H C Turk, page 15
"Girl, I would be struck deaf from what I'm hearing!" she declared. "The mistress is telling of your delusions from that old life, but to be calling not only yourself but your poor dead mother a witch and a crone and soulless! Praise God, child, that even as He gave your resting mother a soul, may He soon be giving you a true understanding of yourself so that these fantastical things you're saying be ended, along with the pain you're now causing your true friend, this Elsie."
Having ejected her entire energy, Elsie was exhausted as she turned from me and regained her vegetables. I, however, remained calm and strong in my further speaking.
"Elsie, you are nearly acceptable as a person in that you have less the smell of the powdered lady and more of an animal's odor, but-"
"And thank you everso for calling me stinking!" she retorted.
"Therefore," I pronounced firmly, having to reestablish my speaking, "in order for our compatibility to continue, I shall display my true nature in evident proof and thus convince you of God's truth and mine."
"So, what is it you'll be doing, girl, since proving false things is not possible? You're beginning where with your delusions: showing how youH be harming the boy or how your family is a pack of soulless fiends?"
"My gracious thanks, miss, for deeming me the fiend," I scolded. "With this basic tenet I shall begin: that although a witch, I am no more demonic than you, though somewhat less than Rathel. To provide you with this proof, however, I must first receive your promised word."
"And if I'm promising to believe your false things, child, then no proof at all will be coming."
"The vow you must give me in speech and God in prayer is to never reveal the scenes I shall display; for as you are well aware, witches in your sinners' semi-moral society are due grisly execution."
"And rightfully so," she declared, "considering the evil they're bringing to God's world."
Now I was the one affronted, though I mishandled not the first pod as I loudly retorted.
"No more outlandish delusion could exist than that my mother and her similars are heinous and worthy of a torturer's fire. I will cure your ignorance, Miss Elsie, by revealing myself a witch and yet worthy of your friendship. I shall also prove myself superior as a person to your opinion of me, for by demonstrating myself a witch, I prove myself honest and not the liar you believe."
Elsie's tightened breath revealed new tension. Though skeptical, the woman was also frightened by the unlikelihood of my truth. And, as was common with sinners, she was curious.
"Girl, if you're to be proving yourself a dark spirit, it would not be done with a palsy on me hands, eh?"
"Even as I verify myself a witch, I shall prove these additional assertions: that witches cause no illness, never harm crops and livestock, nor transmit plagues as though letters sent from Europe. If a reasonable person, Elsie, "you will then comprehend those facts of my life that I've often mentioned. In fact, witches are repulsed by the eating of our fellow animals, and rightfully fear manipulation by sinners who would kill us. The former is my cause for stressing crops, not creatures, in my diet. The latter is the source of my opposing Lady Rathel."
"And how is it, young Alba, that you're proving yourself the witch in some way that an unbeliever might believe? It's no coldness of skin that's making a person the witch," Elsie added. "Perhaps you'll be showing some magic for me."
"I will display magic if you bear a child to demonstrate procreation," I retorted.
"Girl, and you're old enough to be knowing that making babes is not a thing done on one's own or within the span of a moment."
"Yes, miss, I do understand, and hope that henceforth you comprehend that magic is no less involved or difficult, an activity I care to undertake as much as you would bear a child for my entertainment."
"Aye, and it's for the best, girl, that you're not proving yourself wicked," Elsie sighed, "for I would have you as you are: often
deluded but occasionally sweet."
Moments before, Elsie and I had abandoned our shelling as though waiting for a brilliant method for confirming the lass either a genuine witch or a true fool. Then I was struck with an easy proof of witches that in my current era had mutated toward fear.
"Not from my rare felicity but a sought objectivity, I shall prove myself the witch, miss, by swimming for you."
"Ah, but it's known even commonly, lass, that no witch can be swimming," she submitted.
"True enough, but my reference is not to paddling like a coot, but remaining beneath the water's surface for a convincing occasion."
