[guide.chat] chapter seventeen in mysterious ways
- From: vanessa <qwerty1234567a@xxxxxxxxx>
- To: "GUIDE CHAT" <guide.chat@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Wed, 20 Mar 2013 00:26:47 -0000
IN MYSTERIOUS WAYS
Chapter 17
.
We all enjoyed our stay in Newport. Every morning we'd go off somewhere,
together with Ilse and Tom. Exploring the town, inevitably we came to the old
market, where you could buy all sorts of fish fresh from the sea - fish, we had
never seen before. We bought salt-fish because the whole family was fond of
it, so Martin said, and besides, it would keep. And there was lava bread, a
kind of Welsh seaweed, very nice to eat with fried bacon - we should at least
try some. We also got a few mackerel, as Ilse and I had never eaten them, and
they did look nice, glistening wet as if they had just come out of the sea.
And, as we were here, we had to buy a few cutlets of hake, Pat liked cooking
them for Laurie; hake was his favourite.
Then Martin bought cockles and prawns which we ate straight from the paper,
right here in the market. I hesitated at first, because the prawns looked so
horrible in their shells, with their dark eyes and long feelers. But Martin
peeled one and insisted I try it. It looked better presented this way, and
tasted so delicious I ate the lot - after he peeled them, of course.
Next we visited the transporter bridge. Everyone said it was a must - a
suspension bridge was a great rarity, people came from all over just to look at
it. Ilse and I were duly impressed, crossing the river whilst sitting on a
platform, gliding smoothly over the grey muddy water of the Usk. Martin told
us the river was so high because the tide was in. When they were children,
they used to jump from this bridge at high tide to swim in the river, though it
was dangerous, because of the tide. He nearly drowned once - but boys will be
boys, so he said.
High above was a small narrow bridge; one could walk over the river up there.
But we didn't feel like trying it out, and postponed it for now.
Next we visited the docks, only a ten minute walk from Marion Street. For Ilse
and me, having lived in a country without access to the ocean, the docks were a
novelty. It was fascinating watching the big ships, the hustle and bustle of
unloading, and the dock life. Ilse found it so interesting, she declared, if
we got bored we could always come here to the docks.
The men laughed. "Just make sure, you don't come late in the evening, or at
night," Martin said, still grinning. So my friend wanted to know what was
different then, but the men wouldn't answer this question. Tom was muttering
something about men, and some kind women, going on the ships even, so they
were.
Slowly a light began to dawn. But Ilse was quicker than me.
"Prostitutes," she beamed, pleased to have solved this riddle. Now, as I
thought about it, I realised this was the kind of place where they would be
waiting, with sailors arriving, having been on their ships many months.
"We have them in Vienna too," I said, which was true. Though we had no docks,
in Vienna were also places where it wasn't safe for a woman - or even two or
three - to walk alone, especially at night. But the danger didn't just come
from the men, but from the prostitutes too, thinking they had to defend their
'patch.'
But before we could enlarge on this further, the men changed the subject,
seemingly uncomfortable talking about it with us. But they did promise, this
evening we'd all go to the pub on the dock entrance, opposite the gates.
This visit was a great success. Now we knew about Welsh prostitutes, we could
pick them out easily, just by their clothes and their make-up - the clothes too
scanty and the make-up too much - just like at home. But neither Ilse nor I
had anything against prostitutes, after all, they were a product of our society
too. So, live and let live, we thought, it was up to everyone what they did
with their lives and their bodies. Though some people had more choices than
others, everyone did have some choice. And anyway, who cared? Ilse and I
certainly not, too busy enjoying ourselves.
The pub was crowded, and so noisy, we had to shout to have some kind of
conversation. But then someone played the piano, and everyone started to sing.
Martin had a beautiful voice, a rich strong baritone, rising in volume above
all the others. Some songs were in English and we already knew them, but now
we learned Welsh songs too.
'Mae bys Mari wedi gwywo, a Dafydd y gwas ddim yn iach;' so the men sang. And
'Mae hen wlad fy nhadau yn annwyl I mi.' Those were powerful songs. Sad and
perhaps rather melancholy on times, they reminded me of the Ukrainian songs I
knew from my sister, who had married a Ukrainian man.
