Free Mara by Lisette van de Heg Page A

any passer-by approaching from a great distance and warns me with loud barks. When the postman arrives, I hide in the stable or the farmhouse, and when Auntie has visitors I make sure I’m in my room. Some of the looks I would get from people in our church, and the remarks by Mrs. Kleut taught me that no one is to know about the shame I carry.
    ‘It’s not good for you,’ Auntie said recently, but I knew it could not be helped, so I shrugged my shoulders. Yet, she found a way around it. She just doesn’t realize how hard it is for me to face other people now that I am so clearly… you know what.
    ‘We’re having a guest for dinner tomorrow, Maria.’ Auntie’s words startled me and I called out in surprise.
    ‘What!’
    ‘I have invited a good friend of mine. He has been our preacher for a year now and I am very fond of him.’
    No! Not a preacher. ‘You’re a whore, Maria. The child is a bastard and cannot exist before God and the community.’
    ‘You can’t, don’t do it.’
    ‘Yes, I will.’ Auntie sounded determined. I sat down, defeated, holding my head in my hands. I am a servant of Allmighty God, do not talk back to me.
    ‘Why?’ I asked in the end.
    ‘Why not? He’s my preacher and a friend, Maria. Besides, he’s a young man and it’s good for you to meet other people.
    ‘But my…’
    ‘He won’t condemn you, Maria.’
    Yes, he will. It’s his job, his privilege and his duty.
    The chair almost fell when I rose and left the kitchen. I stepped into the wooden shoes that Auntie had brought me from the market, and I walked out. I called the dog and he ran around my feet, barking, but I ignored him. With my arms wrapped around my body I tried to keep the cold at bay, and I walked through the garden. It looked withered and dead. I continued toward the small orchard. I stood still, leaning back against the wall that separated the garden from the orchard, and slowly the cool outside air calmed me down.
    A preacher is coming to visit, a preacher of all things.
    I turned around and thumped my head against the wall. Then I spread my hands and hit as hard as I could. Over and over I hit the wall, until the skin of my hands tingled. I kept hitting, until I could feel my skin scratch and tear, until I saw blood on the wall. Only then did I stop.
    Bewildered I stared at my hands and what I had done to them. Blood mixed with dust and formed lines in my palms. I spit in my hands and rubbed them together. I tried to ignore the biting pain and spit once more. Then I rubbed my hands on my apron and called the dog back.
    ‘It’s time to get to work.’
    We’re having a preacher over.
    He was tall and his blue eyes were surrounded by little wrinkles. His hair was covered by a cap, but he removed the cap as soon as he stepped in the door. He had blond hair that was oddly flattened by the cap. Before his eyes met mine I turned away to the stove. A pastor with a cap? Why didn’t he wear a top hat, and where was his black suit? He looked more like a farmer.
    ‘It’s vital that no one in church will be able to find fault with me, Maria. So I expect you to dress appropriately, and your behavior must be irreproachable.’
    ‘I do my best.’
    ‘Remember, you are the pastor’s daughter, don’t you ever forget that. People in church will watch you and will judge you.’
    Condemn, is what he meant, he just didn’t say it.
    ‘Maria, isn’t it?’ His voice hesitated for just a second after he said my name.
    I lifted up a bowl before I turned around to face him.
    ‘Yes.’
    I quickly circled around him and placed the bowl on the table, my hands moist with sweat. I could also feel a droplet of sweat at my nose. I quickly wiped it away and stood for a moment at the table, wondering what I should do. Should I sit down, or turn around to welcome the intruder? When he said my name again, I decided to turn around.
    ‘Reverend Bosch.’ He held out his hand in greeting. I stared at it, not knowing what to do. How