Puberty. PUBERTY Nanette sat on the bed with her arms folded, her hands resting on her thighs. Her long black hair lay over her thin naked shoulders, her large dark eyes searched the room, as if she'd not seen it before. Far away, a clock ticked. Off in the distance a church bell tolled. "Wait here!" her grandmother had told her and had gone off down the stairs to find one of the maids. That was some time ago. It seemed ages. She shivered. Her hands sank deeper between her thighs like young birds seeking their nest. "Your grandmother says you wanting sorting," a maid said entering the room. Nanette stared at the maid, but made no comment. "Get off the bed and lets sort you," the maid said abruptly, taking Nanette's arm and pulling her upwards. "Like as not you're a woman now," she stated moving the young girl away from the bed like a small child. Nanette said nothing, but stared over the maid's head at the dark walls of the room. She moved over to a window that was closed, peered out at the far away church. Behind her the maid was chattering, but she paid no attention. She shivered again. The room had become colder. She put her arms around narrow frame, sensed her long hair touch her buttocks. "You�d better get a bath, girl, or you'll catch a death," the maid said from the bed, where she was dragging off the sheets. Nanette stared at the church steeple and how it narrowed to a point and pierced a grey cloud. Still the maid talked and moved about the bed like a hen gathering chicks, but the girl shut the voice away. All seemed somehow, suddenly, unreal. Like a dream disturbed. She lay her forehead against the glass and sensed its coldness. She closed her eyes as if she wanted to recapture a dream that had just gone, just slipped away off into the greyness of the day. Nanette's grandmother returned just as the maid was preparing the bath. Nanette was standing in a corner with her arms crossed over her small breast, staring at the maid vacantly. "Was there much mess, Galway?" the grandmother asked. "Like pig with its throat cut," the maid named Galway murmured. "The child's not been told," Grandmother Candide remarked, not hearing the maid's words. "The mother died a few months ago. Master Ulrich is away for a few months..." The old woman paused. She looked at the girl in the corner. "What a state you're in," she said. Her eyes moved her over the thin frame and pink flesh and then rose to the face and the dark brooding eyes. "Nanette, child, has the cat stole your tongue?� The girl shook her head, but made no reply. She let her eyes search over her grandmother's face, seek out some emotion there, but saw none. "Your mother was the same, not a word, silent as the tomb." The grandmother shook her head and moved towards the door. "Get her bathed, then send her to me when she's dressed," she said to Galway who stood back staring at her employer. She nodded and watched the old woman leave and wander off along the passage. "Best get in, girl, while the water's hot," she said. Nanette stood still, her arms crossed as before. "You go, and then I'll bath," Nanette murmured quietly. "Then, don't drown yourself," Galway said stiffly. She turned and left the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind her. Nanette watched the door until she was certain the maid had gone, then moved to the bath and climbed in cautiously easing her feet into the water. She sat down and sensed the dampness caress her body like a mother. * * * Nanette crept down the back stairs and out into the garden. She looked back anxiously towards the house in case her grandmother or Galway saw her, but there were no faces at the windows, so she made her way along the garden path towards the pine forest at the bottom of the garden. "You�re out of breath," said her cousin, Hans, as he saw Nanette come towards him on the edge of the lake. "Have you been running?� Nanette stopped and looked behind her. Her heart was thumping in her breast. She turned towards her cousin and gazed at him. His dark eyes were bright, his warm smile relaxed her a little. "I�m supposed to be with Grandmother," she said, turning from Hans, looking out over the lake. "She mentioned you at breakfast," Hans said," some drama, it sounded like." Nanette stared hard out at the horizon. "I was covered in blood, this morning," she murmured. "Grandmother was not pleased, or she didn't appear so. "Covered in blood?� Hans said. "Yes, me, the bed sheets, a right mess." Nanette crossed her arms over her breast. Her eyes searched the still waters. "Why did I bleed, Hans?