But the songs we heard now were more powerful. They were the songs of a people
who would never be beaten, no matter what - temporarily perhaps - melancholy
and sad for a while, then increasing in strength and in power. I got quite
carried away, listening. What could not be said in words was expressed in the
melodies, touching my soul. I felt I belonged, as if we were all joined
together.
I was enchanted. This was nothing like England - at least the England I had
come to know. People there had been friendly too, but had kept some distance,
on times even appearing aloof.
Was it so different here because we were in Wales? Or was this the result of a
'typical working class environment,' as Jane might have explained it away. But
whatever the reason, we liked it here in Newport.
We had been made welcome with such warmth everywhere. It was heart-warming,
how Pat had included both Ilse and me in her family, right from the beginning.
Never before had I been with a family where there was so much warmth, where
they all cared about one another and showed it. I felt more at home with
Martin's family already, than I had with Peter's parents in the three years I
had known them.
In spite of Pat's hearing problem, she always found ways to communicate. And
she made it plain I was welcome - though just sometimes I asked myself what she
really thought of me. Did she really like me? Or was it a front? Could she
be hiding something deep within her, like Mrs Ashworth had? But it didn't seem
the case.
One day she asked me to stay on with her when Martin returned to Folkestone.
Her invitation came so unexpected I didn't know what to say. And I didn't want
to think of the time when he would have to go: I couldn't imagine a life
without Martin anymore. But then - I didn't need to think about this just yet;
we had only been here a few days.
But I did wonder on times if Pat thought I was sleeping with Martin. She knew
I slept in his bed. Was she aware he stayed downstairs? Probably not, as Pat
went to her room around nine or half past. After that she heard nothing,
Martin said, because she took her hearing aid out. Not that there was
something to hear, but she couldn't know it. But whatever Pat thought, it
obviously didn't matter to her how far it had gone between Martin and me. But
then, it hadn't gone very far - no further than kissing.
Going out in the evening with Ilse and Tom, we usually got home when the pubs
closed. It was then, the danger-time started. And it was then, when I had to
be careful in spite of his promise and my good intentions. It was up to me -
Martin had said it right from the beginning. However far we would go, was up
to me - though he was very willing to go further, he made that clear too. But
he wanted to marry me - everything else was left up to me. Yet I didn't want
to get involved - at least not seriously, and not yet, perhaps never. And I
refused to consider marriage. In fact, I didn't want to think of this subject
again - at least not in the near future, having gone down that road only
recently. In another week's time I would be in Vienna, and my future lay
there.
But in spite of this - and in spite of us both holding back, every night our
kisses grew more passionate and the space between us narrowed, until it
disappeared altogether. Our bodies spoke their own language, a language
increasingly difficult to ignore. And one night we almost got carried away.
But then I pulled back. This was not how I wanted this relationship to go - at
least not here and now. So I went to the kitchen and made tea. We drank it,
and talked, and I went to bed. And Martin stayed where he was.
More aware of the danger, we pulled away sooner and drank many more cups of tea
to divert us - just as well, because we went out so often and drank so much
alcohol then, it was better to drink tea at other times.
Martin, like most men here, drank pints of beer. Ilse and I drank beer or
lager, but only half-pints, and if it was a long evening we would drink shandy.
We had stopped drinking whisky altogether, somehow it had been part of living
at the Manor. Here, we didn't want to drink too much, especially as we went
out every night, and it was easier to stay in control, being sober. But the
danger-time came every night, as soon as Martin and I were alone.
During the day there was always someone with us, and, quite often, Martin's
family. Everyone talked, making sure we felt included and had a good time.
Occasionally Ilse and I prepared a meal, serving Austrian specialities. We
bought the ingredients ourselves, to show our appreciation for the hospitality
we were receiving by cooking lunch. Though it was not called lunch here, but
dinner, and was eaten around two, when the men returned from the pub.
Once we cooked in the evening, just for Martin and Tom, making goulash, our
spicy paprika stew. It turned out extra hot, because we had bought red pepper
instead of paprika. The woman in the corner shop came from Pakistan, and
didn't know what paprika was. Ilse explained it was made from dried red
peppers. Beaming all over her face and thinking she understood, the sales-lady
had sold us red pepper. With several table-spoons of the spice in our goulash,
it turned out so hot neither Ilse nor I could eat it. We warned Tom and
Martin, but they still wanted to taste it - and to our amazement, they liked
it, being used to eating hot curry. In spite of their eyes watering, they ate
the lot, praising this excellent dish. And they really meant it.
