Rebecca's Revenge

Rebecca's Revenge

  By R Reem

  Copyright 2014 R Reem

  License Notes

  Discover other titles by R Reem:

  The Candle Maker's Widow

  The man sat alone in a darkened workshop, hunched over with his hands clasped on his lap. He hadn't closed the wooden door to the workshop fully. Through the gap in the door behind him, a stream of light filtered in, casting a faint glow upon his back.

  He sat unmoving for a while, and then shook his head violently, as if trying to drown out the voices that were drifting into his workshop. He hated them, the children he’d never meant to have. They tormented him all day with their presence.

  A loud shriek sounded from outside, and it was immediately countered by a shrill voice ordering them indoors. It was his wife, a shrewd, wrinkled woman ten years older than him, who bossed him around like he was a child himself.

  He couldn’t remember why he had married her. Ten years ago, she had caught his eye for reasons she had long since grown out of. Her dominance galled him, he couldn't compete. She won all arguments against him and everyone listened to her rather than him. He knew she was much more intelligent than himself, and that did nothing to soothe his wounded pride.

  His face contorted every time he thought about her. The humiliations he had suffered at her hands! The neighbours sought her out for everything. Her, not him, the man of the house! She managed their family and their finances. Even thought he was the one who earned the money. This only consolation was his nightly visits to the nearby tavern. There, he was treated like a lord. The pretence of the buxom women comforted him, he was valued and respected.

  That shrew of a wife would not let that pass, though. Ever since he had started his visits to the tavern, she had begun nagging him worse than ever. The subject was always the same – his irresponsibility towards the family he had sworn on the altar to protect. He was a blacksmith, and she never stopped reminding him that the little he earned was all squandered away on drink and women. The refused to listen to her. She was the one who had started this. She drove him away.

  Their family survived, in spite of him. She sold meat pies she sold to neighbouring families. Her pies were not exceptional, but the neighbours pitied her. She tried to be a good woman, occasionally writing letters for the illiterate in their village for no monetary compensation. He could neither read nor write and considered that a waste of time. He ignored her as far as he could.

  ***********

  The room was wide and spacious, with a thick patterned carpet and whitewashed walls. Deep red curtains framed an elegant window, through which sunlight now filtered, and cast a soft light on the little girl who sat on the floor in the middle of the room. She was the host to a tea party consisting of a small one-eyed doll and a large teddy bear.

  The child was about five years old, brown-eyed and black-haired. With a small smile, she poured imaginary tea for the doll, which she had brought along with her to that house. She didn’t particularly like being there, but she was made to visit every once in a while, because its owner was a friend of her parents’. Her parents were now in the living room, next to the room she was in, talking about the welfare of a certain child – she was sure it was herself.

  Every once so often, her mother popped her head into the room with a reassuring smile and left in apparent good spirits, only to join a rousing discussion on the topic of that child again. Now, their voices were louder than ever, and her mother was shouting.

  “I tell you we need no such help from you. Stay out of it, Raymond!”

  “Look she’ll want to know the truth –”

  “Damn the truth. She’s five, for God’s sake!”

  “Oh yes, I completely understand how a five-year-old would miss the obvious similarities between herself and me –”

  “You’re crazy. Piss off!”

  “– not like she hadn't already pointed out that our eye colour was the same –”

  “Eye colour! Eye colour! God, will you listen to him!”

  There was a hushing noise, then silence. Frowning, the child passed a teacup to the teddy bear, which regarded her with button eyes. The man who lived in the house had given it to her just that day, and her mother had insisted he take it back. But the man had said she was not to interfere so her mother had given up. Still, the child knew that she would not be allowed to take the teddy bear home. Her mother would insist she leave it behind, as she did with everything else the man gave her.

  She had two fathers. That’s what they argued about in the living room. The man who lived here was her second father, but he always said he was the real one. Her mother got mad every time he said that. He never said it to her, none of them did, but she could hear it being said in the living room all the same. Her father was the only one who always spoke in a quiet voice. She could hardly hear what he said, and he was always telling the other two to lower their voices since “the child will hear”.

  She could hear him again, talking softly. There was a muffled sobbing that she supposed was her mother. Or maybe it was her second father. She stared at the white door that separated her from them. It seemed all so mysterious to her.

  Suddenly, her face broke open into a childish grin. Pointing at the teddy bear, she said, “You, teddy bear! Tell me a story. Now!”

  The child watched the teddy bear in silence, knowing that it could not possibly tell her the story that she wanted. Abruptly, she snatched it into a tight hug. The voices in the hall had fallen silent, and she heard the sound of chairs scraping against the tiled floor. The door to the room she was in opened and she saw her father standing in the doorway. Her other father was peeking over his shoulder at her.

  “Come on, we’re going home,” her father said, the same time her other father said loudly, “Good, you like it.”

  She stood up, holding the teddy bear tightly against herself with one hand and her one-eyed doll in the other. She followed the men out into the living room, where her mother was waiting, eyes puffed up and red.

