Bound by the Scars We Share Page 10
Lost in thought, Grace had not noticed how one hour had passed. When the waiter asked if she wanted anything, she declined as she had no money – nothing. Suddenly realising this, a sense of fear overwhelmed her. She had no idea where Peter and his friends had disappeared to. Frightened to remain in the café as there was a queue forming, Grace knew that she couldn’t go very far or she would not be found by Peter. Distressed and alone, she sat on the edge of the pavement as tears meandered over her cheeks. She felt so humiliated. This was Paris, the city of love which had been transformed into one of wretchedness and misery. As dusk began to fall, Grace watched the speed of the traffic and the movements of people hurriedly brushing past her with footsteps of intention. In contrast, she was static, motionless like all the monumental buildings. Perhaps, Grace thought, Peter has deliberately left me here and just as she stood to action, to find a policeman, the party returned and she was immediately ushered back to their hotel.
The honeymoon had been a disaster and Grace was relieved to be on the return journey to England. When they arrived back at their house and Peter had driven his friends home, Grace purposefully and deliberately cut up the wedding photographs with her best pair of scissors.
Living in Hemel Hempstead in a respectable three-bedroom house, Grace should have been overjoyed at being comfortably married and settled with a man who was able to provide for her materially. She had become the perfect housewife, which her father had always insisted she should aspire to. Was this it? Was this how it was meant to be? she asked herself.
The disintegration of a young human life was clearly evident to see. She was a woman ensnared. Grace lived her days, weeks, months and years in utter fear and trepidation from which there seemed to be no escape.
She bore Peter two children; Brian and Sean. Grace loved her little boys so much and wanted to protect them from their callous, cold father. Fortunately, while they were so young, Peter did not harm them. However, he continually abused Grace verbally and physically. Living her life in fear and trepidation, Grace unsuccessfully tried to cater to his every need. Often, she would feel herself tremble, especially when his look pierced her with his merciless eyes which seemed to gaze beyond her, yet to Grace, displayed his sadistic intentions towards her. His stare created doubt and fear as he accused her with a serious mockery. His egotism had lain hidden like a serpent under a mound covered with flowers. No one knew of his cruelty and believed him to be a charming and courteous gentleman. He told her that everything she did was unsatisfactory. If she tried to dress to please him, he told her she looked like a tart. “Why don’t you try harder?” he would say repeatedly. She realised that this was a bell ringing in her mind which sounded the alarm for the death knell of the drama of their marriage when Peter uttered those words of contempt, “My expectations of you have experienced a great deal of disappointment. You must know that you are worthless and insignificant. Our marriage is valueless and futile and it is all your fault for being so incompetent and ineffectual.”
Grace was petrified of his sexual demands. His torture knew no bounds. At the hands of her demonic husband, she suffered painful injuries. It was as if the pleasure he gained from her suffering intensified when she begged him to stop. Grace feared that his cruelty might even kill her. Sometimes she would find it impossible to get out of her bed in the morning as she was in so much pain following her night of abuse and ill-treatment. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, Grace could not even recognise her swollen and disfigured face which stared back at her, with bruised, bulging, black lumps around her eyes which she could barely open. Her head was covered with bald patches that were created when her tormentor dragged her across the floor, with his fists wrapped tightly around her hair. How would she ever escape from him? Who could she tell? What would he do to her if she did? These were questions that prevented Grace from informing anyone. Grace was too ashamed to go for medical help and was embarrassed in case she was asked questions. Too terrified to refuse his demands, Grace had to comply with them. She was living in a nightmare world, ruled by the devil in human form. Each day she would be given little reminders of his dirth of love, the early apparent love which had metamorphosised into torment. Unable to leave him because she had two children to care for, she contacted her parents. “Oh Father,” she exclaimed “I need money so that I can take the children away from this cruel monster I have married. He tortures me and hurts me. My eyes are black and blue, and I have a cut lip. Please, please help me.”
Edward replied curtly, “Grace, you have made your bed so now lie in it. Goodbye.”
In desperation, she rang her brother to ask him why their parents would not help her. George curtly replied, “What do you expect them to do? He is your husband.” Both men had hung up on her and the blank sound of the phone, which was left, made her realise how alone in the world she was.
Without contraception, Grace was entirely defenceless and was completely vulnerable to the sexual molestation which Peter dictated. Unprotected, Grace became pregnant again. Peter did not contain his abuse at all. His demands seemed totally unbearable. Fearing for her unborn child, she begged and begged for him to stop. Continually, he would rape her and laughed during her tearful pleas. Beatings continued to be a daily occurrence and he became even more abusive. She could still see that he took extreme pleasure in degrading her despite her being heavily pregnant. Sometimes she would pray to die in childbirth so that her distress would come to an end. Forlorn and alone, Grace could not see a way forward but when she held her children, she realised that she had to survive for them.