Martin came from a large family. He had two older brothers and five sisters,
and every day several sisters or brothers and in-laws visited, and their
children, and often their friends too. And Laurie came every day. He was
Martin's oldest brother, a tall, handsomely rugged man in his late thirties,
with a likeness to Martin. Laurie worked at the docks, and came every day for
his dinner. Pat cooked a meal just for him, but if her daughters were present
they'd take over, making sandwiches too if more people appeared. Or one of the
children would be sent to buy chips, and fish or a pie, or whatever each one of
us fancied.
Slowly I remembered who was related to whom, and in which way. I liked Martins
older sisters Doris and Gwen in particular. They showed me how to cook in
their special Welsh ways, at the same time telling me little stories about
Martin, his likes and dislikes, and what he was up to as a child. It seemed as
if I belonged to this family already.
There was always a lot of life in the house, as usually some children were left
with Nana Pat for a few hours, whilst their mothers went visiting or shopping.
Especially John Willie, Mathew's son, was here most days, and very much at home
with his Nana. Around six, with ginger hair and freckles and a cheeky grin,
Pat adored him, though making sure to remain her usual calm self, treating him
exactly as her other grandchildren.
Watching them, I couldn't help thinking of Elisabeth. The children here were
so totally different in their behaviour; they were noisy, always playing or
talking, and usually wanting something or other, until they were sent out to
play if they kept on too much.
The whole street seemed their playground, almost their home; they were sure of
a welcome everywhere. Pat's grandchildren brought their friends in with them,
and they all would be treated alike, and get sweets, or chips, or their tea, or
whatever else was going at the time.
What an enjoyable life they led, these working class children, as Mrs Ashworth
would have called them. And she felt superior, proud of all the privileges her
children had! I couldn't help comparing how much enjoyment and fun Elisabeth
missed out on - and how much she missed out on love, which was so present here,
and so thickly spread, it reached everyone. Now, during the Easter break, the
house was always full. And everyone was always pleased if they found us in,
asking questions, and we would talk and drink tea. Then we'd all eat what Pat
or one of her daughters had cooked, or fish and chips, or a pie, and in the
early evening everyone went home 'for their tea.'
When evening came, Pat would settle in front of the television, and sometimes
Martin and I also watched for a while. Then we'd leave for one of the pubs, or
'the club,' where everyone knew everyone, and they knew us too now. A show
might be held, or there would be a dance - and we always had fun.
Afterwards, we ate again - fish and chips, or a curry. In Austria, you ate
before you drank, or in between - but we adjusted quite easily. And after our
meal, Ilse and Tom would go home and we were alone.
With Martin holding me close, we would kiss, and - not wanting to part - we'd
drink a cup of tea and perhaps a second, and kiss again. But we knew where
this could lead, so we had to part. My decision was made. Martin stayed
downstairs in the back room, and I went upstairs to sleep in his bed.
One night I woke early. It was still dark. Warm in my bed and comfortable, I
lay there for a while thinking of Martin with tenderness in my heart. He was
so considerate, whatever I wanted or suggested was always right for him. And
the way he had given up his bed - not once had he come to my room. He hadn't
tried anything - not even on that one night, when something more could easily
have happened. It had been difficult to pull away, and to say a firm no.
Since then, Martin had been careful not to get too close.
But what went on in him? How did he cope, kissing for hours, and then go to
sleep on his own? Could he sleep? Was he comfortable? He only had a
makeshift bed. He had said not to worry; he would be fine. But could he
sleep? Was he asleep down there in the front room? Was he down there even?
It suddenly occurred to me that perhaps he was not. Perhaps he was fed up
alone every night, tossing and turning. Perhaps he had left, gone out again -
was drinking somewhere - or worse, what if he was with someone else? He was a
good-looking man, and I had seen how the girls kept looking at him.
It may not have been very rational, but at four in the morning, lying in his
bed and unable to sleep, these fears were quite real.
I got out of bed and crept down the stairs, turning the light on in the hall to
see if he was here, without waking him. Silently I stepped into the room, and
I saw him. The two easy chairs had been pushed together, and Martin was
stretched out, half sitting, the dog by his side, a blanket covering them both.
He was fast asleep.
Tenderness filled my heart, and I couldn't help it but kiss him gently. He
responded, putting his arms around me, and holding me close. It was such a
beautiful embrace, so full of love and tenderness, I knew then I loved him. We
kissed again, deeply and long - then I pulled away, knowing where this would
lead.