  “Leave the bear behind, honey. You’ll get to see it again next time,” her mother predictably said. The child hugged the teddy bear tightly. She had a sudden desire to have it with her at all times.

  Her mother came forward and tried to pry the bear gently from her. She held on, defiantly shaking her head.

  “Let her have it, Marianne,” her other father said. Her mother ignored him and tried to pry harder.

  “No,” the child shrieked, startling the three adults. She flung the one-eyed doll at her mother, hitting her in the eye.

  A sudden outburst followed this action. Somebody was trying to pin her arms down. The child realised that she had been hitting her mother and screaming at the top of her voice.

  Her father was talking soothingly to her mother. Then he was beckoning her out of the house, into the car. She followed him. Her mother ignored her.

  There was a tense silence in the car as they pulled out of the driveway. The child saw her other father standing at the door, watching them leave with an expressionless face.

  “Was that necessary?” her mother asked quietly as they drove along the empty road that was lined with perfect houses with perfectly mowed lawns.

  The child nodded.

  “Why?”

  “I want the teddy bear,” she said. Her mother didn’t reply.

  ***********

  That night, the child had a strange dream. She was in a house she didn’t recognise, hugged by a girl a few years older than her. That girl wore clothes that looked like they came out of a movie – a long, dirty brown dress with brown buttons along the front, and a white cap of sorts. The older girl was telling her something, although she spoke strangely. It was English, but the acc
ent was unfamiliar.

  She couldn’t feel the strokes the older child was tracing along her arm. She was stiff, immobile. She tried to say something but the words didn’t come out. Her legs protruded from her body at awkward angles. They were too dark, too thick to be really hers.

  A woman’s voice called the older child’s name loudly. Rebecca – they shared the same name. She felt herself being flung on a bed as the older Rebecca left to answer the woman’s summons. Oddly, being flung about didn’t hurt her at all.

  The room she was in was dark and gloomy. There was next to nothing in it, except for the bed she was now lying on. She could not twist her head around to see anything. She was just lying there, prone.

  ***********

  The children screamed loudly in their play. She could not even keep them quiet – it was clear they had only had a brief sojourn indoors during which she had done nothing to stop them from returning outside. (Of course she hadn't! It was unthinkable that she, would could dominate him, could not manage those dratted children!)

  Over the children's screams, the man heard the faint sound of a horse-cart. It wasn’t unusual, but what caught his attention was that it slowed as it grew louder. Then it stopped entirely. He strained his ears to catch the faint words that were said in an unfamiliar male voice. A young voice loudly answered, “I’ll get Mother.” There was a short reply from the man in the cart, before his youngest child piped in, “Mother says Father’s a good-for-nothing –”. His oldest daughter interrupted even more loudly, “I’m afraid Father’s away. You’ll have to speak to Mother.”

  He sat in his chair, seething as his wife’s voice sounded through the open door. A good-for-nothing, was he? His hands gripped hard on the armrests of his chair. He’d show them.

  Outside, the horse-cart clip-clopped away.

  ***********

  A month passed, and the child and the teddy bear were inseparable. The one-eyed doll that she carried about everywhere – the one that had been a witness to her first meeting with the teddy bear – was soon forgotten and tossed into a toy basket with all her other discarded toys.

  Her mother hated the bear. She tried hard to ignore it, but once or twice, the child caught her throwing dark looks at it and muttering to herself. She knew she had her father to thank for the bear’s continued presence – he had stopped her mother from throwing it out one day when she asleep.

  The story of how she came to know about that would not have sat well with her parents; fortunately, they were spared the knowledge. In all her innocence, the child never thought it strange that the bear could communicate with her like that.

  It happened first a few days after the dream. She had placed the bear next to her on the floor, and was sitting apart from it as she read a picture book. Glancing up from the book, she had a strange impression that the bear was watching her. So she leaned over to cover its eyes. As her hand made contact with it, she felt an odd sensation grip her insides. It felt as if she had swallowed too much mint ice-cream in one go. At the same time, she saw images and heard sounds in her head.

  There she was, sleeping soundly on the living room couch. Her mother was coming closer, and then she curiously felt her own body being lifted up, although she could see her sleeping form in front of her. Then she realised that her legs were once again dark brown and thick, and knew that she was in her own body no more.

  She was carried into the kitchen and placed on the counter. Her mother scrutinised her intently before picking her up by the ears and walking towards the trash bag, muttering something unintelligible to herself.

  The child felt a rising fear within the pit of her belly. Then her father’s voice came from behind.

  “Don’t even think about it, Marianne.”

  The child felt the world around her spin, and then she was facing her father.

  “Becky will have a fit if you throw that.”

  “She’ll be better off without it,” her mother answered.

  “She or you?” her father asked in return.

  Her mother was silent. Her father approached and took her body from her mother’s hand. He brought her back to where she was first placed, near her own body.

