Читать книгу FROM ROMANIA WITH LOVE - Dr Amelia Harte - Страница 5

AWAKENING OF THE UNCANNY SPIRIT

“Mommy…Mommy…Are you awake”? Elena called softly from the doorway. There was no answer. A feeling of cold chill ran up her spine.

She hesitated and slowly hovered uncertainly next to the door, her eyes straining and her ears pricked for the slightest sound. Needless to mention the room was still as the grave and should a pin drop the sound would be more than audible. With trepidation, Elena nervously pulled the ragged shawl more tightly around her slender small-boned shoulders, shivering in the thin nightgown in the bitter cold before the dawn. Her pale face transformed into a gloomy and ghastly beacon in the eerie darkness.

“Mommy, Mommy!” Elenastymied a cry in an urgent whisper, and tip-toed further into the room, taking cautious steps, feeling her way around the scantily laid out furniture.

Elena was in the process of adjusting her eyes to the gloom of the room. She was finding the atmosphere and situation hard to accept and every breath was painful. The stale air was so dank and musty that it simply added more nausea and fear. Her perceptions became more and more real as the minutes ticked by. Elena shuddered at every stepping moment and was challenged by the intermingling of odours and archaic residual smells that escaped from the naked walls. The nasty and unpleasant smells were further exacerbated from soiled bedclothes and intermittent sweat of the patient who was lying on the bed, looking almost dead. In essence the scene was the unmistakable stench of stricken life and her mom’s sickness. Elena took a deep breath and moved forward, taking one step at a time.

When Elena reached the iron bedstead her thumping heart skipped a beat as her downcast eyes fell on the sick woman. Her sickly mother lay motionless and completely inert beneath the bedclothes, which were in an unacceptable state of disarray. Mother, are you all right? The words were almost inaudible as they came out of Elena’s half-closed mouth. Or was her mother already gone! Stricken with fear…it sent shudders through her slim petite body, so that she shivered, shivered and shook in a manner that could not be controlled. Elena leaned forward and put her face next to her mother’s, she touched her neck and strained forward in a manner suggestive of helping the weak form in order that her own spiritual power could send radiant waves of life-sustaining energy into the almost lifeless form of her mother, to resuscitate new life.She shut her eyes tightly and chanted a silent prayer, yearning for Biblical help with solemn repetition and devotion. Elena placed every effort of passion and dedication into the prayer for help in order that her mother will overcome the wasting sickness.

She vehemently pleaded with God to overturn the burden of illness that was putting her mother through plain hell. In return for God’s help Elena took a vow that she would carry the crucifix and head to the ancient hills and the forsaken castles her mother often spoke about…which is believed to be the curse and forerunner of all her mother’s sicknessand ills of a different kind. There were talks of the bewitched and vampirism within which vortex her mother was believed to be caught up in, and seemingly evil-possessed. Elena promised that (in return) she will endeavour to do anything that God wanted of her. Elena, in her prayer and protestation asked God to exorcise the devil-sickness out of her mother’s body. She said: “Please God, let my mother live!”

Elena believed that God was good. Her mother had told her that God was Goodness. That He was understanding and forgiving.Elena did not believe in a wrathful God, the God of retribution and revenge that the Eastern Orthodox Church minister warned about in his sermons on Sundays. Her mother had said God was Inconceivable Love and her mother knew best. Elena’s God was compassionate. He would answer her prayers.

Her mom slowly opened her eyes as Elena tenderly began stroking her mom’s hair stating in a whisper, “Mommy, Mommy! Please open your eyes moreif you can hear me.”

You must speak to me and tell me that you are well, maybe not that ill, otherwise I don’t know what I am going to do with myself. Elena repeated her pleas to her mother…there were no signs of any response or movement.

However, what was strikingly visible in the dim light were small beads of sweat on her mom’s face, some still and others slowly running down the sides of her cheeks. Maria’s usual pale face had been superimposed with a shade of ash-coloured pimple-effectand together with the perspiration her mom’s face was glistening with a coat of artificial film…in truth the picture presented a ghastly and frightening appearance.

Maria had soft reddish-brown hair, which looked dismissal and listless, and due to her medical-state, the frontal hair fell across her sweaty forehead and the major balance of her hair lay in a mass on the wet pillow behind her head.

