Читать книгу Mama - Marijke Lockwood - Страница 16

Before Mama went into hospital the last time, she’d bought some really nice material and patterns. She was a good seamstress, and had started to make all the girls a brand new dress. This was very exciting to me, because mostly I received hand-me-downs. Clothes went from Willie to Ann, and then from Ann to me. By then they would be well and truly worn, but still in perfect condition. Papa and Mama always made sure we learned from a very young age, that no matter how poor we were, or how little we had, we always looked after everything. Never a hem to hang out, or a button missing. Any seams which looked like bursting, were reinforced, and socks darned on a weekly basis.

For each of us to get new dresses had been an exciting prospect. But of course, once Mama had gone into hospital, this project had been put on hold.

One day, Aunty Jos, now our new Mama, asked me to come into Papa’s little sewing room, off the lounge-room. There, spread out on the big sewing table, lay the material and the pattern for my new dress.

“Marijke, I know Mama was going to make you this lovely dress. I’m going to do it for you now, and you can wear it to our wedding. I’ll make all the girls’ dresses that your Mama couldn’t do because she was sick. Then we’ll all go shopping for new shoes. I need to take your measurements, because I have noticed that you have shot up quite a lot, and you have started to fill out.”

I looked at the beautiful pale blue material, and the white binding which would offset the seams. The pattern was one Mama and I had chosen together, and I thought it was the most beautiful dress pattern I had ever seen.

“Thank you, Mama, that will be really nice. Can I help you with the sewing, because I’m pretty good at it. And then you won’t have so much to do.”

“Why, thank you, that’ll be very nice. I’ll let you know when I get to those parts you can do, like sewing the buttons on, and hemming. Is that okay?”

“Yes, I’d like that. Then I can use my sewing box, and my reels of cotton.”

This was the first time I had called her Mama without thinking about it. It wasn’t until later that day I realised that Aunty Jos had become the Mama of our home. Not my Mama, but a Mama. It was sort of acceptable to me now, and although my memories of Mama were with me daily, they became less painful as time passed. I still had some very sad moments, but they were not as painful as they had been in the past.

The preparations for the wedding were in full swing. Apparently there was some consternation about this union within various family circles, as it was so soon after Mama’s death. But I did not hear any of this, and got caught up in the excitement of the new clothes and shoes. The wedding itself did not excite me too much, but by now I had accepted that this was going to happen.

One evening, when we were playing a game of cards, Mama and Papa were giggling about something, and then Papa started tickling Mama. This had always been one of Papa’s favourite pasttimes, tickling us. I looked at them, and suddenly felt angry. How could he do this? He used to tickle my Mama, and she used to laugh so loud. She had been very ticklish, as were all of us kids. And obviously this Mama was also ticklish.

I jumped up, threw my cards on the table, and stormed off, furious. I can’t watch Papa do this to her. He’s forgotten about Mama, he can’t do this to another woman!

“Marijke, get back here. What’s the matter with you?” Papa demanded.

I put my head around the door. “If you don’t know, then I won’t tell you!” I yelled. I grabbed my coat and ran downstairs. I slammed the front door, and ran down the street.

It was already dark, and it was cold, but I didn’t feel the cold. I was mad. I can’t go back, I will run away. I can’t watch Papa tickle this Mama. He probably never loved Mama at all, or he would not have forgotten her so quickly.

I stopped running, and walked around a couple of blocks, trying to get rid of my anger. I started to feel the cold wind, and realised I was out in the dark by myself. Where can I go? Maybe one of my friends’ homes? But my friends were either living in Amsterdam North, or at the orphanage. I certainly didn’t plan to go to the orphanage, and Amsterdam North was too far. Besides, I was getting spooked out there, in the dark by myself.

I walked back home, and had to ring the bell for someone to let me in. I waited a minute or so, before John opened the door for me.

“You’re in big trouble now!” he said meaningfully. “Papa is really mad at you for going out like that.” He had a smug look on his face, like he enjoyed me getting into trouble.

When I got back upstairs Mama had left, and Papa asked me to come into his sewing room. He looked really angry, but I was angry too.

“What do you have to say for yourself, young lady? That was very bad behaviour, and if you don’t tell me what led to your outburst, I’ll punish you.”

