A child’s peal of giggles rang around the kitchen, and a quick, cold breeze blew against her face.
Outside, although barely dusk, the evening dipped suddenly to night, the soft greys of moments ago snuffed to black. And with a stab to the heart, she knew without doubt that the man inside her head would become real very soon.
Chapter Eighteen
The preparations took less than a month.
At the end of October, Lenka was lying on the bed in her uncle’s spare room, wondering if the whole sorceress initiation had been a dream. Had that or the time with Oskar ever happened? What was real anymore? Nothing. The only reminder she wasn’t completely insane was the brand mark on her wrist. She turned onto her side. This place was horrible, and she was not going to enjoy it at all. A week here was already a week too long. The year was tipping into late autumn, steely clouds spitting rain onto cobbled streets and pavements. Soon there would be snow.
She shivered. Never before had she felt so ill. Her stomach convulsed in sweat-inducing waves, and her head thudded with the bone ache of concussion. Her mother had always tended to her when sick, with soothing potions and words of comfort – the mother she no longer knew. Now alone, she lay watching the shadows of dusk crawl across the walls, a chill creeping under her skin.
The house was a three-storey townhouse in the centre of Ingolstadt, near the university. Opposite was the church, and interspersed between similar-looking houses were shops of every description – butchers, grocers, bakeries, haberdasheries and ironmongers. There was a shop that sold only hats and one that made boots. On the corner stood a grand banking house, and many cafés lined the streets. Aunt Heide had bought Lenka new clothing fit for town. Although these things were not to her liking, there was little she could say without sounding ungracious. But the gown was drab, long and grey with a plain shawl, the boots stout. And her hair had been braided into coils that sat atop her ears, a severe style pulled tightly back from the face. It did not make her look attractive; it made her look like a ridiculous schoolgirl.
She lay now with her flame hair fanning out across the pillow, gazing at the poppet given to her by Baba Olga. Strange thing. She’d forgotten about it until arriving here. Completely forgotten about it. In fact, it was only when unpacking her case that it had reappeared – discovered on top of the neatly folded blouses – presumably placed there by her mother. Oddly, though, it was comforting. And thus, she slipped it inside her pillowcase – a possession purely her own, something to hold on to like life itself.
The house here was soulless, a hollow shell that was absolutely silent apart from the ticking grandfather clock in the hall downstairs. Talking was forbidden at mealtimes, which were taken in the formal dining room at the back of the house; the room was bare of all adornments, with any kind of idolatry – as Uncle Guido described ornaments and pictures – banned. All was sparse, from the stone floors to the cold grates, the polished, dark oak furniture to the starched bedsheets.
And each evening, as was his habit, Uncle Guido recited a long prayer of thanks to the Lord, after which she and her aunt must wait until he’d piled his plate with food. Only when he had begun to eat were they then permitted to share what was left. The first time this happened, it was annoying. The second, and each subsequent day, her irritation grew. He chewed noisily, tongue flicking out to lick his lower lip after each mouthful. His lips, red and moist, were as startling as a campfire in the woods, his gingery facial hair tinged yellow around the mouth from smoking a pipe. She noted with distaste the globular particles of unknown substances lurking in the wiry coils of his beard. Of particular repulsiveness were his ears – protruding and large, the lugs full of curly, pubic-looking hairs and yellow wax. Guido was tall and angular, all knock-knees and pointed elbows, in contrast to her father, who was shorter but more muscular. And where her father was tanned with sandy hair and warm eyes, Guido’s complexion was the colour of limestone, his eyes as warm as flint.
She would be starting lessons at the university tomorrow, he stated that evening, with Herr Blum. Well respected, Herr Blum specialised in teaching the English language as well as French, and it was a great privilege for her to be taught by him. She should be extremely grateful.
“Thank you, Uncle, I am looking forward to it.”
“Your mother insisted on this particular tutor. She must indeed have saved hard; I am sure he is not cheap.” He was making a show of cutting up the Schweineschnitzel, popping it into his mouth, then dabbing at the corners with a napkin, all the while those flint eyes darting from Aunt Heide to herself. “Hmm? What do you say, Lenka?”
Aunt Heide kept her eyes downcast. It was rare for her to say anything at all, except to sigh or remark on the weather. Her head is made of ash, Lenka thought. She hates him so much she’s on the edge of combusting. She cleans and cooks and sews and shops. She washes and scrubs, goes to church and talks to others as much as she can in an effort to avoid him and stay sane. And at night she wears a long nightdress tightly buttoned, keeps her legs firmly pressed together and rolls away from him in a bed that pits in the middle… But no… I see… ah, he does not want her anymore… Sometimes he grabs and squeezes one of her breasts to remind her he can do so, but she hates it, the feel of those bony fingers mauling her. And when she is alone, she cries…
She made the mistake of looking up in response to his question. Uncle Guido’s penetrating stare locked with hers, and for an uncomfortable moment she flailed around before looking down again.
“What is wrong with your eye?” he asked.
All week she had kept her head down, spoken meekly and done what was asked. Waiting. Just waiting. For the true purpose to be revealed. Her parents had said she would go to private tutorials in the evening and during the day was to help Aunt Heide with the chores. Her aunt and uncle, childless, were both busy with the church, and Guido worked at the local orphanage as a Bible master. They would welcome the chance to get to know their niece, her mother had said, and she was sure Heide would be grateful for the domestic help. That was fine, well, this would not be for long… but here Uncle Guido was staring and staring; there was something about him so irksome, so detestable. And what was this about her eye? As far as she was aware, there was nothing wrong with her eyes. She had good eyes, steady and grey, perfect sight.
“I do not know what you refer to, Uncle.”
He made a little jabbing motion with his fork, dripping gravy onto the pristine white tablecloth. “There is something wrong with your eye. You are a little blind in one, are you not?”
It had been a mistake to look back at him like that. He was riled. Resentment seemed to rise in this man at the slightest provocation, a surge of temper he could not easily control. He preached about Christ, but he was about as Christian as Baba Olga. And it almost cost her. She should hide her knowledge better because he had seen something in her that made him fearful, something he very much needed to hide.
A good Christian, and yet he thinks nothing of beating his wife and daughter should they make him fearful…
Recovering quickly, she stabbed a piece of pork.
Uncle Guido badly needed to hide that true nature of his. He would not want anyone looking into his soul and seeing what was there. Oh, how right he was to be defensive and fearful. She tried not to flinch at the pictures being shown to her, one after the other in a cinematic reel… There was a small recess inside the church, which was set apart for Bible classes. With the swish of a moss-green curtain, this small room was utterly private, an area for a child to be comforted or to speak in confidence. And it was here that he stroked the parts of them that he should not. Here where he touched the nape of their necks while they read passages from the New Testament, admiring their plump, unblemished skin, cherubic mouths and small stout chests.