"But the nearest water, I'm saying, is the River Thames, unless you're to be ducking yourself in a rain barrel."
"I would not presume to impress you by immersing my head in a bucket as though promulgating a lark or washing my hair."
"And a fine offer that would be, considering how filthy you allow the stuff to become."
"No further deprecation do I require, miss. I have now decided that, yes, with this river you have arrived at an acceptable example."
I saw myself there. At the river's edge with Hershford Bridge viewed as though a painting on the sky, a harmless depiction akin to one on Rathel's wall. I saw myself not drowning in the depths as was implied by the bridge, but standing apart from the unsuppor-tive structure, at the water's own level, not an intimate locale but one less dangerous than my dreams. I envisioned entering the water, not being hurled toward execution, but slipping at my will beneath the moderate surface. My best wish was my following imagination, that my dreams of drowning would disappear along with my sight of the bridge, vanish from my mind's night creations congruently with the sinners' span disappearing from my eyes.
Elsie and I departed at once, careful to exit the grounds without being espied by its populace. Traveling that worn path to the lesser exit, we entered an alley, then proceeded to verily Satan within me.
Our secretive retreat was tainted by Elsie's visions of doom. With every step, she moaned about losing her employ should the mistress learn of this journey. I was therefore made to vow convincingly and often that I would not attempt to flee, as though I had some reasonable goal, Elsie mentioning that this ignorance of locale had not stopped me before.
To achieve the river where I might gain an aide and rectify my sleeping, we traversed what seemed a huge expanse of London. Elsie at my side was a superior guide to Mother in Jonsway, for being a denizen here, the servant found no surprises in our travel. And she insisted upon remaining unobserved, Elsie feeling that any person recognizing her would inform Rathel of her servant's being out with the new lass for criminal purposes, a ludicrous fear, for in fact our purpose was evil.
Though no one interfered with us as Elsie shooed me along, a new torment found me as though to fill the vacancy of unimple-mented anxiety. Through the London air came an unknown smell that was unpleasant yet not quite terrifying. Only the accompanying heat was frightening, Elsie and I passing a shop wherein a male was making bottles. The first sight caught me with a rushing sense not of danger but of alienness, and I had to whisper harshly for Elsie to explain how such an event as a sinner's blowing bubbles of molten sand could possibly be. Familiar with the girl's wilderness innocence, Elsie provided a clear explanation that in no way relieved my feeling that although I might come closer to being a simple person such as Elsie, the sinners' greater artificiality would always be unacceptable. And why was I uncomfortable with this thought when my unending innocence proved me the continuing witch?
At the River Thames, I found disappointment: No bridge was visible on this curving segment. Well removed toward that way, Elsie described. Without this prime element, I was certain that my prediction would not be fulfilled, and my dreams would remain like that bridge, imperceivable in the present, but as unavoidable as the past. No better was the water itself, which seemed incapable of cleansing mere dirt, much less imbedded dreams; for the river stank, soiled from the sinners' industries.
"And it's a foolish notion we're having, girl, and one yet changeable," Elsie declared, standing near me as she looked about for witnesses. "I'm saying we return now, before the mistress finds us."
"Let us find me the witch," I intoned, my voice so confident or so inhuman as to send Elsie a step away.
Expecting disaster to strike her like a storm, Elsie looked about for bystanders who might witness against us. Though previously she had attempted to appear innocent with her observing along the road, Elsie now looked stressfully everywhere for sheer danger. No worker nor passerby approached, Elsie and I shielded from most directions by an empty shed. But even Elsie's extended viewing revealed none of the true disaster, for one step away was the lass removing her attire.
"Alba! and you're mindless now to be denuding yourself on the Thames!" she hissed. As Elsie reached to pull my dress about me, I moved away with a step and a slip, and the garment was on the ground.
Miss Elsie then revealed her true intelligence, understanding that her path of curiosity led directly toward that inferred disaster. Therefore, she abandoned disbelief, proceeding directly to agreement.