“I don’t want to tell you, because you’ll get mad at me,” I said defiantly.

“I’m already mad at you, so tell me, what was that all about?”

“I don’t want to tell you. I just want to forget about it!” I was getting angry again.

“Mama thought she had upset you, but didn’t know why. She was very hurt when she left. I think you owe her an apology.”

“I owe HER an apology?! I don’t owe HER anything! She is NOT my mother!”

He leaned down, and gave me a hefty slap across my backside. “Ouch! I hate you! I hate being here. She is NOT my Mama, she’s NOT!”

Another smack. “You are drawing the blood from under my nails!” Papa shouted. “Mama has done so much for you, and you treat her like that.”

“I wasn’t angry with her, Papa, I’m angry with you!” Tears were now pouring down my face. “You haven’t been the same since Mama died!” Another smack.

Papa was shaking now, and he also had tears in his eyes. “Go to your room, go to bed. I will deal with you tomorrow. Don’t dare say another word!” He stomped out of the room, and I followed him out, not looking at the enquiring eyes of my siblings as I walked through the lounge-room.

Sobbing, I ran up the stairs, and once again, threw myself on the bed. I cradled my dolly, still shaking, and still feeling the sting of Papa’s smacks.

Mama, please help me. I hate Papa, I hate this Mama. Life’s not fair. Why did God take you away, and change our lives like this? God, how can you do this to our family? How can you do this to me? A good God wouldn’t make me hurt this much!

I continued to sob, and eventually fell asleep with my clothes still on. When Margaret came to bed, she woke me up. I got changed into my nightdress, washed, and walked downstairs to go to the toilet.

As I came out of the toilet, Papa walked past me in the hall. He didn’t say anything, he just glared at me, and I glared back at him. I think that was the first time, when I had been home, that I didn’t say good-night to Papa, or anyone for that matter. No good-night kisses and hugs. I went back upstairs, and got into bed. Margaret was asleep on the far side of the bed, with her back to me. I crawled in beside her and lay awake for a long time. When Trudy came to bed I pretended to be asleep. But sleep did not come for a long time.

When are these changes in my life going to stop? I want my old life back. Back in Amsterdam North, back with my friends and especially back with Mama.

But I knew this could never happen. In the end I felt sad, my anger had dissipated. I just felt very sad and alone once again. Nobody understands how I feel. Why is life so difficult?

On the morning of twenty-four April, Papa and Mama were married for the State. In Holland, ministers and priests don’t have legal powers to marry for the state, only for the church. The church wedding is not seen as a legal marriage. Couples wishing to have a church wedding, first have a State Wedding which, in those days, generally took place in a registry office. Some couples undertook both on the same day, others chose to separate the two events, first having a simple state wedding, with only a few witnesses and family members in attendance, and a more elaborate wedding at a later date.

Papa and Mama decided on having two separate days. They were both extremely religious and the state wedding did not have any sentimentality attached to it.

The twenty-fourth was also Willie’s sixteenth birthday. It was this that was celebrated on the day, not the wedding. I don’t believe any of us attended the ceremony, I know I didn’t. We went to school as normal, and after arriving home, had cake and our usual birthday party of song and dance.

On the morning of the church wedding I awoke early. It was the Queen’s birthday, a public holiday, which meant all family members could attend the big wedding. The Queen’s birthday in Holland has always been a big celebration, with parades, floats, and people hanging out flags of red, white and blue, with an orange sash; representing the Royal House of Orange.

But this year the day was about Papa and Mama’s wedding. We all got dressed into our new outfits. I loved my new dress, especially as I had helped Mama with some of the work. I had hemmed it twice, as my first effort wasn’t good enough for Mama. But this time, I didn’t mind, as she was a beautiful seamstress, and was teaching me how to do it properly.

“Marijke, with big steps you get home quickly. But by taking your time and doing it properly, you can take great pride in your workmanship,” Mama said when I had finished the hem.

I must admit, it was obvious that you could see the hem clearly on the outside of the dress, with the long stitches I had used. I was always an impatient person, in that I liked to see things finished within a reasonably quick time frame.