� Hans looked at his cousin, studied her face in profile, the long dark hair tied tight behind her back, contrasting with her long white dress. "It happens," Hans said vaguely. "Was it because we...?" Nanette paused. "No, no, not because of that," Hans reassured briskly, turning to stare at the lake. "It�s a thing that happens to all females, so I've heard," he said uncertainly. They both stared at the lake. Temporarily they were lost for words. Hans moved closer. He let his right hand touch Nanette's left hand. He felt her warm flesh against his own, sensed a pain wound him again. "How old are you, Hans?� Nanette asked, breaking their silence. "Fifteen," Hans replied distantly. He held her hand tenderly as if it was a frail flower. "How old are you?" he asked turning to look at her cheek in profile: the whiteness, the softness. "Twelve," she muttered, her word, a weak one, was carried off before it could be heard. "How old?� Hans said, his tone serious. "Twelve years and six months," Nanette said more firmly, looking down at the dark sand beneath her white shoes. "I thought you older," Hans said, his tone alarmed. "No," Nanette said," twelve and six months." She watched the water lap gently against the shore's sand. "Does it matter?" she asked softly. Hans closed his eyes briefly and said nothing. Behind his eyes he pictured again the naked body of Nanette, as she lay beside him on his bed, in his room on the East Wing of his grandmother's house. He had thought Nanette older, but now, the age seemed to pierce him, as if suddenly, awakened from a dream he found himself awake to the same dream, but darker, more real. "Does it matter, my age?� Nanette asked again, disturbing Hans from his thoughts. "I still love you," she added. Hans released her hand and walked a few paces away. He stared at her. His eyes moved over her features. "To me, your age doesn't matter," he said after a few minutes, "but to others, it does, it really does matter, to them!" he added, darkly. Nanette's features grew paler still. Her eyes seemed to enlarge and become darker. She quickly put her hands over her face and turned away from Hans. Behind her hands, her eyes were closed. Images sprang up from the darkness. Her naked and Hans undressing in his room. How she had shivered sitting on his bed. And the images moved on and she opened her eyes abruptly to let the images go away from her. She stared through her fingers out at the lake. Less still now, a slight breeze made waves across the water that moved further up the dark sands and touched her shoes. Hans moved up behind her and embraced her small shoulders. "I still love you, Nanette," he whispered. "We must be so careful, so very careful." He kissed his cousin's neck. He sensed the flesh, warm, soft, felt the pain, sharp, deep, pierce him again. Nanette lowered her hands. Her eyes were damp, her shoes, moving backwards away from the water, were damp, also. She turned round and lay her head on Hans's shoulder, sensed a heartbeat, heard his breath, felt his lips on her hair as if they were blessing. * * * Nanette sat in the armchair near the window, her grandmother sat on the edge of Nanette's bed, sewing. Every now and then she gave her granddaughter a stern stare. "You should not have gone out so soon after your bath," Grandmother Candide said crossly. Nanette said nothing. Her head lay against a cushion placed behind her. "I waited for ages for you to come, and Galway said you had disappeared," Grandmother Candide added firmly. She lowered her eyes to the material she was sewing in her hands. "And what were you doing? And damp shoes, so Galway tells me." "The water from the lake flowed over them,� Nanette said meekly, her eyes downcast. "What were you doing by the lake? Have you no sense of Responsibility?� Nanette said nothing, but closed her eyes. Her grandmother droned on again, but Nanette imagined she was elsewhere. Her mother would not have gone so about such small matters, but her mother was dead. The face of her mother was hard to recall; she tried, but only a mixture of images came up before her closed eyes. Then, briefly, her mother's face appeared. Nanette reached out her right hand to touch it, but it vanished. "What games are you playing, now?� Grandmother Candide said, taking hold of her granddaughter�s hand. "Are you ill, worse than I Thought?