  The child gave her father a hug when she found out. But he never knew what the reason was behind the sudden affectionate gesture.

  ***********

  In six months, the child had changed. She had become wan, and her skin had drawn tighter around her features. She was pale and her eyes acquired a sunken look. While these changes would have struck an outsider forcibly, they occurred so naturally that the people who saw her on a daily basis never realised how drastic they were. Her parents thought it a part of her growing up and not a cause for concern.

  What nobody could explain was the way she seemed to have grown too much in such a short span of time, especially the way she appeared wise beyond her five years. She had an unnerving habit of observing her parents as they conversed, her brows creased as if she were considering something intently. For long periods of time, she would sit in her candyfloss pink room, staring out into the distance in deep contemplation.

  The teddy bear was with her as always, although she had stopped carrying it around everywhere. Instead, she gave it a place of honour in her room, right by her bed where her one-eyed doll used to sit. Once in a while, she would play with it, but her play was never about tea parties anymore. Instead, she would sit upright on her bed with the teddy bear on her lap and speak to it in low tones, stopping when anyone entered to give them a wide, childish grin.

  In a few more months, these changes had become even more prominent. The child had begun to keep a journal that was entirely in her scrawl, but exhibited a contemplativeness and seriousness unlike any five-year-old. She was secretive about it, and kept it hidden away. It was only chance that allowed her mother to stumble upon it one day, when the child was at an aunt’s.

  The contents of the journal were so adult, so unnatural for a five-year-old, that her mother was at a loss as to what to do. She could have been proud of her child, but the journal was unnerving. The child had spent a lot of time speculating about the way power was exercised by the two parties in a marriage, particularly her parents’ marriage. Her assessments displayed a startlingly lucid understanding of human and gender relations, although at times, she demonstrated childish misunderstandings, some of which were followed with downright morbid speculations.

  The consequence of the journal was that her mother sat her down for a chat, and revealed that she had found and read the journal. The child's face fell when she found that her journal had been discovered, but didn’t throw a tantrum. In fact, she didn't say anything.

  “Becky, you know you can talk to me if there is anything bothering you, right?” her mother asked, feeling as if she were talking to a teenager in the guise of a five-year-old.

  The child nodded solemnly and said, “Yes, Mummy.”

  ***********

  A year later, the workshop was emptied of all its human presence. Not that it lacked memories – rust-coloured stains splotched the equipment and floor of the workshop, and a half-broken rope hung from a beam in a corner. Then there was the village talk of sounds in the workshop –creaking wood, screaming children, and worst of all, the swishing of an axe. There were those who insisted they could hear the lady of the house screaming.

  Of course imagination was not all that the cottage fuelled. A mini-economy rose around the things from that place, all pilfered, cleaned and sold as new by the desperate. There was one thing that stood out in this trade. A large, roughly-stitched teddy bear, made out of dark brown cloth and completely devoid of fur. It had large button eyes and a carefully drawn mouth. It wasn’t exactly beautiful, but its appeal lay in its size. Any child below the age of two would be dwarfed by it.

  Everybody knew that the teddy bear was her labour of love for her children, at a time when teddy bears were all the rage. Those who could afford it had them from the city, but most families in
the village were not that lucky. When this bear was peddled for an amount far below the cost of any teddy bear from the city, it was snapped up eagerly by a shoemaker who made a present of it to his ten-year-old daughter.

  ***********

  In one month, the child had not changed any more than she already had. Her parents still kept a close watch on her, although her mother could no longer find the journal. She did nothing else that could worry them any further.

  They celebrated New Year’s Eve in their home. The child was fussed over by friends and relatives, many whom had not seen her in months, and who were shocked at how thin and pale she had become. The child, for her part, acted her age and looked appropriately bewildered at the attention she was receiving. She played with the other children, building blocks into high, shaky towers and staging a mock fight between toys. The one-eyed doll made an appearance again and the teddy bear was nowhere in sight. She and the other children fell asleep well before midnight, and were put in her room while the adults continued with their celebrations. It was early in the morning late when all the guests finally left with their children and her parents were finally asleep.

  ***********

  Tragedy struck a year later, when the shoemaker was found dead with multiple stab wounds. His wife, who had miraculously slept through her husband’s murder, found his bloodied corpse lying next to her in the morning. In her horror, she had run out of their bedroom, only to find her daughter lying in front of her bedroom door, glassy-eyed and immobile, with a blood-stained meat cleaver in her hand. The grief-stricken woman had sold off her daughter’s possessions to raise money for the upkeep of her two other children, who were too young to comprehend what had happened.

  The teddy bear was peddled on the streets of the nearest city. There, it was bought by a cleaner, who gave it to his five-year-old nephew. Seven years later, the child was struck by a strange illness. His symptoms were unusual – hallucinations that involved four children surrounding him on all sides, voices in his head telling him that he was no good, as well as a racing pulse that never seemed to abate. He lasted another two years before the voices grew so loud that he jumped into the river to drown them.