Tebok Kai

written by Carmen Leonardi  and Tebok Kai

Paris 1510

 Rose held her mother's hand tightly, afraid she might get lost in the crowd. 
       "What is happening, Mama?"
       "Heretic! Burn her!" the crowd was shouting in a frenzy.
       Rose could not understand the meaning of those words at only six years old. She tried to see through the crowd and understand what was happening before her eyes. Some people were crying, some were laughing, and some were furious.
       Her mother squeezed her hand so tightly that it hurt, but she endured without complaining, frightened by the worried look in her eyes. They were now in the front row, facing the stage in the great square of Notre Dame. Madalene, her aunt, was tied to a stake. Her mother grabbed Rose tighter by the hand and drew her close to her chest. Confused, she looked at her mother's face, now red and swollen from crying as she was trying to hide it. Rose caressed her mother's hand as she knelt before her. Fixing her with her gaze, she finally spoke: 
       "Rose, today you will learn a hard lesson that will mark you forever, but it will save you one day."
       Her mind assailed by a million questions, Rose barely uttered a word when a wall of flames rose before her eyes. Madalene disappeared, engulfed by the furious flames, harrowing screams of pain flooding the square. The crowd behind them lost any decorum it still had and started cheering and throwing insults at the poor woman in flames.
       Rose froze in disbelief. Wide open, her eyes stared at the flames, the heat scorching her face. As if pulled from a nightmare, the horrifying spectacle before her eyes seemed to fade in the distance. Her mother was dragging her like a doll away from the maddened crowd. The vivid image of her aunt burning was forever etched in her mind.
       "Rose? Rose!" her mother silently screamed. "Look at me and listen carefully! Your aunt was accused of witchcraft; it won't be long before they come for me, too. You are in grave danger. You will go live with a family of farmers until this whole thing is forgotten…"
        Rose tried to object, but her mother grabbed her by the shoulders and spoke swiftly: "No, Rose, listen to me. It's a matter of life or death. They will care for you, and you will grow up as their daughter, but never forget who you are and what I have taught you. Whatever happens, we are as close to heaven as anybody else. I will come back for you, I promise… Now let's go."
       Rose was scared but knew she had to trust her mother. They resumed their race through the narrow streets of Paris, taking an underground tunnel. Rose memorized as many details as she could as they ran, looking ahead or behind them as they made left or right. What seemed an eternity in the dark ended when they emerged to the surface, surrounded by desolate countryside clearings. In this landscape of total calm, only a distant small house broke the straight line of grass. They were headed that way.
       "Mama, wait." 
       Now that their farewell was so close, Rose couldn't hold back her tears. In a few hours, her world would be upended, and her mother was going to leave her, perhaps forever. 
       "Mama," Rose cried again. 
       Her mother stopped in the middle of the field, the rising sun behind her making her appear angelic to Rose's eyes. She turned gently and looked at her with tear-filled eyes, forcing a smile. She softly caressed Rose's cheek and whispered in her ear, "Je t'aime, ma petite fleur," then kissed her forehead.

*

      Rose woke up startled, drenched in sweat. That dream again. The room was dark. Only the cold light of the moon was filtering through the window. She walked barefoot to the window and opened it. The city was quiet. Cats walked freely through the streets. The night was all theirs, under the black dome of the somber sky. She often thought of her mother and her words on cold nights like this: "Never forget who you are and what I have taught you."

      "Who am I?" she wondered.

      The countryside life had always felt too confining for her. Indeed, as soon as she had the chance, she left the remoteness of rugged land and moved to the city, where she started to work for a printing house. As luck would have it, a printer's widow took her under her protection as a helper. She owned a publishing house down Rue Saint Jacque and taught her the craft of printing. The pay was good enough to cover the rent for her room at the tavern, and she still had something to spare.

       And there she met Clement, the widow's son.

