Free Mara by Lisette van de Heg

some people his servants and gave them all authority, a god who refused to care about simple folk who send up hopeful prayers to him.
    ‘What have I done?’
    ‘You disobeyed, you lied to me.’
    He towered over me and his presence alone was enough to make me utterly helpless. My voice turned soundless, my legs could no longer run, my hands no longer fight. Again he was there. And he was the one in control.
    I don’t want to be punished, God. I really tried my hardest, truly. Please call him back. Please call him to serve you, so he’ll forget about me, let him be too busy serving you to bother and torture me. I cautiously glanced at him, expecting him to be called away any moment, to leave for church or a sick church member. I was convinced that he would leave and once more I sent up a silent prayer. But there was no one listening.
    ‘Maria, Maria!’
    I blinked, confused, and the first thing I noticed was a big knot in my thread, on top of the seam I had been stitching.
    ‘Are you all right?’
    I nodded, pulled on the needle and saw the knot tighten. Despondently I put away the needle and took a pin so I could untangle the knot with it.
    ‘Let’s call it a day. How about I pour us some coffee?’
    I looked at the knot and thought of the dress we were making. I nodded, it had been enough for today.
    The first dress was done. Without me noticing Auntie had untangled the knot and finished sewing the hem. She had even added a four-inch hem which she had decorated with a brightly colored embroidery of flowers and fresh green shoots. The embroidery was stunningly beautiful, way too beautiful for me and much too beautiful for this hideous dress. I swallowed hard and shook my head. Why did she do this? Didn’t she realize that I despised this dress and everything it signified? Auntie watched me expectantly, but I couldn’t be happy about this gift.
    ‘Don’t you like it?’ Her shoulders seemed to droop a bit, as if they were already weighed down by the burden of my dismissing headshake.
    ‘Yes, I do,’ I whispered. Again I looked at the embroidery and I thought of the many hours she must have spent working on it. My mother called embroidering a labor of love, because it was so time consuming and because you got nothing in return for it besides beauty. A labor of love indeed. The words floated through my mind for a moment, but then they disappeared amongst the many loveless memories I had.
    ‘I’ll try the dress on.’
    I turned away, avoiding Auntie’s eyes, and brought the dress upstairs. I didn’t want to see the disappointment on her face and I didn’t want to apologize and tell her how I truly admired her handiwork. The dress was worthlessly beautiful. In a few months time, as soon as I would have no use for it anymore, I would burn the dress. So why did she go through such trouble? Did she really think she’d be doing me a favor?
    I peeled off my old dress, which was too tight, and I let the new one slip over my head. I didn’t want to look at the hem, her handiwork, as it just hovered over my feet. Instead I thought of new reasons why she shouldn’t have done this. Didn’t Auntie realize that the hem is the one part of a dress that always gets dirty and grimy? What was she trying to tell me? It may look beautiful, but it would always be covered in a layer of dust and grime. Did she mean to say that I was like this embroidered hem, always dirty and soiled?
    I straightened my shoulders and went downstairs. I was determined not to speak another word about this dress. It was too beautiful for me, too beautiful for what it concealed.

8
    S omeone has seen me. It was unexpected. I was supposed to keep my condition hidden from everyone. The Reverend was very clear in his letter to Auntie, and if she were to follow his wishes to the letter, I would be indoors day and night.
    Yet, I take care for my own sake too, that no one sees me. I never leave the farmyard and never go for a walk without the dog. He hears