� "No, no, Grandmother,� Nanette said, opening her eyes," I thought I saw my mother's face." "She�s dead, child," Grandmother Candide stated firmly. She let the hand of Nanette go and sat back, so that she was rigid, her backbone stiff and straight. "No good comes of weeping for the dead. Life goes on, child. What is gone is gone." She searched Nanette's features. Her eyes scanned over the frail frame in the chair. She sighed and looked away and peered hard out of the window opposite. The sun was bright. Clouds had deserted the sky. She wished her son would come back soon and relieve her of the child. The house seemed too full again. Ghosts seemed to walk with the living and in the living. Hans ate his breakfast slowly in the dining room. His mother sat opposite him and his father sat beside him reading a newspaper. "How�s Nanette?" asked Sophie, Hans's mother. "Improving," said the grandmother," so, maybe tomorrow she will be up and with us again." Hans looked over at his grandmother. She stared at him with a hard focused look. "Good, good," said Klaus, Hans's father. "The child is missed." Grandmother Candide nodded. She looked away from Hans and focused on Klaus. "Your brother will be back soon," she said. "Ulrich will take the child back with him to Hamburg." Klaus said nothing, but stared at his newspaper. Hans glanced at his grandmother. Again she was staring at him. He felt his stomach tighten and he glanced away. He ought not to have allowed it to happen, that event with Nanette, he mused darkly, gazing vacantly at his breakfast. But, strangely, he was of two minds over it all. Part of him was unhappy about what had happened, but part of him was glad. It seemed so natural, so much what was necessary, that what followed was like dawn after night. He had thought her older. He did love her; he had, since he first saw her that time in the pine forest a month before. How he had been so dumbfounded by her large eyes and her long flowing hair. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine that day again. The smell of the forest, the sun shining weakly through the branches above, and Nanette appearing before him. There was a sort of glow about her, an inner warmth came from her when she spoke to him. "Hans!" a voice said, breaking up his vision, "are you tired?� Hands opened his eyes and saw his grandmother staring at him sternly. "No, Grandmother, thinking," Hans replied. "The boy's a born thinker," Klaus said. "Another Nietzsche, perhaps, Mother?� "With his eyes closed, though," said grandmother Candide. "Some philosopher he'd make," she added stiffly. "Eyes closed or open, Mother, he thinks," Klaus said good-humouredly gazing at his mother over his newspaper. Sophia smiled, but said nothing. Hans looked at his mother. There was a gentleness there within her. A soft, safe place, where he longed to be, but knew he was too old now to be too close, too near her. Nanette, too, had that gentleness about and within her. He longed to see her again; longed to hold her close to him; wanted that softness against him. He'd not seen her for three days, since that moment by the lake. He'd not dared go see her, for fear of someone saying or thinking something was going on between them. Galway was always about, her eyes everywhere, like some hawk. He'd go today, he told himself, looking passed his mother out of the window behind her. He'd enter her room. See her again. Sense her softness flow over him like a huge wave of warmth and gentleness. Hans had just left and Nanette could still sense the kiss he gave her on the lips. She gazed at the bedroom door hoping he would return, wanting him to kiss her again, needing to feel his hands on her shoulders once more. As she was gazing at the door, it opened and Galway entered. "Your grandmother says you can get up for a while," Galway said as she pulled back the bedspreads. There was certain detachment in the manner that Galway spoke, a degree of standoffishness. It seemed to Nanette as if the servant woman had some grudge against her, some resentment that she couldn't put into words. "You�re to sit in the chair, but dressed, not as you are." Nanette nodded her head, but said nothing. Galway stood back from the bed and waited. Nanette moved to the edge of the bed and sat looking at the window opposite. "You can leave me, Galway, I can wash and dress myself," Nanette said, watching disinterestedly the trees in the distance. "Madam sent me to assist you," Galway replied stiffly. "I�m not a child," Nanette said, returning her gaze to Galway. "Your grandmother's my mistress, not you." Nanette stood up from the bed. She let her eyes quickly flow over Galway's features, over the stern eyes and became passive. She became to a degree, a young child again, let herself be washed and dressed. Said nothing when the servant brushed her long hair and tied it in a long tail against her back, or when she studied her fingernails. The task over Galway left the room with a certain chilliness of manner. Nanette watched the door close. She sensed a feeling of relief enter her. She had ceased bleeding. Her body felt suddenly alive, as if some spirit had entered her flesh and awakened it from a death of flesh. Galway's hands over her body had nauseated her, had made her feel shamed or odious. But, now, she felt only animated, vigorous. There was only the absence of Hans that made her feel incomplete. She closed her eyes and attempted to recapture his presence and the kiss. The touch of his lips on hers, the softness of the touch, the excitement it aroused in her. She tried to close out all other sensations, all other sounds and thoughts, but it had gone. It had vanished like a dream on awakening. "Still tired?