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Authors: Olive Senior
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hers, âOh that is so nice of you. Mrs. Samphire. Thenk you. Very much. I will bear it in mind.â And thatâs been the end of that. I didnât expect anything, of course. Because Iâm silent, and I donât have the kind of background the rest of them have, she too thinks Iâm stupid. Or maybe it was just the way I mumbled it so it came out in a rush, all nonsense sounding.
I donât think itâs because sheâs afraid Iâll go through her files and ferret out her little secrets. Not at all. Iâm sure she doesnât think me capable of that. I have already done that, of course, the few times sheâs left me alone in there, for Iâm quick like that. Always have been. I like to know about the enemy. Which is how I found the picture when I was searching through Aunt Zenaâs bureau one day when they were both entertaining visitors on the veranda. A picture of a man and Aunt Zena, wearing a wedding dress! Without a doubt, it was her, looking much younger and happier, a long, clinging white lace dress and a veil which in the photograph was so long it was draped on the ground all the way around the two of them almost in a full circle and her arm linked tightly into his. I didnât have a chance to have a good look at him that day as I didnât want to press my luck, but I later confirmed my first impression of a portly man with a broad, flat face and straight black hair, and skin darker than hers, like an Indianâs, the one on the cigar box that Miss Celia kept her sewing things in, not the other kind, and not unhandsome.
That was a shock to me for she seemed such a solitary one, as tightly wound up and dangerous as barbed wire. I couldnât imagine anyone getting close to her and wondered when this wedding was and what had happened to the husband. Maybe she cut him to pieces. I had no idea then she had ever been away from home, for although Miss Celia was her mother, she was very much the ruler of the kingdom. Of course I couldnât ask and no one ever told me anything. As soon as I appeared the adults shut up or changed the subject if they were talking about anything the least bit interesting. So of course they turned me into a spy, creeping around and listening. But about Aunt Zenaâs husband and married life, not a word did I ever hear. Until one day after I had gone to live with Ma D, Charlie Samphireâs mother, I had the brilliant idea of asking her, for she knew them.
âAh, Zena,â she said, in response to my question as to whether Zena had ever married. Ma D smiled a twisted little smile and paused in the middle of what she was doing, which was cutting out a piece of cloth, the scissors already slicing the material. It was beautiful silk material, salmon coloured, she was cutting to make a blouse for me. I stood across the table from her with my mouth open, torn between wanting to hear the story and keeping one eye on the scissors and praying her hand wouldnât slip and ruin the material. But of course Ma D was a pro on both counts. Not that she told me very much then, I think she still regarded me as a child and not yet ready to be let into adult secrets. But at least she wasnât as rude about it as the others.
âMarried,â she laughed. âOh yes, she rather made a habit of it.â
âWhat!â Iâm sure my voice rose in disbelief.
âWell, it depends on what you call marriage.â I leaned forward eagerly, but all Ma D added in a very dry voice was, âSheâs been churched once.â And, though I waited to hear more, the fact that she had resumed cutting where she left off made me understand that no more would be forthcoming, at least for now. I didnât press her for more, I was too shy to do so anyway, but what she had said left my head spinning, as I tried to figure out what it meant. Was there so much more to Aunt Zena than the little countrywoman I had grown with and never learned
I donât think itâs because sheâs afraid Iâll go through her files and ferret out her little secrets. Not at all. Iâm sure she doesnât think me capable of that. I have already done that, of course, the few times sheâs left me alone in there, for Iâm quick like that. Always have been. I like to know about the enemy. Which is how I found the picture when I was searching through Aunt Zenaâs bureau one day when they were both entertaining visitors on the veranda. A picture of a man and Aunt Zena, wearing a wedding dress! Without a doubt, it was her, looking much younger and happier, a long, clinging white lace dress and a veil which in the photograph was so long it was draped on the ground all the way around the two of them almost in a full circle and her arm linked tightly into his. I didnât have a chance to have a good look at him that day as I didnât want to press my luck, but I later confirmed my first impression of a portly man with a broad, flat face and straight black hair, and skin darker than hers, like an Indianâs, the one on the cigar box that Miss Celia kept her sewing things in, not the other kind, and not unhandsome.
That was a shock to me for she seemed such a solitary one, as tightly wound up and dangerous as barbed wire. I couldnât imagine anyone getting close to her and wondered when this wedding was and what had happened to the husband. Maybe she cut him to pieces. I had no idea then she had ever been away from home, for although Miss Celia was her mother, she was very much the ruler of the kingdom. Of course I couldnât ask and no one ever told me anything. As soon as I appeared the adults shut up or changed the subject if they were talking about anything the least bit interesting. So of course they turned me into a spy, creeping around and listening. But about Aunt Zenaâs husband and married life, not a word did I ever hear. Until one day after I had gone to live with Ma D, Charlie Samphireâs mother, I had the brilliant idea of asking her, for she knew them.
âAh, Zena,â she said, in response to my question as to whether Zena had ever married. Ma D smiled a twisted little smile and paused in the middle of what she was doing, which was cutting out a piece of cloth, the scissors already slicing the material. It was beautiful silk material, salmon coloured, she was cutting to make a blouse for me. I stood across the table from her with my mouth open, torn between wanting to hear the story and keeping one eye on the scissors and praying her hand wouldnât slip and ruin the material. But of course Ma D was a pro on both counts. Not that she told me very much then, I think she still regarded me as a child and not yet ready to be let into adult secrets. But at least she wasnât as rude about it as the others.
âMarried,â she laughed. âOh yes, she rather made a habit of it.â
âWhat!â Iâm sure my voice rose in disbelief.
âWell, it depends on what you call marriage.â I leaned forward eagerly, but all Ma D added in a very dry voice was, âSheâs been churched once.â And, though I waited to hear more, the fact that she had resumed cutting where she left off made me understand that no more would be forthcoming, at least for now. I didnât press her for more, I was too shy to do so anyway, but what she had said left my head spinning, as I tried to figure out what it meant. Was there so much more to Aunt Zena than the little countrywoman I had grown with and never learned
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