Friday, June 28, 2013

She was ............

14 years young.  During afternoon classes she would occasionally turn around and look out the window and notice that an older boy was hanging out of a window of a neighbouring building.  Attention from a boy at that age provoked something to talk about with the girlfriends.  He was a boy that did not attend High School. She had never spoken with him but she knew which family lived above the butcher shop behind the school. 
One late afternoon she was on her way up the hill through the woods towards the little 'Marien' chapel.  She liked taking Lilac there during the month of May.  She does not remember where the boy from the window crossed her path.
They walked together on the shortcut trail and talked about things now forgotten.  He asked  her if she was a virgin.  A virgin?  She did not know what he meant by that. Is he asking that because he sees her at church and church related events?  She does not remember what she answered, if anything.  He did ask a few times.  They reached a bench and sat down for a while.  He was tall and strong and the bench was hard.  When they got up he was no longer interested in the answer to the virgin question.  She never saw him at the window again nor anywhere else.  She stopped going to confession from then on but continued to
take flowers to the chapel during the summer months.
Today, 63 years later, her best friend of times long gone tells her that his name was such and such, that he took care of his sick wife for many years and that he passed away 2 years ago and that she never thought that he was such a 'Scheisskerle' (shithead).


Lucy said...

I have heard and read such things before, too often, they always disturb. I hope times have changed, in the right way.

Tom said...

From the time you first posted this item I have struggled to find a suitable response. And I cannot; yet neither can I pass this by unremarked. Inadequate though it may be, I can and will offer a hug in the virtual world we visit.

Halle said...

Some years ago now, my brother, eight years my junior revealed that a similar thing happened to him, by a man who the family had always had great respect for. He carried this around with him, never telling anyone for so long.
I couldn't find words for my brother either. I now wish I had hugged him harder and longer.
Tears for the children.
Unnamable hatred for those who would do such a thing to a child.

Ellena said...

Lucy, Tom and Halle!
Amazing how such a sad and disturbable event can remain unspoken of for so many years and then becomes a simple story to be told to the world.
Another short story as to how this came about might follow.

Roderick Robinson said...

I have no inclination to comment on the morality of this encounter. What does my opinion matter on such a thing? But, if it's of interest, I will say (as I've said before) that the style in which it is written is unique. Mainly to do with what is missed out. Not just adjectives (how admirably parsimonious you are with those) but facts that might be expected and which, in retrospect, turn out to be unnecessary. Short sentences too. Like very early Hemingway but not as mannered, less strained. A wealth of life may be inferred between the first and last lines and yet so little is spelt out.

Keep on writing, please. Keep surprising me, even if I'm reaching the stage where this is what I expect.

Note: I think you have left a comment on my most recent post - Beware! This may qualify as serious - which should have gone elsewhere.

Ellena said...

How could I have been so ungracious to forget acknowledge-
ment of your amiable words here.
Maybe I thought you were pulling my leg. Were you? Never mind.
Don't know if I can surprise you but I will continue to pen whatever crosses my mind.