Mara Read online

  Critical Acclaim for Mara

  Mara by Lisette van de Heg is in many ways a pleasant surprise.

  […] You are pulled into the story and sympathize intensely with the injustice done to main character, Mara. Lisette van de Heg is a promise, that will hopefully write many more beautiful books.

  – EO (Evangelische Omroep)

  The descriptions of [Mara’s] feelings are magnificent.

  – De Waarheidsvriend

  Abuse of power of a protestant spiritual leader did [in the novel’s time] not necessarily harm vulnerable children in boarding-schools, but their lust was aimed mainly at vulnerable women. Lisette van de Heg dared to portray such a young woman and to show the poignant consequences of sexual abuse. She knows how to do this credibly and without giving cheap solutions, […] a spirited book by a committed author with unmistakable talent.

  – Lydeke van Beek, Protestant.nl

  Author Lisette van de Heg has drawn the main character with great emphatic ability. Mara is the victim of abuse and has been brainwashed completely by the culprit. It is Mara’s own fault. God is very far away. God belongs to the perpetrator, who calls the abuse a punishment from God. This spiritual destruction is an added crime besides the abuse of crossing physical borders. Van de Heg is able to narrate very visually, without verbiage. She has written a credible, hopeful novel about life after abuse.

  – Martha Aalbers, Nederlands Dagblad

  The main character of this story goes on through a credible growth and the author does not easily brush off the major questions of life. […] Her novel holds the reader’s breathless attention thanks to an excellent build up of tension in the story, the smooth wording and an exact character drawing.

  – Enny de Bruijn, Reformatorisch Dagblad

  Mara

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Heg, Lisette van de, 1983-

  [Mara. English]

  Mara / Lisette van de Heg; Inge van Delft.

  Translation of: Mara.

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-77161-001-8 (pbk.).—ISBN 978-1-77161-002-5 (html).—

  ISBN 978-1-77161-003-2 (pdf)

  I. Delft, Inge van, translator II. Title. III. Title: Mara. English.

  PT5882.18.E3M3713 2014

  839.313’7

  C2013-908670-6

  C2013-908671-4

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Pubished by Mosaic Press, Oakville, Ontario, Canada, 2014.

  Distributed in the United States by Bookmasters (www.bookmasters.com).

  Distributed in the U.K. by Gazelle Book Services (www.gazellebookservices.co.uk).

  MOSAIC PRESS, Publishers

  Copyright © 2014, Lisette van de Heg.

  Originally published by Uitgeverij Vuurbaak/Plateau, Barneveld, The Netherlands.

  English language translation copyright © 2014, Inge van Delft

  Printed and bound in Canada.

  Cover design by Eric Normann.

  Cover photo by Samantha Villagran (http://www.freeimages.com/profile/sammylee)

  ISBN Paperback 978-1-77161-001-8

  ePub 978-1-77161-002-5

  ePDF 978-1-77161-003-2

  We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund (CBF) for this project.

  Nous reconnaissons l’aide financière du gouvernement du Canada par l’entremise du Fonds du livre du Canada (FLC) pour ce projet.

  Mosaic Press gratefully acknowledges the assistance of the OMDC (Ontario Media Development Corporation) in support of our publishing program.

  MOSAIC PRESS

  1252 Speers Road, Units 1 & 2

  Oakville, Ontario L6L 5N9

  phone: (905) 825-2130

  [email protected]

  www.mosaic-press.com

  Mara

  Lisette van de Heg

  Translated by Inge van Delft

  Other titles by Lisette van de Heg

  Noor, 2011

  Sub Rosa, 2012

  Later, 2014

  For more information on the author, please visit: http://www.lisettevandeheg.nl/

  ‘He heals the brokenhearted

  and binds up their wounds.’

  (Psalm 147:3)

  1

  It was still pitch black outside when it was time to leave. I had not been able to sleep at all. Slowly I dressed myself for the journey that lay ahead. I would have to dress warm for this cold, dreary night. With every layer of clothing I added another protective barrier for my body. Then I pressed my hand against the cold glass of my bedroom window as I looked out one last time. The heavens were weeping.