Nevertheless, Maria had a radiant sweetness in her face, which was still visibly intact; but serious poverty, the battle for survival and eventually the ravages of the deadly sickness had eroded all of the charm and charisma. It was very evident not only to Elena but to any sympathetic onlooker or visitor. It would seem that a ring of death was encircling Maria Popescu and it would be hard to predict whether she would manage to see the last few months going into the next season. She had just turned thirty-four. However, with the wasting disease, Maria was fast fading-away leaving her weaker and thinner by each passing day. The sight of her and thought left lingering fear in Elena’s direct and indirect vision and perceptions of life and death.

Maria’s room was now a gloomy-looking sickroom, more so, because it had the barest essentials of comfort, it lacked the elemental amenities of a good life. The predominant item was the bed that was partly arranged and positioned under the eaves where the slope skimmed normal head-height. Among the other pieces of furniture were a wobbly table which was made of Chinese bamboo, raffia and wood, was wedged at the foot of the bed and the wall where the eaves descended. Slightly above the table was the room-window which looked quite small in relation to the room size. An item of comfort lay on the table – it was a Bible. Amongst others, an ancient mug and the medicines prescribed by Dr Bogdan were also visible on the table. On the far side of the window stood a roughly-crafted wooden chest, and leaning against the wall there was a washstand made of mahogany with the top made of marble. (Nb: This was an exclusive wedding gift from her wealthy paternal grandmother, possibly the only noteworthy piece of furniture in the room.)

The overall setting of the cottage was not weather-conducive as the building was set deep into the valley end of the moors. The dampness from cold spells could be felt not only in winter but throughout the year. Added to this gale force winds, soaking rains and mesmerising snow swept across the region. Yet in spite of the cold and wetness, the frugality and dreary climate, Maria’s room was as clean as a whistle. With Elena’s constant hard work and care the room was adorned with simple white cotton curtains and the furniture reflected the glint and shine of wax-polish. The floors which were constructed of solid wood were interspersed with carpet-rugs that were hand woven. Only the bed was not tidy and seemed neglected, for the tidiness and changeover to clean bed-sheets could only be serviced once a week,as Elena came home but once a week, after completing five days of work at Apostol Hall, where she was employed.

Maria moved uneasily and with some agitated pain. Is that you, Elena? The voice was so feeble with fatigue it was barely audible.

“Yes, Mommy, it’s me,” the girl cried, clutching her mother’s hand.

“What time is it, Elena?”

“It just turned five o’clock in the morning. Popa got us up very early this morning. I’m sorry if I woke you as a result of us being up early.” I want to make sure that you are all right before I trudge off to work at Apostol Hall.

Maria sighed. “I am not too bad…you need not worry. I will get up after an hour or so.”

She began the familiar persistent cough, the gravity of which brought out thunderous ripples of tremors on her chest. With gripping fear Elena had to suppress the harshness of the cough by calmly assisting her mom’s chest as Maria’s frail hands had scant strength to quell the power of the cough.

Elena poured medicine into her mom’s mug and helped to prop up the frail body and painstakingly forced her mom to drink the potion, cautiously exclaiming, “Try this Mommy, it’s the mixture from Dr Bog, and it would certainly give you some relief!”

Elena spoke in a compassionate yet cheerful tone lest it aggravated the situation from bad to worse and irritated her mom. Maria took a sip of the medicine, then another and by the time the mug was empty, Elena’s mom found some respite from the nagging and persistent cough. Maria was a person who was driven by an internal mainspring of strong willpower, and as a consequence of which, she could muster sufficient strength and was able to speak notwithstanding that her wasting condition made her devoid of breath and left her without energy, for long periods of time.

As it was time to get going to work at Apostol Hall, Maria feebly gestured to Elena, “Dear, please check on your dad and brother before you run off!”

“Mommy, I will, I will certainly do that before I go. It is time to have a little more rest before you get up. Must I make you a pot of tea?”

“Yes please – it will be refreshing after I remove myself from this dreary room surrounding,” was the soft reply from Maria.

Elena quietly departed from the room and headed to the kitchen where she heard Ion Popescu, her father, having a short conversation with Franco, her younger brother. Amidst the whistling sound of the kettle coming to a boil, Elena sensed the sombre tone that under-pinned the talk which was being pursued and tried not to eavesdrop – it was, in a way, lending paternal support to a twelve-year old that was on the threshold of becoming a young orphan.

*****