Wide Sargasso Sea - Jean Rhys [14]
But I soon forgot about happiness, running down the stairs to the big stone bath where we splashed about wearing long grey cotton chemises which reached to our ankles. The smell of soap as you cautiously soaped yourself under the chemise, a trick to be learned, dressing with modesty, another trick. Great splashes of sunlight as we run up the wooden steps of the refectory. Hot coffee and rolls and melting butter. But after the meal, now and at the hour of our death, and at midday and at six in the evening, now and at the hour of our death. Let perpetual light shine on them. This is for my mother, I would think, wherever her soul is wandering, for it has left her body. Then I remembered how she hated a strong light and loved the cool and the shade. It is a different light they told me. Still, I would not say it. Soon we were back in the shifting shadows outside, more beautiful than any perpetual light could be, and soon I learnt to gabble without thinking as the others did. About changing now and the hour of our death for that is all we have.
Everything was brightness, or dark. The wall, the blazing colours of the flowers in the garden, the nuns’ habits were bright, but their veils, the Crucifix hanging from their waists, the shadow of the trees, were black. That was how it was, light and dark, sun and shadow, Heaven and Hell, for one of the nuns knew all about Hell and who does not. But another one knew about Heaven and the attributes of the blessed, of which the least is transcendent beauty. The very least. I could hardly wait for all this ecstasy and once I prayed for a long time to be dead. Then remembered that this was a sin. It’s presumption or despair, I forget which, but a mortal sin. So I prayed for a long time about that too, but the thought came, so many things are sins, why? Another sin, to think that. However, happily, Sister Marie Augustine says thought are no sins, if they are driven away at once. You say Lord save me, I perish. I find it very comforting to know exactly what must be done. All the same, I did not pray so often after that and soon, hardly at all. I felt bolder, happier, more free. But not so safe.
During this time, nearly eighteen months, my stepfather often came to see me. He interviewed Mother Superior first, then I would go into the parlour dressed ready for dinner or a visit to friends. He gave me presents when we parted, sweets, a locket, bracelet, once a very pretty dress which, of course, I could not wear.
The last time he came was different. I knew that as soon as I got into the room. He kissed me, held me at arm’s length looking at me carefully and critically, then smiled and said that I was taller than he thought. I reminded him that I was over seventeen, a grown woman. ‘I’ve not forgotten your present,’ he said.
Because I felt shy and ill at ease I answered coldly, ‘I can’t wear all these things you buy for me.
‘You can wear what you like when you live with me,’ he said.
‘Where? In Trinidad?’
‘Of course not. Here, for the time being. With me and your Aunt Cora who is coming home at last. She says another English winter will kill her. And Richard. You can’t be hidden away all your life.’
‘Why not? I thought.
I suppose he noticed my dismay because he began to joke, pay me compliments, and ask me such absurd questions that soon I was laughing too. How would I like to live in England? Then, before I could answer, had I learnt dancing, or were the nuns too strict?
‘They are not strict at all,’ I said. ‘The Bishop who visits them every year says they are lax. Very lax. It’s the climate he says.’
‘I hope they told him to mind his own business.’
‘She did. Mother Superior did. Some of the others were frightened. They are not strict but no one has taught me to dance.’
‘That won’t be difficult. I want you to be happy, Antoinette, secure, I’ve tried to arrange, but we’ll have time to talk about that later.