  My mother, however, did not shed a tear. She still refused to even look at me and did not speak a word. I reached for her, hugged her and I hoped for a word, a gesture, a kiss. But there was nothing. She was like carved marble, devoid of any emotion. At last I kissed her on the cheek and let go of her. I clenched my teeth and turned away from her to pick up my suitcases.

  I didn’t take much with me. Just my clothes, a wedding picture of my parents (for years I had kept this hidden away), some writing paper and a pen. Nothing but small items, and I realized that my existence was so insignificant that I could pack it up in a couple of plain suitcases.

  I opened the door and stepped out into the rain with my suitcases in hand, and a travel bag hanging off my shoulder. I started to walk and did not look back, for I knew the Reverend would be following me. The sound of footsteps behind me confirmed this. He would accompany me on the first part of my journey.

  He did not speak a word. We walked the path around the manse, through the gate, into Hooghe Breet Street, past the little white church, toward Harbour Street. Our footsteps echoed loudly in the dark, deserted street. It would not be this quiet in Harbor Street. Fishermen would already be hard at work there, and just about ready to set sail.

  I shivered when a few raindrops fell in my neck. The silence between us was broken only by the sound of our echoing footsteps and the rain pouring down from the rooftops beside us. The silence was like a humming sound in my ears. It grew louder and louder to the point where I wanted to cover my ears with my hands and shut everything out. But I could not. I had two suitcases to carry. So I just waited for his words of admonition. But still no words broke the silence. I took a deep breath of relief when I saw, in the distance, the first flickers of hurricane lanterns. People. Voices. Noise.

  One last time I glanced back over my shoulder, to the past, and I wished my mother were there behind me, loving, as she used to be. But she was not there and I turned again to look ahead of me. There, in front of me, was my future. My mother would no longer be a part of it. I had come to realize that much. My mother had chosen him, and nothing could change that.

  Finally he broke the silence, and also my thoughts of mother, with his commanding words.

  ‘Give me your suitcases, Maria.’

  Of course, we had to keep up appearances. Outward appearances were always so important to him. He was always concerned of what others would perceive.

  ‘Here you are.’ I had to stop myself from dropping the suitcases right there and simply keep walking. Instead, I stopped, and handed him the suitcases. Even though I was wearing gloves, I shuddered when our hands briefly touched. I looked down at the ground and waited for him to start walking again. There was only a short distance left to go.

  When we came to the end of Harbor Street, the smell of seawater and fish welcomed us. Also the sounds of men shouting, chains rattl
ing and here and there a starting engine drifted our way. These were the sounds that would accompany me on my journey. I obediently followed the Reverend as he walked up to a cutter bearing the name ‘Coby’.

  ‘Good mornin’, Rev’rend!’

  ‘Pieters.’ The Reverend nodded slightly, but his shoulders tensed, and I could tell that the thick local dialect annoyed him. I never did find out why he had agreed to accept the call to preach in this distant corner of the country. He could not possibly have expected to find educated people living and working here?

  ‘Mornin’, Maria.’

  ‘Good morning, Pieters.’ My voice was no more than a whisper, but Pieters did not seem to notice. He gestured for us to come aboard and he took the suitcases from the Reverend. He showed me the hatch and started to open it, but I shook my head. I preferred to stay on deck despite the rain. Below it would be dark and stuffy, stifling and lonely. Pieters chatted with the Reverend while pointing me toward a place in the center of the cutter where I could take a seat, in between the barrels, which normally would transport the cutter’s catch of mussels. I ignored the conversation, and strolled along past the barrels, toward the bow. Canal water lightly sprayed upwards and mingled with the continual rain.