� Grandmother Candide said, breaking into Nanette's daydream. "And what did Hans want here?� Nanette opened her eyes and stared at her grandmother. She studied the coldness of the face and eyes. The idea of Hans and his kiss fled her mind. "He came to ask how I was," Nanette said. "I told him how you were," Grandmother Candide said firmly. She came and stood next to the armchair and put her hand on Nanette's shoulder. "You must be careful of young men, Nanette, even if they are one's cousin." The hand rested on her shoulder like a bird of prey waiting patiently, stoically until it was ready to swoop down onto its victim. "He came only briefly," Nanette said defensively. "I know how long he was here." "He was concerned." "He knew how you were. I told him, there was no need for concern," Grandmother Candide said staunchly. "You are a child. You are too young to be of interest to young men." Nanette looked away from her grandmother. Her eyes fled to the window. She sensed her face blush, felt her body stiffen. "You must be aware of yourself, child. You are entering womanhood and all that that entails, all the demands that it brings with it, all the demands it imposes." Candide stood up and put her other hand on Nanette's other shoulder and stood over her as if she were about to bless. Her hands became heavy on Nanette's shoulders, the thin bony fingers dug into her flesh. "I know my body is changing," Nanette muttered," I know I'm becoming a woman." "Then, child, be aware of your responsibilities." "I am." "You think you are. You are still a child. You know nothing, yet." Grandmother Candide removed her hands and stood back. Her eyes stared at Nanette coldly. "What have I done wrong?� Nanette said tearfully. "Hopefully, nothing," her grandmother said with a heavy sigh. "Heaven pray, you never do." The cold eyes closed. The elderly woman sighed again. She shook her head, opened her eyes and left the room with a deliberate slowness, pulling the door shut behind her with a dull thud. Nanette wiped her eyes. Her body, less alive, was shaking. She watched the door with a sense of apprehension, as if, suddenly, a thousand pair of eyes were watching her every move, and judging her every thought. * * * "Where�s the child, now?" said Candide irritably to Galway as they stood on the steps at the front of the house. "Not seen her,� Galway replied, her eyes scanned the horizon. "Looks like rain's coming," she added peering at the dark clouds. "Are you sure she's not in the house?� "No sign, anywhere." "And, Hans, where's he?� Candide asked. "He was with his father, a while ago. Went to the lake." "The child's a menace. I should not have agreed to have her here." Candide sighed. She wished Ulrich would come and take the girl away. Galway stared hard at the sky, and then, turning towards Candide, Said, "Should send her away, Madam, she'll drive you mad." Candide nodded and took hold of Galway's hand. "I need my peace." She gazed at her servant. "You and I are of one mind, Galway. When will they leave?� "Soon, Madam, soon." Galway held her mistress's hand tightly. They both waited momentarily for something to happen, but nothing did. They turned and walked back into the house. The heavy door closed with a lifeless thud behind them. * * * Nanette stood on the edge of the lake and watched Hans and his father row the boat on the still water. She'd been watching them for some time, at first in the shadow of the pine forest, and then, by the lakeside, watching patiently, not moving, not waving. She had left her bedroom and had escaped the house. Galway had not see her, nor had other servants as far as she was aware. And then she had seen Hans. He and his father were pushing the boat out by the lake. She watched them as they rowed away from the shore. She wanted to get Han's attention, but he never noticed her, he seemed blind to everything, but his father. Nanette stood staring at the boat, wishing it was her with Hans at that moment. The sky was darkening. Rain was on the way. She felt suddenly, cold and weak. Her bones ached. Her head became stuffy. She embraced her body to keep away what chill she could, but her eyes never left the boat, or Hans. She remembered too clearly the previous night. The darkness along the passageway to Hans's room on the east wing. Shadows became almost embodied, almost alive, as she passed. The silence only broken by the beat of her heart, which she believed, was loud enough for all to hear. Then, outside his door, waiting unsure, when or not to knock. He had let her in with only a nod of his head. They stood in