Mama unpicked the hem carefully, so as not to damage the material. She then showed me how to make small stitches, and only pick up one thread of material at a time, not pulling the thread too tight. As the skirt part of the dress was quite full, it took me longer than I liked. But when I finished it, with Mama’s support and encouragement, I was very proud of myself. I thought it looked professional, just like Papa and Mama’s stitching.

Wearing this dress for the first time made me feel really pretty. With brand new white socks and my blue shoes, I felt like a princess. Papa had cut all our hair, to save money, and although I wasn’t overly pleased with the result, I combed it so it looked soft and shiny.

The day was bright and sunny, and quite warm for that time of year. I’d love to say how wonderful the wedding was, but I can’t. I have no memory of that day except getting ready and feeling pretty. I have studied the photos, and know I was there. But even after all these years I still can’t recall it; it is locked away with Mama’s funeral. My sisters and brothers have told me it was a lovely wedding, and the food was delicious, and that we were all allowed to stay up until the end of the long festivities.

After the wedding, Mama moved into the apartment, and into Papa’s bedroom. Although I didn’t like this idea, at least it wasn’t into my Mama’s bedroom, as we had moved.

Things continued as before, with the odd conflict between brothers and sisters. I occasionally overheard my older siblings discuss their frustrations with Mama. Sometimes one of us would say something cruel when we didn’t agree with her, and as always, Papa dealt with the punishment.

But things settled down, and that summer was lovely, as it was the first time in quite a few years we had spent our summer vacation at home. I continued with my gymnastics, which I had started when I was in Grade 3, in Amsterdam North. I was quite good at it, except for the beam. I was extremely agile, even being able to wrap both my long skinny legs around my neck at the same time. But I never had a stable balance and I was terrified of the beam, always falling off.

I enjoyed the ring and floor exercises. I won a gold medal for my floor exercises when I was in Grade 3. Mama hadn’t been able to come, as she had been sick in bed. But she was so proud of me, her eyes shone when I brought the medal home. She let me hang it above our bed on the wall.

That first summer after the wedding, when Papa had some free time of a weekend, he sometimes decided we’d all go for an outing.

“Why don’t we all go to the Amsterdamse Bos (Amsterdam’s Bush)?” We helped cut sandwiches for a picnic lunch, packed some blankets and walked to the park. We sang songs as we walked there, holding hands and swinging the bags of sandwiches and cordial bottles.

In the park was a swimming pool, which was free to the public. This was such a treat. I was a strong swimmer, but didn’t realise that at the time. I just knew I loved being in the water. Papa and Mama never went in, neither of them were fond of water. Papa couldn’t swim, and Mama was more worried about the germs which might be floating around in the water.

They sat on the blankets and watched us with smiles on their faces, while we played with the younger children in the water.

We squealed and laughed and had so much fun together. When we were called out for lunch, we were ravenous from all the activity. Eating lunch we had to fight off the wasps, which terrified me. Then we had to wait at least half an hour before being allowed back in the water.

During that half hour the little ones played in the playground, while some of us sat around telling stories or singing a song together. I have such fond memories of these special family moments.

One morning Mama said, “How would you all like to come to the zoo today?”

The response was one of pure joy. The zoo! Wow!

“I want to take everyone as a special treat. It is my thank you for helping me be part of your family,” she said, with a warm smile.

We were excited, getting ready in the quickest time. While I was helping Mama cut lunches, I asked her, “Can I cut some of the crusts off so I can feed the animals?”

“Yes, of course, but I don’t know if you’re allowed to feed any of the animals. Which animals do you think would eat bread?”

“The birds, I know the birds eat bread and crumbs, because Mama used to put the breadcrumbs out on the window sill all the time,” I informed her.

“Marijke, that’s a lovely thought. You should’ve told me. We’ll also put all the breadcrumbs out on the window sill from now on. If I forget, will you promise to remind me?”

“Yes, I will.” I felt so happy that another one of Mama’s traditions would now be continued, and that I was given the responsibility to make sure it happened.

The day at the zoo was wonderful, and I could see that Papa and Mama enjoyed seeing us have such a good experience. I threw some of the bread crumbs into the birds’ cages, and shared this joy with my brothers and sisters. We also threw some of the crusts to the monkeys, and laughed at them grabbing at the crusts and then chasing each other for them.