So I went to the kitchen, made tea, and we drank it silently. It was a warm,
comfortable silence, until Martin said: "will you marry me, Trudi?"
I did not know what to say. I didn't want to think of marriage, not yet, not
so quickly. So instead I said: "I love you, Martin," which took me by
surprise, because it was the first time I said it, though he had said those
words to me many times.
Martin kissed me, but I pulled away. "Let's go for a walk," I suggested, not
wanting to part, but with Pat not up yet for hours, it would be safer to go
amongst people.
So we got dressed and went out. Everything was quiet, almost silent, at this
time of day -and so new and fresh and so beautiful with the sun only just
beginning to rise. We walked through the quiet streets for a while, up a hill
lined with houses - past a park - and finally came to a cemetery. Sitting on a
bench we watched the town below us awaking, with the sun slowly rising. To our
right, in the distance, was a great expanse of water. The estuary, Martin
explained - it was the river turning into the sea.
He took my hand, leading me to the grave where his father lay buried, and we
stood in silence for a while. I was glad we had come to this special place,
and that Martin allowed me to take part in this visit, because his father meant
so much to him.
Sitting down on a bench again, he talked about his father. He talked with so
much affection and love, just about little things: what his father had said on
this or that occasion, the places he had taken him to as a child, and about the
time they went to the pub with Martin still a little boy, and his father
letting him sip from his beer. He had loved his father deeply, and this love
was still present and the grieving was not quite done with, not yet, though his
father had died a year ago now. I was proud and happy, that this nice, gentle
man shared his innermost thoughts with me.
Later, getting hungry, we walked into town to have breakfast. And everything
went gradually back to normal again, though some of the intimacy we had shared,
remained, making us closer still. And I didn't know what to do anymore - I
couldn't think of a life without Martin.
Yet he had to leave soon, go back to Folkestone, to work. For Martin it was so
simple. If the subject came up, he would just say: "let's get married, Trudi."
For him, it was the answer to all our difficulties - he couldn't even see we
had a problem. Getting married would solve everything. I could go with him
wherever he worked, or stay here with Pat, and he'd come home on weekends. If
I wanted to, I could have the front room for myself, and later we'd get a house
- he could understand I'd want my own home, especially when we had children.
Martin never asked if I wanted children, he just took it for granted. And I
let it go at that because I adored children.
Then I'd pull myself out of it. What was I thinking about? I only knew this
man for a week - apart from going for a walk and a few letters in between. But
together, we'd been less than a week.
But perhaps Martin was right, and we did belong to each other. He had been
certain of it right from the beginning.
Pat said I should stay here with her when Martin went back to Folkestone, and
she would look after me. I found it sweet of her, though it felt strange,
because no one had ever said they'd look after me. It was obvious she knew
about us, Martin must have told her - but then he told everyone he hoped I
would stay.
But I couldn't, not just like that. And I couldn't get married so soon - it
was crazy to consider it even. And to stay here and get to know Martin better
was impossible, because I couldn't get a job without a work-permit, which
seemed extremely difficult to obtain.
Discussing my dilemma with Ilse, we came up with a compromise. We'd go to
Folkestone, just for a few days. It would soon become clear what I should do.
Ilse liked the idea of staying longer. She had a nice time with Tom; she
really liked him, and was falling in love. And he would be going to Folkestone
too.
So, between us all, we arranged the men should travel ahead without us,
because the driver of the van said they were not allowed to take along any
passengers - something to do with the insurance. Tom and Martin would book bed
and breakfast for Ilse and me, and we'd follow. And our boyfriends would be
waiting on the platform when we arrived, meeting us off the train.
And then they were gone. But we would soon be together again.
On our last day in Newport we walked through the town one last time, and then
had lunch with Pat. In the afternoon we took a trip over the transporter
bridge, talking all the time about what had happened and what was happening
now, and what we should do. For Ilse it was much simpler. She had a great
time with Tom, she really liked him - perhaps there was more. But she wasn't
sure. Only time would tell. So far, it wasn't serious, not as it was with
Martin and me.
"But I don't see your problem Trudi," my friend said, "especially as Martin is
so determined to marry you."
And I had to admit, she did have a point.
from
Vanessa The Google Girl.
my skype name is rainbowstar123
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