And the Rat Laughed - By Nava Semel Page 0,2
own way.
***
I loved them.
They loved me.
Those are the foundations.
No, this story cannot be begun with love.
***
If she’d been asked to give an account instead of telling a story, it would have been simpler. A pre-formatted questionnaire with a clear purpose. She could have given them the dry facts, without having to formulate an argument. The distinct, calculated questions could have helped her remain in control, and anything that she did not want to let out could have been blocked.
As soon as she gave in to her granddaughter’s request, she realized that telling this story meant provoking it. She had no choice now. She’d set herself up.
Unable to break free, defeated, the old woman tries to start all over again.
2
A big city. There are many like it in Europe. Heavy snow in winter. The river is frozen over. For her birthday, they gave her a pair of skates. In her blue cape she skates without going further than she’s allowed, only where the ice is thick. They told her there were fish under the ice, but she didn’t see any.
A five-year-old can’t take in everything with her own senses.
Who was it that had held her hand to make sure she didn’t fall in?
Father. Mother too. Was it the servant? Probably not. Always in uniform: dark blue with a white collar and long sleeves.
Oh yes. The servant. Now there’s a beginning that looks promising. The granddaughter settles into her chair and opens the angel-covered notebook on her lap. That’s just what she had in mind: everything it takes to make a story, even a servant.
***
She screamed. She kicked. She broke things.
Why are you giving me away to people I don’t even know? I’ve been good, haven’t I? I’ve done everything you told me. So why are you making me go? My room. My doll with the braids. The window with the lace curtains. The rose-patterned ones. Mother made them.
I love you. How come you don’t love me back?
I won’t go. I don’t want to. I won’t.
You’re a bad father and mother.
In the end she hit them.
Now she really was a bad girl. She had it coming.
That’s how the story really begins.
***
Her granddaughter cringes. Still, she’s determined to go ahead. A poor beginning doesn’t necessarily mean a bad ending. As far as the young girl is concerned, the story has a happy ending anyway. The old woman is her grandmother after all.
“And it will end with death.” The granddaughter does not record that familiar sentence in her notebook, because that’s not how the story ended. At least not this story.
But the threat of untimely death was passed on from birth-givers to those who were born, and turned into a hereditary deficiency. A challenge to scientists struggling for a breakthrough in genetic engineering. The old woman nods, resigned to the inevitability of hereditary defects. She will not play a part in this rewrite.
***
She continued to resist. Refusing to pack. Not even the doll with the braids. On the last day she wouldn’t even eat. Hunger was her last resort. Even at this late date, the old woman makes a point of stressing that she did not go along with her parents’ plan. She really did become the worst possible girl in the world. Because if you throw someone out of their home, there has to be a reason. All her mother said was: It’s for your own good. And her father told her: It’s just for a short time.
Grown-up lies.
Her granddaughter now looks up from her notebook. Up to this point it seemed that she might have been trying to take it all down.
Grown-up lies. An unnecessary slip.
The old woman stops short. The story is begging for a pause in any case. She’s worried that her granddaughter will suspect her of not telling the truth, and won’t trust her.
She’s a grown-up herself after all.
Without trust, the story is in danger of collapsing.
***
If you throw someone out of their home, there must be a reason.
Such a bad girl.
Unwanted girl.
Too bad she was born.
She had it coming.
***
She had never been away from home without her parents. Her parents never left her. Even in summertime when they went to the seashore, they took her along. Now she’d have to live without them. To be with strangers in a strange place. Why weren’t they taking her with them?
All night long she cried. Her last tears. Her mother sat by her bed, trying to hold her hand. She pushed her away. Anger – that’s the scaffolding of her story.