Read Online The Bronski House by Philip Marsden - Free Book Online
Authors: Philip Marsden
Ads: Link
He looked tired. His skin was loose and his lips pale; he had the appearance of someone waiting for an operation. But he smiled, and stepped in out of the light.
Instead of kissing her, he said, ‘Helenka, look at you! You’re a mess!’
Tugging down her shirt, he shook his head. He made her straighten her skirt. Then he sat down wearily behind his desk. ‘I must talk to you, Helena. You are no longer a girl. You are fifteen –’
‘Sixteen, Father.’
‘Sixteen?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, it’s time you learnt.’ He raised his eyebrows and sighed. ‘Hela, you must understand that a woman has to dress well. It is her duty to look her best.’
It was the first time he had ever addressed her as anything other than a child.
‘You see,’ he continued, ‘the happiness and well-being of a family depends on the woman. If she makes an effort constantly, her husband will remain attached to her. A man in love with his wife will always make a good father. You have been brought up to believe it is a virtue not to think of your looks, not to care about clothes. Is that not right?’
She nodded.
‘My dear Hela, it is not a virtue – but a crime. Your poor mother was brought up by a man, a saintly man, who knew nothing of women. Her utter lack of feminine charm has brought misery to us both. She should not have married at all. She has no use for marriage. Marriage is based on physical ties and your mother cares nothing for that.’
He was holding a paper-knife and he flicked some imaginary dust from his ink-pad. Helena remained silent.
‘You must not fall into the same trap. I don’t know how long I will be here to help you, but you must promise me to try? Will you do that?’
‘Yes, Father.’
He stood and came round the desk. He took each of her hands. ‘You are beautiful, my Helenka. You are a Diane Chasseusse, a Juno…’
Helena tried to look away.
‘But please don’t waste it! Don’t wear these horrible little buttons and frills. You must dress in straight and simple lines. Don’t you think you’d feel happier in such clothes?’
‘I have nothing of that kind.’
‘I know, I know. It is wartime, and your mother says it is not the time to buy good clothes. Is that not right?’
Helena smiled. ‘Yes, Tatuś!’
He turned and went across the room and entered a door in the bookshelves. When he came back he held a pile of boxes. He placed them on the desk in front of Helena.
‘I bought these for you in St Petersburg. Go on,’ he said, ‘open them.’
She untied the uppermost box, and peeled back the folds of tissue. There was a tailored riding habit inside. In the next box was a hat wrapped in heavy white silk and fixed with a tiny bunch of violets. In the next was a long wine-red coat. In another was a whole set of thin summer frocks, and a yellow-striped pinafore, and an evening gown of pale pink silk. There were boxes of shoes and belts and gloves.
Helena looked up at her father.
‘Try them on.’
She went through the bookshelf door, into his dressing room. She set down the boxes. The room had her father’s smell. In the middle of it was a tall looking-glass, which pivoted in the middle and Helena pushed it down to see herself. He was right – she looked a mess!
She tried on all the clothes, then re-entered the library in the evening gown.
‘Now, enough of these ponytails!’ Her father slipped off her hair clasp. He gathered her hair and reassembled it on top of her head. One or two fronds twisted down her temple.
‘Look, you see?’ he said.
‘Thank you, Tatuś.’
‘Don’t worry.’ He bent to kiss her forehead. ‘I will explain it all to your mother.’
Her mother thought him mad. She said it was a sin to spend so much on clothes. Now, at this time! Ach! But seeing that his furlough in Wilno was so brief, she let the matter drop.
It was the middle of May, 1915. In Wilno the trees had burst into flower; white lilac and bird-cherry crowded the streets with their bridal
Instead of kissing her, he said, ‘Helenka, look at you! You’re a mess!’
Tugging down her shirt, he shook his head. He made her straighten her skirt. Then he sat down wearily behind his desk. ‘I must talk to you, Helena. You are no longer a girl. You are fifteen –’
‘Sixteen, Father.’
‘Sixteen?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, it’s time you learnt.’ He raised his eyebrows and sighed. ‘Hela, you must understand that a woman has to dress well. It is her duty to look her best.’
It was the first time he had ever addressed her as anything other than a child.
‘You see,’ he continued, ‘the happiness and well-being of a family depends on the woman. If she makes an effort constantly, her husband will remain attached to her. A man in love with his wife will always make a good father. You have been brought up to believe it is a virtue not to think of your looks, not to care about clothes. Is that not right?’
She nodded.
‘My dear Hela, it is not a virtue – but a crime. Your poor mother was brought up by a man, a saintly man, who knew nothing of women. Her utter lack of feminine charm has brought misery to us both. She should not have married at all. She has no use for marriage. Marriage is based on physical ties and your mother cares nothing for that.’
He was holding a paper-knife and he flicked some imaginary dust from his ink-pad. Helena remained silent.
‘You must not fall into the same trap. I don’t know how long I will be here to help you, but you must promise me to try? Will you do that?’
‘Yes, Father.’
He stood and came round the desk. He took each of her hands. ‘You are beautiful, my Helenka. You are a Diane Chasseusse, a Juno…’
Helena tried to look away.
‘But please don’t waste it! Don’t wear these horrible little buttons and frills. You must dress in straight and simple lines. Don’t you think you’d feel happier in such clothes?’
‘I have nothing of that kind.’
‘I know, I know. It is wartime, and your mother says it is not the time to buy good clothes. Is that not right?’
Helena smiled. ‘Yes, Tatuś!’
He turned and went across the room and entered a door in the bookshelves. When he came back he held a pile of boxes. He placed them on the desk in front of Helena.
‘I bought these for you in St Petersburg. Go on,’ he said, ‘open them.’
She untied the uppermost box, and peeled back the folds of tissue. There was a tailored riding habit inside. In the next box was a hat wrapped in heavy white silk and fixed with a tiny bunch of violets. In the next was a long wine-red coat. In another was a whole set of thin summer frocks, and a yellow-striped pinafore, and an evening gown of pale pink silk. There were boxes of shoes and belts and gloves.
Helena looked up at her father.
‘Try them on.’
She went through the bookshelf door, into his dressing room. She set down the boxes. The room had her father’s smell. In the middle of it was a tall looking-glass, which pivoted in the middle and Helena pushed it down to see herself. He was right – she looked a mess!
She tried on all the clothes, then re-entered the library in the evening gown.
‘Now, enough of these ponytails!’ Her father slipped off her hair clasp. He gathered her hair and reassembled it on top of her head. One or two fronds twisted down her temple.
‘Look, you see?’ he said.
‘Thank you, Tatuś.’
‘Don’t worry.’ He bent to kiss her forehead. ‘I will explain it all to your mother.’
Her mother thought him mad. She said it was a sin to spend so much on clothes. Now, at this time! Ach! But seeing that his furlough in Wilno was so brief, she let the matter drop.
It was the middle of May, 1915. In Wilno the trees had burst into flower; white lilac and bird-cherry crowded the streets with their bridal
Similar Books
