#64

“…..”

I did not respond further. My chest felt heavy as if a pile of stones had been placed on it, and I no longer wanted to continue the conversation. Since I couldn’t continue eating anyway, I gathered my skirt in the center to ask for my husband’s permission. Meanwhile, I consistently ignored Henrik’s gaze as he stared at me intently.

I adjusted my clothes and pushed my chair back. When I hastily stood up, my intoxicated feet slipped, and I plopped back down. And then.

Screech.

“I still remember the day I first met you in Gustavus.”

Henrik grabbed the leg of my chair and pulled it closer to him.

“A rare innocent and beautiful widow. Standing precariously in the middle of that dark and vast hall, with visibly trembling eyelashes that were pitiful at first glance.”

My neck stiffened without me realizing it. It was because Henrik had placed his hand on my thigh. Sparks seemed to fly before my eyes. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at that hand.

“You have a talent for melting men’s hearts. Like a lily in the darkness. Perhaps it’s a skill you honed while locked away in a tower, or better yet, if it’s your innate nature.”

“You, you’re just like your father, spouting nonsense that doesn’t even qualify as poetry… I wasn’t trembling because I was afraid of you.”

However, my voice came out trembling. Henrik laughed silently.

“…All talk and no action.”

Heat.

The heat of his hand slowly gripping the soft flesh deep in the upper part of my thigh, as if burrowing between my legs, could be felt even through the thick fabric. I froze in place, paradoxically, because of that warmth.

“Get…”

Get off. That single word couldn’t form into speech. My skin stung at every fiber, my heart pounded alone, and my jaw convulsed to the point of making clicking sounds. Though my eyes were open, everything before me was blurry and hard to see. All my nerves were focused solely on the heat on my thigh. I wanted to spit on the back of his hand. But I couldn’t even scream.

It wasn’t that I was unfamiliar with disgusting touches. I had already lost count of how many men had grabbed my wrist and kissed the back of my hand. There had been many days when I had pretended to be nonchalant, smiling and accepting touches that I couldn’t tell whether they were out of courtesy or personal interest.

Moreover, wasn’t this a place where hundreds of people would have turned to look at me if I screamed even once? Even though there were quite a few people around, and even with my husband right beside me, I couldn’t move an inch.

What if someone sees this?

My body and head turned bright red, evoking shame like it was my spinal cord. Although I was the one being touched without any way to refuse, that filthy sensation, as if I had always been the shameless harlot, was coiling around my waist.

“I hadn’t planned to go this far, but you scratch me. Too frequently.”

“What do you mean, it’s always you who first…”

Again, screech.

Goosebumps rose as Henrik pulled his chair closer with his free hand. The hair on my arms seemed to stand on end. My entire body trembled uncontrollably.

“Do you still not know how my father’s previous wives ended up in such a state?”

Henrik asked recklessly, disregarding my reaction.

“…It was always a man problem.”

He soon answered his own question. Among the ‘previous wives’ he coldly mentioned, his own birth mother must have been included. Was she the woman who died with her belly cut open, or the one driven out into the cold? I do not know.

His gaze, which had risen to my cheek, lingered around my forehead. It traced down my cloth-wrapped neckline and fell precisely to my chest. His large hand grabbed my shoulder and forcefully turned me around. My gaze, which had swiftly turned with a whooshing sound, was instantly fixed in place.

“If you don’t want to move because it’s still bearable, I’ll create a situation you can’t endure.”

His snake-like green eyes.

In an instant, Henrik embraced me and bit my lips.

***

I remember that day as the day the gates of hell opened.

I could hardly feel the repulsive flesh rising in my throat. I just struggled as if I would rip out my captured shoulder joint. By that point, it was neither fear nor disgust. If I were to reflect now on the meaning of my resistance that day, I think I wanted to prove with my entire body. Please see, I wanted to say.

That this was not what I wanted.

That I had never desired this, never seduced him first.

It felt like my body would be crushed. I couldn’t handle Henrik’s build or grip strength at all. He was persistent until startled servants came running to separate us. Henrik, who had stepped back only when two people restrained his arms, clicked his tongue as if regretful.

I can’t even imagine what I must have looked like, collapsed on the floor at that moment. I only vividly remember the sensation of my crown falling from my head and rolling away after hitting my trembling hand, and my hair spilling out from the gaps in my headdress, entangling my entire face. I was almost out of my mind.

Did the atmosphere of the banquet shatter? I don’t know.

How many people looked at me in shock, and how many clicked their tongues at me? I have no idea.

I turned around, gasping for breath. The many poets who had been there were nowhere to be seen. Only the snake father of the snake child was glaring at me with his snake-like face.

The old man, frowning, gestured to his attendant who was standing at a distance. The attendant, after bowing deeply to his master, approached Henrik politely and then, without any hesitation, slapped his cheek.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

Four times? Five times? Was it twenty times? I don’t remember clearly. The man seemed determined not to stop until the old man gestured again. I think blood splattered with a patter. But Henrik stood there expressionlessly, neither falling nor frowning, silently enduring the slaps. And in the meantime, I…

Was dragged away like a dog on a hot day.

