Трейси Шевалье - The Virgin Blue

Jacob and Jan stood admiring the farm, while Susanne and I looked at our feet. ‘See the chimney?’ Jacob pointed to a strange lumpy formation poking up from the roof – nothing like the neat line of stone up one wall that I'd expected. ‘It's made of limestone, you see,’ Jacob explained. ‘Soft stone, so they used a kind of cement to shape and harden it. Most of the chimney is inside rather than up the outside wall. Let's go in and you'll see the rest.’

‘Is it open?’ I asked reluctantly, wanting there to be a lock on the door, a sign saying ‘ Propriété privée ’.

‘Oh, yes, I've been in before. I know where the key is hidden.’

Damn, I thought. I couldn't explain why I didn't want to go inside; after all, we had come here for my sake. I could feel Susanne looking at me helplessly, as if I were the one who had to stop everything. It was like we were being dragged inside by a cool male logic we couldn't fight. I held out my hand to her. ‘Come,’ I said. She put her hand in mine. It was ice-cold.

‘Your hand is cold,’ she said.

‘Yours too.’ We smiled grimly at each other. I felt like we were two little girls in a fairytale as we entered the house together.

It was dim inside, with only the light from the door and a couple of narrow windows to see by. As my eyes adjusted I was able to make out more lumber and some broken chairs lying on the packed dirt floor. Just inside the door was a blackened hearth, jutting lengthwise into the room rather than laid parallel to the wall. At each corner of the hearth stood a square stone pillar about seven feet high, supporting arches of stone. Leading up from the arches was the same lumpy construction as outside, an ugly but serviceable pyramid to channel out the smoke.

I let go of Susanne's hand and stepped onto the hearth so I could look up the chimney. It was black above me; even when I stood on tiptoe, holding onto a pillar and craning my neck, I couldn't see an opening. ‘Must be blocked,’ I murmured. I felt dizzy suddenly, lost my balance and fell hard into the dirt.

Jacob was next to me in a second, giving me a hand up and brushing me off. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, concern in his voice.

‘Yes,’ I replied shakily. ‘I – I lost my balance, I think. Maybe the stone isn't even.’

I looked around for Susanne; she was gone. ‘Where's -’ I started to say before a sharp pain jabbed at my stomach, propelling me past Jacob and outside.

Susanne was doubled over in the yard, arms crossed over her abdomen. Jan stood next to her, speechless and staring. As I put my arm around her shoulder she gasped and a bright red flower appeared on the inner thighs of her pants, spreading rapidly down her leg.

For a second I panicked. Holy Mother, I thought, what do I do? Then I had a sensation I hadn't felt in months: my brain switched over to automatic, a familiar place where I knew exactly who I was and what I had to do.

I put both arms around her and said softly, ‘Susanne, you must lie down.’ She nodded, bent her knees and slumped forward in my arms. I lowered her carefully onto her side, then glanced up at Jan, still frozen in place. ‘Jan, give me your jacket,’ I commanded. He stared at me until I repeated myself loudly. He handed me his tan cotton jacket, the kind I associated with old men playing shuffleboard. I stuffed it under Susanne's head, then took off Jean-Paul's shirt and draped it over her like a blanket, covering her bloody groin. A red patch began to seep outward on the shirt's back. For a second I was mesmerized by the two colours, made the more beautiful by contrasting with each other.

I shook my head, squeezed Susanne's hand and leaned toward her. ‘Don't worry, you're all right. Everything will be OK.’

‘Ella, what is happening?’ Jacob was towering over us, his long face screwed up with worry. I glanced at Jan, still paralyzed, and made a quick decision. ‘Susanne has had a-’

What a time for my French to fail me; Madame Sentier had never prepared me for using words like miscarriage. ‘Susanne, you must tell them. I don't know the word in French. Can you do that?’

She looked at me, eyes full of tears. ‘All you have to do is say it. That's all. I'll do the rest.’

‘ Une fausse couche ,’ she murmured. The two men stared at her, bewildered.

‘Now,’ I said evenly. ‘Jan, do you see that house down there?’ I pointed to the nearest farm, a quarter of a mile down the hill. Jan didn't respond until I spoke his name again, sharply this time. Then he nodded.

‘Good. Now, run there, quickly, and use their telephone to call the hospital. Can you do that?’

Finally he snapped out of it. ‘Yes, Ella, I will hurry to that farm for to telephone the hospital,’ he said.

‘Good. And ask the people at the farm if they can help us with their car, in case an ambulance can't come. Now go!’ The last word was like a whip cracking. Jan crouched down, touched the ground with one hand and took off like he was in a playground race. I grimaced. Susanne has to get rid of this guy, I thought.

Jacob had knelt next to Susanne and placed his hand on her hair. ‘Will she be all right?’ he asked, trying to muffle his desperation.

I addressed my answer to Susanne. ‘Of course you'll be all right. It probably hurts a little now, yes?’

Susanne nodded.

‘That will stop soon. Jan has gone to call an ambulance to come and get you.’

‘Ella, this is my fault,’ she whispered.

‘No. It's not your fault. Of course it's not your fault.’

‘But I didn't want it and maybe if I had this wouldn't have happened.’

‘Susanne, it's not your fault. Women have miscarriages all the time. You didn't do anything wrong. You had no control over this.’

She looked unconvinced. Jacob was staring at the two of us like we were speaking in Swahili.

‘I promise you. It's not your fault. Believe me. OK?’

Finally she nodded.

‘Now, I need to examine you. Will you let me look at you?’

Susanne held my hand tighter and tears began to roll down the side of her face. ‘Yes, it hurts, I know, and you don't want me to look, but I have to, to make sure you're all right. I won't hurt you. You know I won't hurt you.’

Her eyes darted to Jacob, then back to me; I understood. ‘Jacob, take Susanne's hand,’ I ordered, transferring her thin hand into his. ‘Help her onto her back and sit here next to her.’ I positioned him so he was facing her and couldn't see what I was doing.

‘Now, talk to her.’ Jacob looked at me helplessly. I thought for a moment. ‘Do you remember you told me you have one good student of piano? Who plays Bach? What will he play for the next concert? And why? Tell Susanne about him.’

For a second Jacob looked lost; then his face relaxed. He turned to Susanne and began to speak. After a moment she relaxed as well. Trying to move her as little as possible, I managed to wriggle her pants and underwear down her legs far enough to get a look, mopping up the blood with Jean-Paul's shirt. Then I pulled her pants up again, leaving them unzipped. Jacob stopped talking. They both looked at me.

‘You've lost some blood, but the bleeding has stopped for now. You'll be fine.’ 240

‘I'm thirsty,’ Susanne said softly.

‘I'll look for some water.’ I stood up, pleased to see they were both calm. I circled the farmhouse, looking for an outdoor spigot. There wasn't one; I would have to go back inside.

I slipped into the devant-huis and stood in the doorway of the house. Sunlight was falling in a thin beam across the hearthstone. In the shaft of light I could see thick dust, kicked up by our visit. I looked around for a source of water. It was very quiet; I couldn't hear anything, no comforting sounds like Jacob's voice or the wind in the pines above us or cowbells or a distant train. Just silence and the sheet of light on the slab before me. It was a huge piece of stone; it must have taken several men to set it in place. I looked at it more closely. Even discoloured by soot it was clearly not local stone. It looked foreign.