or nodding and saying cheerio or goodbye, and some of the men raising
their hands in a slight wave, as I went out of the door.
What friendly people, I thought, as I walked across to the judo club. The
light was on now, and the door opened easily to my touch. I felt much more
confidant after the whisky, but the alcohol didn't impede me, being used to
drinking with Jane. I wasn't even tipsy, just more relaxed, as I walked into
the dojo.
But my confidence left me when the men said they had heard so much about me.
Peter had told them - I should have known. He had told them about the
championships I had won, and that I practised with men back in Vienna, and
frequently won in a contest. I could have killed him. Why couldn't he keep
his mouth shut? Now I had a reputation to keep up to, and would feel terrible
about every contest I lost. I was a black belt - only two men wore black
belts, all the others were lower grades. It would be so humiliating if I lost
all my fights - or even some, after what Peter had said about me.
I was so afraid to show myself up, I won every single fight - even against the
two black belts who were the trainers, and much bigger than me. Perhaps the
whisky helped too - but I would not make it a habit, I promised myself.
Now, a few weeks later, I wasn't worried anymore about showing myself up.
Going to the club every week, I had soon become part of their group. Never
again did I win all my contests though, and I usually lost quite a few, but it
didn't matter at all now. I had nothing to prove anymore, because they all
knew I was as good as the others, in spite of being a girl.
Knowing which bus to take, I always arrived on time, and never again went to
the pub before training. But afterwards - just like at home - we all went for
a drink. But my new judo colleges didn't drink whisky, but large beers. It
was just like at home -except the beer here was not icy cold but room
temperature, to me, it seemed almost warm - which took some getting used to.
And now, with my engagement in tatters and my life on hold, my weekly training
sessions became a lifeline to me. I could forget everything when I practised.
And I felt at home here at the club. Judo was the one thing that was the same
as in Austria - even all the judo names were identical, as traditional Japanese
names were used for every throw and each action. I enjoyed the training, the
contests and rivalry, the easy camaraderie and the jokes between colleges, much
as I had done at home. There seemed to be no class distinction here at the
judo club - at least as far as I could make out - and no one minded a girl
doing judo, quite on the contrary, the men seemed to like it.
from
Vanessa The Google Girl.
my skype name is rainbowstar123
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