"Aye, Alba, and truly I'm believing all you say about witches and plagues-and any thought in your mind, child, if only you'll be clothing yourself and return with me!"
But I would not clothe myself. Being of a race more physical than social, the witch readily pulled herself from the servant, dropping her bloomers to the wharf, then into the river with scarcely a splash.
As I looked to the water, the enterprise's most tactile aspect of wet suffocation became primary. Aware that the immersion to benefit my future would torment my present, I accepted a demeanor of dutiful accomplishment, intending to perform the task of convincing Elsie as though my continued survival were at stake. For no reason other than survival would I walk through water. Not to cross a river only paces long to gain food and end my starving. Perhaps to quench flames consuming my sinners' attire, but nothing less. But something burned me enough to force me toward that water, for the next moment I was not ensuring my survival, but losing it.
The last sound heard was a gasp from Elsie, my last thought to remain calm and procedural, to keep my eyes closed and pinch my nostrils shut to avoid irritation in these sensitive membranes from the sinners' dank river. But once ensconced in the fluid, I found myself captured by it, and I was not retaining my breath, but bereft of it. After that first, smothering moment, I was prepared to push upward from the river's bottom to gain air again. But since any form of human can survive without breathing for a brief spell, I survived my airless moment and came to understand my problem. Of course, water supplies a witch air, a fact I had neglected in my concern for drowning. Less air comes from water than the atmosphere, but enough for survival. Then the water's filth became significant again, for I was eating it. I had opened my mouth to take in the Thames, allowing it to pass in and out via my pumping cheeks. I had to eat it like fruit, consume its saving juice that was wet air the fish know well, that a witch can smell and even sinners see as bubbles.
I calmed. I achieved understanding. Since I received little air, I knew to undertake equal activity. I calmed, allowing the water's air to seep into my lungs. Though continuing to feel some smothering, I breathed through it, a great fear ready to rush through me even as I was ready to rush through the water. But no further terror and no sudden movement came to me as I breathed enough for waiting, for survival.
Having no good idea as to the duration required to prove myself unsouled, I decided to walk about circularly as though on a journey of truth, as though a primping actor displaying himself to the public. Having gained respiration enough to provide me with energy, I began walking a distance I felt equal to a journey through Rathel's house, from the garden to the basement, returning through the kitchen and to the library, up the stairs and down again. The river's bottom here was strewn with sharp shards and hard-edged materials, surely the discharge of sinning luxuries. Since the water greatly reduced my weight, however, I suffered no stumblings as I slowly rose and fell with each step, the shoes I yet wore protecting me from abrasions. After twice traversing Rathel's imagined stairway, I returned to the river's edge, one hand outstretched to feel my way, my eyes closed to avoid a wash of effluent.
Dry Elsie was swaying, and she reeked of fear. Collapse seemed imminent, but with my rising from the water, the woman's disposition changed to surprise, Elsie becoming rigid as she stared.
"You might be so gracious as to assist me," I told her, "for certainly you see that the pilings here are steep and awkward to climb."
Instandy she bent to grasp my arms. As I moved out with Elsie's aid, she spoke in a voice implying anger, though her scent described relief.
"Ah, Alba, and I knew you to be drowned and myself insane for allowing it. But then Fm seeing you move, not your head with that dark hair, but your white skin like a ghost to chill me dead. No person who breathes could remain so long below without expiring, yet you're moving and I can see, lass. God praise, girl, that you're-"
"You might notice, miss, that I am having no difficulty with breath," I calmly advised as I reached for my clothing. "No distress on my part was involved, and I must apologize for yours. Also note that my original assertions as to my life and self are now verified."
Elsie's acceptance of these facts was interrupted by a new difficulty as obvious as the dimples on my hips, for it seemed that as soon as the servant ceased her vigil for witnesses, a parcel of them appeared.
Two men and three women ran toward us, gasping. Elsie's rigidity to have come upon noticing their approach thereafter changed to rapid movement as she guided my dressing, her intent to cover me with the gown and take the mass of underthings along. Her thinking turned most competent, Elsie explained the situation before the assemblage could demand the facts of this remarkable scene.