  ‘I am leaving now, Maria. Take good care of your aunt.’ I had not heard him approach me and I started. Playing the part of a loving father he leaned toward me and kissed my cheek. At the same time he hissed a vicious word in my ear. I shuddered and couldn’t hide it from him. He remained very close to me and smiled down at me.

  ‘You know it’s true,’ he whispered. ‘You’re no better than Helène.’

  His breath singed my skin and I wanted to get away from him, but there was no room. There was only the rail. And the canal. An impossible possibility since I couldn’t swim. My eyes searched for Pieters, but he was busy and didn’t concern himself with us. I did not want to breathe in the smell of the Reverend, and tried to hold my breath.

  Finally the Reverend took a small step back, and with relieve I breathed more freely. He kept staring at me intently and expectantly, until I realized what he was waiting for.

  ‘Goodbye, Father.’ The words came out of my mouth, but had lost all meaning. Still, he nodded approvingly.

  The Reverend left the cutter, turned and raised his hand in a quick salutation. ‘Goodbye, Pieters. You’ll take good care of her?’

  ‘Yeah, Rev’rend.’ Pieters raised his hand in response, without giving the Reverend another look. At the same time he winked at me. ‘What’s he thinkin’! Of course I’ll look after ya!’

  I smiled, grateful for his indignation. Then I turned and looked out over the water in front of me. Look forward now. There’s nothing left behind me. There was no loved one waving me off from the quay. There were no sweet memories to cherish.

  The innocent white of the little church I left behind had long ago become a tarnished yellow for me. Eventually it was even stained with desperate-black. Time and time again I would visit the church, Sunday after Sunday. Every time I walked up to the church entrance I’d look up and hope that the fish-shaped wind dial would tumble down and shatter into a thousand pieces, every fragment small enough to be crushed by my feet. It never happened.

  I knew that the little white steeple of the church towered proudly over the surrounding houses, but I refused to look at that accusing finger again. That’s where he was in contact with his God. That’s where he received permission to do what he did. That’s where he was the obedient servant.

  I would now return to the house of my youth, back to the woods and meadows. I remembered Grandpa and Grandma. And Aunt Be. My thoughts briefly recalled the shadowy figure that remained in my memory of the person waiting for me at the end of my journey. I had not seen her for 10 years and now I was expected to share a home with her, confined like a recluse.

  A boy of about 14 years old presented himself to Pieters, and this seemed to indicate that the whole crew was accounted for. The cutter was only a small one and one young hand sufficed. The anchor was raised and we cast off. I remained at the bow and held on to the rail. My jaws were clenched tight as my skin caught the last tears the rain was shedding. I had a lump in my throat and a child in my belly, but my eyes remained dry. I was leaving the village with the white church, the Reverend, and the woman who used to be my mother, and I did not look back. But his words haunted me, and I slid back into the past while the fishing boat brought me to my first destination.

  I was skipping along, holding my mother’s hand. The two braided pigtails in my hair kept falling softly on my shoulders, a feeling I enjoyed. Sometimes I would purposely shake my head from left to right as hard as I could, just to make the pigtails fly in a circle through the air around my head. But not now, now I let them fall softly. With each skip a soft flop, flop.

  ‘They’ll fall off, you know,’ Mother said. She smiled and gave my hair a tug. Her smile was friendly and reminded me of Grandma and Auntie Be, who still lived on the farm. Their mouths were all the same, I thought.

  We arrived at the market and Mother pulled me along past the stalls. She stopped at the vegetable stall and selected some nice red apples. I pulled on the sleeve of her dress.

  ‘Why don’t we pick apples from a tree?’

  ‘We don’t have an orchard here, sweetie, so I have to buy apples now.’

  I nodded and thought of our new house with the little garden. Mother was right, there was no orchard. Mother bargained with the salesman about the apples and vegetables. In the end they agreed on a price. All the while I kept holding her hand, but I let my eyes roam freely.

