We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [276]
The young woman put up with it all and allowed the pilot's helpful wife to treat her like a doll. She didn't express any gratitude; nor was there any sign of grief on the pale, rigid mask she showed the world. Madame Clubin was experienced enough not to attach importance to outward appearances, and made no attempt to coax emotion out of her young, stricken guest. She was firm only when it came to meals. Madame Clubin was a French Basque, and in a voice that tolerated no contradiction she ordered her guest to finish the platefuls of ttoro, gabure, camot, and couston that she placed before her every day. The young lady obeyed without thanking her for the food or expressing any opinion about it. But she ate it, and Madame Clubin announced to her husband, as she was in the habit of doing, that the sum total of her life's experience amounted to the verdict that what an unhappy person needs most is maternal care and good food.
After receiving orders from the shipping company back in Denmark, one of the young men stayed on board the Kristina to await the arrival of a new crew. The other two left Royan with the young woman, who retained her silence to the last.
When she stepped onto the train, her two escorts carried her luggage with brotherly care. She carried only a sea bag, said to have belonged to the drowned seaman.
ONE DAY KLARA FRIIS returned home to find Kristina waiting in her drawing room. Klara was well aware of her story. We all were. Vilhjelm and Helmer reported only that Herman had assaulted her, but it was obvious to everyone that it had been a case of rape. Whenever the boys said the word assault, we nodded knowingly in a way that must have done more than simply irritate them. Of course they knew what had happened to her. Boys know that sort of thing. But they chose their words carefully because they wanted to protect her.
We referred to Kristina Bager as "the poor little thing," but Klara was the first to learn that she had a secret. When she came in, Kristina rose from the sofa and stared at her. She didn't speak: she hadn't uttered a word since her homecoming. Then she pointed to her belly with one hand and made an arc in the air in front of it with the other. Klara understood right away, and her eyes welled in compassion. She felt so helpless. Not only had the poor little thing been raped, but she was carrying her rapist's child. It couldn't have been any worse, and how money could help her now was beyond Klara—though she imagined that was why Kristina had come.
Immediately, she took the young girl's hand and said, "Come with me." Together they went to Teglgade, to Mrs. Rasmussen. Anna Egidia settled Kristina on the sofa. She served coffee and placed a bowl of home-baked cookies in front of her while making a range of comforting noises, which, like the cozy, everyday domesticities she performed around her distressed guest, were aimed at calming her down. It was a ritual Klara had observed many times before, and as always, it seemed to work. Anna Egidia placed her hand on the girl's belly and stroked it. And, as if her touch had activated some sort of inner mechanism, Kristina opened her mouth and spoke for the first time in several weeks.
"I want to go to America," she said.
The two women looked at each other.
"I don't want to have this baby in Marstal," she said. "And I don't want to be sent away to have him in secret and then give him up for adoption. I want to go to America and build a new life for me and my son."
"Your son?" Klara was stunned.
But Anna Egidia, who knew more about matters of the heart than Klara, didn't ask her what made her think that the child was a boy. Hearing the tenderness in Kristina's voice when she spoke about her unborn child, she'd known immediately that there was more to this story than rape.
"So Herman isn't the baby's father?" she asked.
Kristina shook her head. Her face was lit up by a sudden happiness that quickly turned to grief, the grief she'd hidden behind her silence and stiff features. She started crying hard, and the two women