With my hair gripped in the old man’s hand, stiff as an old tree, I was dragged across that vast banquet hall, my entire body scraping against the floor.

My vision whirled. The stone floor suddenly rushed up, then just as abruptly the whole world flipped, and the gray ceiling seemed to collapse on me. I was kicked in the bridge of my nose by the old man’s foot, and at some point, the leash that had been pulled up to the old man’s upper body tightened around his forearm. I was choking so much I couldn’t even scream. And all of this happened just on the way to the bedroom.

My situation completely changed from that day on.

This cheek resounded with slaps several times a day. Time and place became meaningless. It didn’t matter whether there were eyes watching or not. Beatings pouring down on my hunched back became commonplace, and I was forcibly accustomed to the rough coldness of the floor. The reasons I heard through interpretation were always absurd.

One day I was hit for making eye contact with a man, another day for avoiding a man’s gaze because my attitude seemed suspicious. I was hit for not smiling at him, and hit because my gloomy expression was disgusting. I was hit for sitting when told to sit, and hit for standing when told to stand.

I’m really going to die like this.

I won’t live out my natural lifespan.

By that point, even the imaginary estate that had seemed like a promised land to me lost its luster. I merely tried to get into the old man’s good graces in order to preserve this one life. But I failed.

I failed every minute, every hour.

Because I could hardly fathom what he wanted from me, I couldn’t please him either. Every day, I was filled with endless fear, not knowing when and where lightning would strike.

And at such a time, the old man and his close associates began to demand that I fulfill my role as the lady of the house.

On a small scale, to manage the household staff well. On a larger scale, to manage the serfs and fiefs outside the castle. And even to defend the fortress when my husband was away, they said it was the duty of the lady.

But I had never even counted how many hens were in the backyard?

Clumsy as I was, I couldn’t even handle trivial matters properly. I couldn’t endure the old man’s beatings, gradually grew tired of being treated as everyone’s punching bag, and sometimes even showed anger or contempt. What I received in return was, of course, harsh scorn.

Useless woman.

Parasite of a woman.

It was as if they were saying they had already obtained my name and shield, so they had no more use for me. I learned then that malice can be understood even when languages differ. I didn’t need to learn that the few words the old husband kept muttering were all insults – I could understand that well enough.

Negation doesn’t just vibrate the eardrum. Negation, like the vibration of the eardrum, comes over formlessly and shakes even a person’s soul. I felt like I would crumble.

I desperately learned the language. It was then that I learned to read, write, and ride horses to read manuals and manage farmland. I thought that if I could just fulfill the role they wanted from me, the situation would improve.

In your eyes, am I foolish for this?

I didn’t know then that it was a meaningless effort.

My mouth was raw from being tossed about like a small boat in a storm, unable to accomplish anything as I wished. There were countless days when I bit my lips until they were swollen.

Perhaps it was stubbornness that had become so poisoned that it even cut into my own flesh, as if the only thing left of value was my bloodline. Because there was anger that built up relentlessly inside me every day, just the same. I often chewed and swallowed it in my mouth.

Ah, if I can’t endure the likes of you, lowly as you are, then I’m not a Valdemar, I would say.

Then one day, when I found the original text of a familiar song in an old book. When I realized that between the sentences more familiar to my ears than my eyes, the one phrase I had repeated twenty or thirty times, the most precious one, was missing.

At that time, I couldn’t help but collapse.

And then I frantically wrote a letter asking Johannes for help.

Fortunately, I managed to pull myself together. I threw the unfinished letter into the fireplace and burned it. I recited like a mantra. That I must live well here no matter what.

No, even if I can’t be happy right now, I must certainly secure the comfort that will come someday. That I must at least save face enough to see Johannes someday. Because I am the person who left after ravaging his heart.

I shouldn’t have sought him out. I, who didn’t even have the decency to ask for help first, could only offer stubborn tears as a conclusion.

Pushing back the curses that were about to burst out to the back of my throat, I begged the old man. I was wrong. I, I’ll do better. Please don’t cast me out.

There was a certain belief in that. Won’t that cruel old man soften his temper a bit when his dying day approaches? It will get better. Then I too will become more bearable. Yes, I must endure.

No.

No. As much as I don’t want to admit it, it seems that at the time, I was simply crushed by pain and fear that even my lofty pride couldn’t bear.

Save me. Please save me. Don’t kill me.

Clinging to my husband’s trouser leg and begging profusely, that was a sincere plea that came out of my mouth. It was an unspeakable humiliation in itself. I was burning myself to live.

There is only one thing I can say for certain about that time when I was more confused than ever, unable to even focus: I can assert that it was the most hellish time in this short life.

Kretzman.

So perhaps the thickest root of my hatred towards you is planted in that time.

Due to the affection that is only more intense for being obstructed, now a day without knowing your whereabouts is no different from a hundred years of misfortune for me.

Johannes.

Johannes.