the semi-darkness, gazing at each other in disbelief. They moved to the window and moonlight and kissed. Rain came. Nanette was suddenly aware she was getting wet. She peered out at the boat on the lake. The sky had become darker; the wind blew harder. She stood motionless, peering out at the boat, almost now, taken from her sight by the wind and rain, and the ever darkening sky. Her lips moved, mouthing silent words. Inside her head, the words made sense; seemed loud, almost a bellow, but outwardly, nothing, but a mime of lips. And he had kissed her again, she recalled at that moment, as the rain hit against her face and she closed her eyes to the darkened sky. She could almost sense them again, feel the warmth of them; be aware of Hans's presence. He had taken her hand and held it against his heart and said such things that made her cry with joy. How she mentioned what she felt, how she was with him; how it pained her to be apart from him. It seemed a different world. A world of coldness and dampness. Her white dress now hung from her heavily; her hair lank and drenched became matted to her head and dragged her downwards. The boat had vanished. She could see nothing of it when she opened her eyes. Only darkness and dampness, and the wind pushing against her like an ill-mannered brute, its invisible hands against her flesh, piercing her warmth, undoing her safeness and security like a thief. * * * It was Klaus who was sent to look for the child, even though he was still drenched from the down pour himself, being on the lake with Hans when the rain started. Candide had said that the child had not been seen for hours, and Galway had added that she was not anywhere to be seen in the house. So reluctantly and unhappily he went out into the garden at the back of the house. None had seen her amongst the garden staff, although, one under-gardener, thought he had seen a girl walk towards the pine forest some hours back but couldn't swear it was Nanette. Klaus searched the forest paths down to the lake. No sign of her. His eyes grew tired with the dimness of the sky and rain still coming down heavily. He reached the shore of the lake. The boat he and Hans had been in was still upturned near by. The lake was unsettled and the wind blew hard. Then, just as he was about to turn back, he spotted something white by the forest, a few metres away. He was shocked to see his niece in such a state. Her hair was over her face and clung to her body like a dark shroud. Her white dress was soaking wet and held her down onto the ground. It took him nearly half hour to reach the house, carrying the child in his arms, limp and seemingly lifeless. But there was life. It held her in its grip very loosely. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was shallow; a faint breath outpouring and inhaling was the only sign. Where she was found he knew, but why she was there, Klaus didn't know. Candide sent for Galway and another servant to tend for her needs, while Sophie and Hans looked on shocked and unsure what to do or say. Hans wanted to go with Nanette as his father carried her up the stairs, but his grandmother told him to remain downstairs with his mother. He watched the limp girl as she was carried from his sight. He knew his grandmother was studying him, so looked away and sat down next to his mother. His eyes grew heavy. He said nothing in reply to his mother's mutterings. He closed his eyes. The light was too much for him, darkness behind his eyes gave him some relief and solitude against his mother's words and his grandmother's stare. * * * Nanette was faintly aware of noises and a presence about her. Her body felt strangely numb, not quite her own, as if it belonged to another. Dampness seemed to have soaked into her very bones. Stiffness came and went, alternating with numbness. She opened her eyes to an orange light. The shutters were closed and an oil lamp was lit somewhere across the room. "She�s awake," a voice said from somewhere on her left. "The child still looks pale," another voice added. "Lucky to be alive." "For her, yes, very lucky." A hand touched her forehead. It was a cold hand, not one of love or comfort, Nanette mused vaguely. She gazed at her grandmother across the room, standing, arms crossed and her face stern. She closed her eyes again. Sank back into the warmth of bed and pillow. "Watch her," said Candide," let me know if she wakes again." Sophia nodded. She watched the old woman leave and then turned and gazed at Nanette. The child did look pale. The features were so fragile, so thin. She placed her hand on the forehead again. What a worry it all was for Candide. Such torment for her nerves. The child should be more considerate, not such a problem to those who cared for her, Sophia mused, placing her hand back in her lap. Stared at her niece and at the long dark hair that seemed too much for one so young, too long and wild looking. "Hans?