When we came to the duck pond, we also gave them some crusts. Then we all sang Papa’s favourite duck song. We danced around and laughed, and Mama and Papa joined in. A few people stopped and watched us, and clapped when we finished.

I didn’t want to go home at the end of the day. I loved seeing all the animals, and learning about them. Especially the giraffes, they looked so elegant with their long necks.

Throughout my childhood I had often been called a giraffe, due to my long slim neck. At first I used to get upset when called a giraffe. Then Mama told me that a long neck is one of the seven signs of beauty. She told me a long neck is elegant. After that I savoured the name, and here they were, my namesakes.

When we arrived home, Mama asked me to help her prepare the evening meal. As I was peeling the potatoes, she said, “Thank you for thinking of the birds. It shows you have a kind heart, and I’m pleased that you told me about putting the crumbs on the window sill.”

I wasn’t too sure how to respond to this compliment, so I looked at her and smiled. She smiled back at me. “I loved today at the zoo, you looked like you were really enjoying yourself,” she said.

“I did, Mama. I love watching animals, and I think the monkeys were really funny,” I said, my face showing my pleasure.

Mama gave me a spontaneous kiss on the cheek, which was not something she did as a rule. I kissed her back. We looked at each other and smiled. Just then, I felt close to her; this was a special moment.

A few weeks later an aunty and uncle I’d never heard of before came to visit us. We were introduced to them as Aunty Rie and Uncle Theo, from Australia. I didn’t even know where Australia was, but it sounded so exotic.

Aunty Rie was a cousin of both Mamas, and had grown up with them. Aunty and Uncle had moved to Australia just after the war, one of many migrants looking to improve their lives from the dismal conditions in Europe.

We gathered around them, listening to the wonderful stories they told us about their life in Tasmania, a small island state of Australia. They told us of the many opportunities there, the beauty of its flora and fauna and the wild animals. They showed photos of wonderful houses you could build and own in Australia.

We listened in amazement. In our small world, we had no idea there were countries so different to ours. The photos of the scenery they showed us were so vastly removed from our flat country. There were mountains, long white beaches, and huge houses. The houses looked like palaces to us in comparison to the small cramped units in Amsterdam.

“Why don’t you come to Australia?” they asked Mama and Papa. “We’re sure you will love living there. If you come to Tasmania, there is a large Dutch community already established. We’re sure you will feel quite at home there.”

We all started speaking at once, “Yes, Mama, Papa, that will be nice,” and, “doesn’t that sound wonderful,” and, “our own house, Papa, we could have our own beautiful house.”

“Whoa, whoa, everybody, don’t all speak at once. It all sounds wonderful, but it’s not that simple. Mama and I will talk about it. If we like the idea, we’ll look into it. It would be a huge undertaking, leaving behind our families and friends. And of course, it is on the other side of the world,” Papa said in his authoritative voice, calming us all down.

When Aunty Rie and Uncle Theo left, we were still abuzz with the possibilities. That night I lay in bed, conjuring up beaches and big houses, it sounded wonderful and exciting. I wonder if Papa and Mama think we should go to Australia. Do I want to go there? It sounds exciting, a new country and a new language. But it also sounds scary. I fell asleep, dreaming of sitting in a lovely big house, on a mountain, overlooking a long sweeping beach.

When I got up the next morning, Papa was already in the kitchen. Whilst we set the table for breakfast, I asked him, “Do you think we might go to Australia, Papa?”

“I don’t know, there are a lot of things to think about. But, Mama and I are going to look into it. If we think it’s suitable, it could mean a new beginning for the family. What do you think, Marijke?”

Papa is asking my opinion? Wow, he thinks I am old enough to give him my opinion!

“I don’t know either yet. It sounds exciting and I think it would be a really good place to live. But it also sounds scary, because they don’t speak Dutch, and it’s so far away. What would happen if we don’t like it there, Papa? Can we come back again?”

“I don’t think that would be so easy, that’s why we have to make sure we really want to do this. It’s a big step for the whole family, and we need to be one hundred percent sure that it is the right thing to do,” Papa said.

I floated around on air the rest of that day. I felt that Papa had given me a chance to give my opinion on a really important matter, and had taken my opinion seriously.