       He was always kind and tried to make her work easier. She liked him, but something about his ways kept her alert. She loved her freedom, and his attention sometimes could be overbearing. She found it hard to trust people. Her childhood memories still lingered in her mind. Lately, life seemed to be getting difficult again for women. The church was searching for scapegoats to draw people towards the Protestant faith seeking power and control. As a woman, it was easy to be branded a witch if one thought outside that faith or claimed healing knowledge. She fitted this profile perfectly.

       The dawn was rising over the city's rooftops. Rose was ready for her workday. She closed the door behind her and blended in with the people on the street. Outside the printing house, Clement was already waiting for her. 
       "Good morning," he said, smiling. 
       She returned the smile as they entered the house together. The day passed slowly, as usual. From time to time, Rose looked out the window, distracted by the chatter outside. Clement was standing by the printing press, sometimes glancing at her. She felt his gaze, and she tried hard not to blush. 
       "What are you doing after work?" he asked.
       She looked at him; his black hair framed his pale face, and his eyes, cold as ice, seemed to penetrate her soul, searching for an answer. 
       "I'm going home," she said.
       "Would you like to grab something to eat together?" he replied. 
       "Why not?" she answered softly.
       Clement playfully extended his hand as if to seal the agreement, and Rose shook his hand in jest, nodding and smiling. They closed the door behind them and almost stumbled onto the street excitedly, chatting and laughing. Clement couldn't take his eyes off her, and she liked it. They entered a tavern and sat at a secluded table. He ordered food and drinks for both of them and took her hands in his over the table. She looked at him and asked him, slightly bothered:
       "Do you usually choose for a woman what she eats?" 
       Clement stammered something embarrassed. 
       She burst out laughing and then, looking at him slyly, said jokingly:
       "You're not one of those men, are you?" 
       "No, certainly not," he answered in one breath.
       Both of them ate and drank wine. With the bottle almost empty, he stood up, left the money on the table, took her hand, and rushed her outside.
       "Are you all right?" she asked.
       "I've never felt better," he replied. He pulled her close and kissed her passionately. Surprised, she surrendered to the kiss she had long desired. They started walking down the street, and before they knew it, they reached the tavern where Rose lived. Unsure if she should invite him in, Rose went against her instincts and told him, whispering:
      "I have some wine upstairs if you want to spend more time together, but be quiet when you come in. The innkeeper doesn't want anyone inside except the tenants." 
      With a shushing gesture, Clement nodded as they snuck up the stairs to her room. The room was dark and cold. Clement grabbed Rose by the hips and kissed her again passionately, pushing his pelvis against hers. Rose hated the dark. It altered both reality and her surroundings. She pushed him gently and told him:
       "I need to see you, Clement!" 
       He felt with his left hand for the candelabra on the dresser. As he moved his hand around, he missed it and pushed it to the floor. The loud thud made Rose scream. Clement bent down to pick it up in a panic and bumped his head on the dresser, injuring himself. Rose picked the candles from the floor and lit one up quickly. She saw blood gushing from under his eyebrow. She quickly tore a piece of her underdress to clean his face and stop the blood. 
        "Hold it," she asked him while she lit the rest of the candles to illuminate the room. "Sit down". 
       Clement sat on the bed and watched Rose from behind as she looked through the bottles of liquids and herbs lined up on top of the dresser. 
      "What are you doing? he asked, perplexed. 
      "I am preparing an ointment to disinfect your wound and help it heal faster." 
      Clement was horrified. Rose could barely recognize his face, suddenly buried in a grimace of panic and hatred. Terrified, she realized what a big mistake she'd made by bringing him into her room. 
      "You're a witch," he said quietly. Still holding hope, Rose walked toward him, trying to make him see sense. Dazed and bleeding, Clement stood up and arrogantly pushed her with force, shouting:
      "Stay away from me!"