"Oh, and the courageous girl is throwing herself in the river to save her mother's imported dog from drowning! Oh, but what a thoughtful lass we're having to set her clothes aside and not be ruining them. God bless the poor child who'll be suffering now since the cat could not be saved."
"Dog," I mentioned.
"Since the dog could not be saved," Elsie added in correction.
During her speaking, Elsie attempted to hurl the dress about me so that we could flee without drawing the remainder of London's populace. Because I certainly did not care to be centered in a pack of sinners whether denuded or hidden in a sack, I cooperated, though my movements were more restrained than Elsie's jerking stiff seams so violently over my limbs as to abrade them. But we of the Rathel household were not alone in handling me, Elsie finding it necessary to shove aside the hand of a male who was covering my breast with his fingers. Upon recognizing the move as no random slip, Elsie responded as she felt befit the man's behavior.
"Ah! you flipping rotter to have your hand on the child's bosom!"
"But I was helping the lass dry the water away," the man explained. "She'll catch the croup with such moisture."
Then I replied, "I've no special accumulation of moisture about my nipples, the ladies here especially will note."
Most astonished of all, the man's female companion proved herself the wife by spouting shouts and also spittle, so violent was her response.
"Satan take your bloody soul for fondling a lass!" she screamed, and shoved the man's chest so hard that he nearly toppled over. "Curse your black hands, untrue^ husband, for such corruption!" she mentioned, and threw her arm at the man's head in a tremendous arc, connecting soundly with his jaw, a blow to collapse him to the wharf and frighten all decent persons about regardless of their ability to travel in a submariner manner. Retaining his senses despite the combat, the male looked upward between his wife and me, attempting to ascertain why he had attacked the child, why one so young seemed irresistible.
"Not only a girl before my very eyes, but one not even a wench!" the woman continued, and kicked the downed man with her ending word, this latest attack inspiring him to evade so totally that his balance was sacrificed to dodging, the husband toppling into the Thames with a greater splash than mine, a blubbering noise from the intake of water silencing his previously blubbering lips and their inadequate explanations.
Now covered to the ankles, I was pulled along by Elsie, who held the unlaced fabric tightly about me to prevent further revelation of the man's fleshly goal or previously mentioned dimples. Though the greater scene had drawn additional sinners, the battle between spouses became their surpassing interest, a relationship more interesting than a retreating child and her guardian. Away we went with a bundle of underclothes and a nonplussed witch, though the servant remained protective, an initiative clearly coming from her heart, and therefore worthy of my appreciation.
Once removed from the crowd and settled in a rapid pace to Rathel's town house, Elsie received a terrible revelation known as truth.
"Ah, this is why the mistress is removing the male servant," she wheezed, looking not at me, but somewhere far ahead, though she continued to hold my apparel tightly, even cruelly, about my torso. "The lady ever knew how you'd be drawing men, as you did in church-I've heard of it, lass-and just out of the river though you might be drowning."
"Of course, Rathel knew me a witch, my Elsie. As I explained, that very factor was her cause for bringing me to London. And what is more convincing to you: that normal men turn lurid when near me, or that I've proven myself impervious to God's waters?"
"I'm believing you, child, for whichever cause, and because never did I feel you dishonest. Deluded, surely, as the lady was saying, but not a pure liar. But of Mistress Amanda's dishonesty, it seems near justified considering your danger."
The servant then looked closely to me, emitting a strong emotion not easily described, though her own words were explanation enough.
"A lady such as ours going about her vengeance is understandable, Alba, when such damage was done her heart. We must be praying after her, child, for God to heal her spirit. But how can a lass such as this," she moaned, and squeezed me as though to crush me dead, to protect me with this eternity, "how can such a peaceful babe be dangerous? Yea, lass, I'm believing you much and might believe you more, but I'm having to ask God, not yourself, whether I should curse the witch or love her."
