Blooms of Darkness

39

The closet door opens, and Kitty stands in the doorway with a small package in her hands. “I brought you a chocolate bar,” she says, and hands him the gift.

“Thank you,” says Hugo, rising to his feet.

It’s afternoon, and the autumn light falls on her small figure. It brings out her pleasant features, and now Hugo notices again that she is his height.

“What do you do?” she asks, as she has already.

“Nothing special.”

“Don’t you miss your friends?”

Hugo shrugs his shoulders as if to say, What can I do?

“When I miss my friends, I take a little vacation and go to visit them,” Kitty says, revealing the extent of her innocence.

“Is it far?” Hugo asks, wanting to give her a chance to talk.

“About an hour by train, perhaps a little less.”

“I’m not allowed to leave here.”

Hearing his answer, Kitty smiles, as though she has finally understood something complicated.

The other women speak about Kitty as a girl who hasn’t matured or developed. The child within her dug itself in and refuses to leave. Most of the women like her and treat her like a young relative who must be protected, but there are a few women who can’t stand her. She arouses uncontrollable anger in them, and every time they run into her, they curse her and call her strange names. Once Hugo saw one of the women attack her in the courtyard. Kitty was standing near the fence, bent over, and her expression said simply, Why are you angry at me? What did I do?

“You’re still asking why? Get out of here. We don’t want to see you.”

Mariana also thinks that Kitty is out of place in The Residence. “She’s innocent, and even her curiosity doesn’t suit the place. She annoys the women with her questions. The Residence isn’t a place for women like her. She should learn a profession, work, or get married. Her place is not here.”

It’s hard for Hugo to understand that tangle, but he has learned to understand Mariana a bit better. Most of the day she restrains herself and suffers, and when Hugo hands her the bottle, she drinks and says, “How good it is that I have you. You’re my heaven.” The praise embarrasses him, and he wants to say a few consoling words to her, but he can’t find them.

During the past weeks Hugo has felt very close to Mariana. “You’re maturing,” she kept saying. “In a little while you’ll be a sturdy, loving man.” Nighttime in Mariana’s bed was a giddiness of pleasures that stayed with him all day long.

While Hugo is deep in his imagination, the closet door opens and Victoria stands in the doorway. She is stunned and says, “Are you still here?”

“Mariana watches over me,” the fear within him replies.

“You’re endangering us all,” Victoria says, the anger visible in her brow.

“I’ll go soon.”

“You already promised and didn’t keep it.”

“This time I will,” he says, trying to evade her furious eyes.

“We’ll see,” Victoria says, and closes the door.

That’s a threat, and Hugo knows it. The thought that Victoria will inform on him and that soldiers will come and surround the house becomes more palpable with every passing moment. Hugo is so frightened that he checks the escape hatch twice and sips a few drops from Mariana’s bottle. He feels dizzy and immediately falls asleep. Toward evening Mariana comes to the doorway with a bowl of soup in her hand. Hugo tells her that Victoria has come to the closet, and that her words were harsh and evil.

“Don’t worry. We’re going to leave this place soon.”

“Where will we go?”

“Anywhere, just not here.”

Life here is tense and constricted, and Hugo wants very much to write the details down in his notebook. But the words, for some reason, aren’t within his reach. It’s now clear to him, though not with a clarity that can be garbed in words, that everything that has happened around him will be brought to light one day. And he is gathering it all up. Or, rather, things are being gathered up within him by themselves. Mariana apparently senses this, and she keeps saying, “Don’t remember me as an unfortunate woman. Mariana has been battling on this front since the age of fourteen. It’s a merciless front. I refused to be a servant in rich people’s houses, and for that I was punished. If you ever remember this woman who was called Mariana, write that she fought to the end of her strength, and that in the end her heart’s beloved freed her from prison.”

“Who is that?”

“You, and none other.”

Meanwhile, Mariana has another hard night. One of the guests shouts at her, calls her names, and keeps asking her to do things that apparently disgust her. He complains, and Madam scolds her and writes a warning in her account book. Hugo hears everything, and his heart tightens.

But the following night Mariana has no guests, and she invites Hugo to come to her. Mariana is soft and devoted. He feels her arms and legs exquisitely, and he has a strong desire to fondle her breasts.