      Rose fell to the floor, feeling her lungs filling with more air than they could hold. The sound of the door slamming echoed in her brain like the roar of the crowd rejoicing at her aunt's death. She lay on the ground for a while, staring into the void and trying to think of her next steps. Regret was useless. Her only chance was a swift departure. She had to run away. It was a matter of time before they stood at her door, demanding she follow them. Brushing off her angst, she quickly filled the suitcase with her things. She put the medicine bottles in a linen bag so no clues were left behind. She cleaned up the blood stains on the floor and left in a hurry for the tunnels she once walked through with her mother. She was on the run again, reliving the past, but this time alone. She had to warn her adoptive family and escape as far away from the city as possible.
       She set off on horseback with the money she had saved over the years and some provisions from her adoptive parents. For weeks, she moved from village to village, staying in taverns frequented by prostitutes and drunkards. She tried not to draw attention, but the inquisitors' hounds were only a day behind her, and Clement was with them.
       Not far away was a forest everyone feared, including her, but it was the only place she could hide. She was going there the following day, hoping it was not too late. Her fears were justified, as her pursuers would soon be there, asking about her. Desperate, Rose jumped out of the window and then on her horse, galloping towards the forest. She felt the men hounding her close from behind, but she had no room for error; the forest was her only escape. She was right. As soon as she entered the forest, they stopped their horses. 
       Clement, infuriated, shouted:
       "What are you doing? It's just a forest! Let's go!" 
       Warily, the head of the pursuers responded:
       "And she is just a witch in a cursed forest!'
       "Then I'll go alone!" Clement glared at him defiantly.
       He snatched a weapon from a guard's hands and followed Rose's tracks in the forest. The sun's light could hardly pierce through the thick vegetation, and everything was shrouded in shadow. The wind rustled the leaves, dancing to the rhythm of eerie sounds. Crows cawed, while animals invisible to the eye were squirming in the underbrush, adding to the unsettling atmosphere. 
      "Where are you, witch?" Clement was shouting angrily as fear crept into his soul unbeknownst to him.
      Behind him, a few of the braver inquisitors joined in. They advanced cautiously through the forest, following the same tracks and the sound of Clément's voice. Suddenly, the tracks vanished as if the horse had taken flight. Among the men, a murmur arose:
      "This is witchcraft."
      "Silence!" seethed Clement, his face red with frustration. "There's no witchcraft here. She let the horse gallop behind the bushes and off the path. Look closely. You'll see the marks in the damp earth." 
     The men kept riding slowly until they reached a small abandoned house. Rose was inside, holding a dagger, ready to fight for her life.
      Since entering the forest, she's heard her mother's voice whispering in her ears, louder and louder, repeating the words from that day, "Never forget who you are and what I have taught you." She could feel her ghostly hands holding her shoulders and see the stern look in her eyes telling her not to be afraid. The closer the men got, the clearer her mother's voice became. As the men opened the door with their weapons pointing into the room, Rose stood up, and instead of fighting, she dropped the dagger and walked toward them. The men, backing away, scared, shouted:
      "Stay away." 
      Rose kept walking until they were all outside. She then closed her eyes and heard her mother's voice once more, recalling the last words she ever told her: "We are as close to heaven as anybody else."  She understood that the more they feared her, the less she feared them. It was time.
      She opened her eyes and, looking at her tormentors, she uttered in Latin, "Ubique medius caelus est."*
      A loud rumble shook the earth, and birds flew away in a frenzy. Animals cowered under fallen logs. The ground cracked and opened black holes beneath the men's feet, and they soon disappeared swallowed by the earth's bowels.

      Rose questioned once more. 
      "Who am I?"

      An eerie silence ensued, and she heard her mother's voice behind her. This time, it wasn't loud or ghostly—it almost chuckled. She turned and saw her mother smiling, her arms reaching out to her. She kept her promise. She came back for her.

*We are as close to heaven as anybody else.

© 2024 tebokkai

Photo Credit: Khashayar Kouchpeydeh 

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