� Nanette's voice whispered. Sophia leaned forward and listened. "Hans?� The girl repeated gently. Sophia frowned. Her eyes watched the thin pale lips. "No, it's your aunt, aunt Sophia," her aunt whispered. "Where�s Hans?� "He�s downstairs," Sophia replied. Nanette became silent. Sophia stared at the lips until she was sure they would say no more. Should she send for Hans? she mused uncertainly. What did she want Hans for? What did Hans have to do with such a child, even if she was his cousin? NO, no, best not to send for Hans. Candide would not approve. Klaus would not be too happy about such matters. She would sit. She'd wait. Silence seemed everywhere, a huge shroud that covered all in the small dull room. Nanette slept on and off for days. Her recollection of whom she had seen and whom she had not, became blurred. Her memory was fuzzy, indistinct faces appeared and disappeared; nebulous images came and went like the daylight through the window opposite. Days became weeks and it was on the third week that Nanette showed signs of real recovery. She sat up in the chair by the bed and stared about the room. She was alone. Far away she could hear sounds of voices. Outside sounds came from the bells from the church, from birdsong and the occasional wind that rattled the window frame. She'd seen no one for hours. Her mind was becoming restless. She wanted to see Hans again, wanted to hear his voice, feel his touch. But, she'd not seen him for weeks, not since the boat on the lake. She remembered little now of that day. Her mind seemed almost a blank, except for the far off sight of Hans in the boat. A door opened. Nanette turned her head. "You�re up; good, good." It was her Grandmother and Aunt Sophia. "She looks much better," Aunt Sophia said. Grandmother candide said nothing. She walked to the window and peered into the garden. Aunt Sophia stood by the bed and smiled at Nanette. "Where�s Hans? Why hasn't he been to see me?� Candide turned and stared at Nanette. "He has no business here, while you have been too ill to see him," Grandmother Candide said firmly. "I wish to see him, now," Nanette said. "Why?� Grandmother Candide asked. "I want to speak with him." Nanette looked at her aunt and searched her face for some compassion or hope. "He doesn't need to see you," Grandmother said. "He�d busy," Aunt Sophia added, her voice gentle. "Far too busy," said Grandmother, not so gentle. Nanette stood up from her chair and unsteadily paced to the window. "I want to see, Hans. I want to hear him, hear his voice." "Sit down, child," Grandmother commanded. "No, not until I see, Hans." Aunt Sophia became uneasy. Her hands wriggled inside each other like spiders. Grandmother glared at her granddaughter. Nanette looked downwards. "You will not demand anything in my house, child. You will do as you are told, while you are in my charge and care. Now, sit down." Nanette stood motionless. Her body trembled beneath her dress, but she stood her ground. "Sit down," Grandmother said, firmly. Nanette turned and walked to the chair and sat down. There was a silence. All three looked at the floor as if seeking an answer. Aunt Sophia spoke first: "I think Hans has gone away." "Gone away?� "Yes, he's gone away with his father to see friends," Aunt Sophia said. "Why?� "He became bored," Grandmother said. "He needed friends of his own age." "I need to se him," Nanette said. "He�s gone, child, didn't you hear," Grandmother said, coldly. "I want to see, Hans,� Nanette said. "You had best leave, Sophia; I will deal with the problem," Grandmother said. Aunt Sophia nodded, gave a last look towards Nanette and left the room. Grandmother moved to the chair beside her granddaughter." Tomorrow you will be leaving." "Leaving? Where to?� "Galway will take you to the railway station and put you on the train to Hamburg. Your father will meet you there." "Hamburg?� "The train guard will keep an eye on you." "Why doesn't Father come for me himself?� "He�s got business meetings; things to arrange." Nanette felt suddenly alone in the world. The room became now, colder. The sun became clouded over. "I will send Galway to get you packed. Best if you don't leave the room," Grandmother said. She gave a last look about the room, gazed at Nanette for a few moments, the, left with a sigh and a slam of the door. The room was suddenly, quiet. A heavy hush descended. A numb silence filled the room. Nanette closed her eyes and tried to recall an image of Hans, but none came. Everything seemed vague. All memories became hazy, half-developed. "Undone," she murmured to the room, breaking the silence. "Undone," she repeated again and again.
Copyright © 2002 Terry Collett |