  The next stall was a fishmonger’s. I stared at the man behind the table. He wore a white apron, and he shouted continually while he’d grab a fish from the pile with one hand, and cut its head off with the other. I shuddered, but kept watching, intrigued by his appearance, his handiwork and especially his voice. His voice was so loud, I was convinced that the whole village could hear him. This man would for sure make an excellent preacher. Everyone in church would be able to hear him.

  Suddenly the fishmonger smiled and nodded straight at me, and with a quick movement he tossed something in my direction. Before I knew what had happened I felt something cold slap against my face. I screamed, loud and shrill. I touched my nose but couldn’t feel anything unusual. The man’s bellowing laughter made people turn their heads. Mother, worriedly, lowered herself down to my level, and asked me what was wrong. I didn’t know and looked down with embarrassment. Then I noticed something lying on my wooden shoe, and again I shrieked. I jumped to make the thing slip off. Mother started and pulled me close to her. I trembled, and held on to her tightly. Gradually I calmed down, and when mother rose I heard a woman’s voice.

  ‘I saw what happened. He threw that starfish at her and it hit her in on the nose.’

  Beside us stood a woman, holding a little boy by the hand. Her hair was red and her nose was red, her eyes were green and her dress was green. In her hand she held up the very thing that only a moment earlier had been lying on my feet.

  ‘Go ahead, you can touch it,’ she said to me. ‘It can’t hurt you, it’s only a starfish.’ She smiled, and I tentatively reached out my hand to take the thing from her. Then suddenly my mother pulled my hand away.

  ‘How dare you! I may be new in this village, but I know who you are. Stay away from my daughter!’

  Mother took my hand and squeezed it so hard it hurt, but before I could protest she had dragged me along. She pulled my arm so hard, I had to run to keep up with her. Mother hurried me along through the streets, not stopping at any of the other stalls, back to the manse.

  ‘What is it, Mother, why are we walking so fast?’ I whimpered. My foot got caught in the pavement and I tripped. I would have fallen, had Mother not held my hand so tightly.

  Finally she slowed down, and in the end she stood still. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes still burned with anger, but when she looked at me I saw that her eyes slowly softened.

&
nbsp; ‘Oh sweetie, I didn’t mean to hurt you. It was…’ Mother swallowed, and for a moment she closed her eyes. ‘That woman from the market is a very bad woman, Maria. I did not want her to talk to you. Will you remember that? You are not ever allowed to talk to her, or to that boy. They are bad people, very, very bad.’

  Mother looked at me gravely, and I nodded obediently. I nodded so hard that my pigtails made small flops. Not nice ones. Serious, harsh little flops.

  Pieters’ voice brought me out of my reveries and I turned to face him. I realized that he was shouting at his deck hand, not me. The boy jumped around the deck with great agility and followed every order Pieters shouted at him.

  The rain had stopped and I wiped my face with my sleeve. My woolen coat had kept me mostly dry, but the water felt cold on my cheeks. I shivered and wondered how long it would take us to reach our destination.

  Pieters and the boy were working hard, and I turned away. Just look forward now. From now on I must only look forward. My fingers tightened around the wet rail, and I stared into the water as the cutter was gliding over it. Again the idea surfaced that this water could be the solution for all my troubles. It would mean the end of everything I now had to deal with. I would disappear into the depth and nobody would ever see me again. Nobody would miss me.

  I shook my head and straightened up. Just look forward. The past no longer mattered. Today was the first day of my new life.

  2

  Vlissingen. The last time I had been here, I had been a little girl with a new father. The wedding celebrations had just come to an end, and we had been full of plans for the future and were eagerly anticipating the journey ahead to ‘our new congregation’. I had trustfully nestled my hand in Mother’s hand. She had smiled at me, and I had known that everything would be all right. I had a new father! I had been so excited when we had first arrived at the harbour and I had seen all the boats. Seagulls had circled in the air above us shrieking at each other. I had held my head back, with my mouth open in thrilled delight. I had pointed with my finger and laughed out loud, until his voice harshly had cut through my enthusiasm.