Despite her suffering, Grace gave birth to a sweet innocent daughter, who had inherited her mother’s blonde curls. Tara gave Grace the love she needed and as she cuddled her baby, she wondered how anyone so evil could have fathered such an angel. Her stay in hospital had been helpful in recreating the vital strength which Grace had lost. When Peter came to visit with the children, she realised that somehow, she would have to try and get away from him. The children had been cared for by Glynis, Peter’s cousin. She was a valuable help and the boys seemed happy. Yes, Grace would find a way of recreating a new life for them. She did not envisage how difficult this would be. First, she would try and get back to a routine and not let any cruelty dissuade her from her resolve.
Grace was fortunate. Peter told her that he would be going away for three days and while giving her house-keeping money, he added that she should think about ways of improving her behaviour and attitude. She was relieved that he actually stuck to his word and left her alone with the children. Over the years, she had managed to save some money from her house-keeping allowance, so she used it to contact a lawyer. In shock, Grace could hardly bear to hear his communication to her. He bluntly stated, “In the event of a separation or divorce, your husband would certainly have priority of custody of your children.” He spoke this in a very unemotional way and without real sympathy for her plight. As Grace left his office in tears, she gathered up her strength and walked determinedly to the nearest police station. She spoke to a male police officer about the continued assaults which she had suffered. Even after hearing about having been brutally beaten, the police informed her that she would not obtain help from them as it was a marital issue and they could not interfere. How could this be? Grace cried to herself. It seemed that women were treated very unjustly. It seemed that they were considered as second-class citizens.
Without Peter around, and after the children had gone to bed, Grace found time to consider her position. She enjoyed spending time alone and this improved her spirits. Yes, her parents had told her that it was her duty to stand by her husband. Yes, she had no independence, little money and no support. She was an abused young woman with three children. She had to be strong. Somehow there would be a way for her to find a route out of this impossible situation, even though the authorities had virtually told her to grin and bear it. Yes, she was a female. Yes, she had no rights. She asked herself why women were
treated as inferior beings. Maybe the time will come in the future when women will be granted equal rights to men, but until then, I will have to take control, she thought positively. Grace had to plan her flight from her husband’s ferocity and save the threatened lives of herself, her two little boys and her baby girl.
This choice of certainty would be her weapon to gain freedom.
Zoshia 11
Harvey felt distraught. How could he not see what was happening? Zoshia was unable to cope with everything at home. I will have to speak to Haydn directly and persuade him to leave – he thought anxiously. After their supper, which Hayden had made for them, the two brothers sat down together to talk. Harvey hated confrontation and kept postponing his directive to Hayden. He felt anxiety rising in his chest, as he did not want to create tension between them. So just as he was thinking about his reticence, Harvey heard himself utter in a very direct manner, “You will have to find somewhere else to live, I’m afraid. Zoshia is struggling with looking after so many people and now that she is in Antwerp, I’m scared that she may not return. You do understand, don’t you Hayden?” Silently Harvey’s brother stood up and looked directly into his eyes. The silence seemed to last an eternity.
“I am going upstairs to pack. I will leave tomorrow. I will look for somewhere near to the university and you can pack too. You have an urgent plane to catch to bring your wife and children home,” Hayden stated, smiling at his brother and patting him on the back playfully.
Harvey made his way to Antwerp. He was so frightened of losing his beloved Zoshia and their children and he prayed that they would receive him with open arms. As he arrived at the front door and knocked, little Victoria opened the door of the apartment and gave him a big hug. Harvey could feel the tears welling up in his eyes as everyone greeted him warmly. “Come in, Harvey, and have some cake,” Zara said in a warm and inviting manner.
As they sat down together, Harvey took Zoshia to one side and told her that Haydn had moved out and that he couldn’t wait for them all to come home. Zoshia was ecstatic that Haydn had left because it showed her that Harvey had put her first. “Please come home with me Zoshela. You are my life,” he pleaded with longing in his voice.
“Of course, I will come back. We are one and with our children, our love will carry us through any more hardships that we may have to endure,” she replied with so much sincerity in her voice that Harvey felt himself shiver.
Zara, Smule and Hannah were happy that Harvey agreed to stay a while and for the next couple of days they all laughed and joked together in an embracing family cocoon. Zara was pleased that her daughter’s engaging smile had returned. Zoshia was happy once more and that was all that mattered. Saddened that their daughter would be returning to England, Smule and Zara reminded her how strong she really was and that they loved her. Zoshia had never experienced such obviously open affection and was extremely uplifted by it. Her parents were aging and had never recovered from their wartime hardship. She looked at them: two elderly people, bearing the physical and mental damage from their war experiences and she shuddered. Leaving them would be difficult now. She did not realise that this would be the last time she would see them.
Harvey and Zoshia and their children returned to England a couple of days later and their former happiness was restored. Life did not seem so unbearable and it was during this period that Zoshia learned to drive. Each time she took her driving test, she failed. “This is the hardest thing I have ever tried to do,” she moaned. It was after the fourth attempt that she eventually passed the test. Harvey was hesitantly pleased for her even though he knew that she wasn’t a particularly good driver. Zoshia seemed to park the car some distance from the kerb and never worried about cars who drove behind her. “My instructor told me not to worry about the cars behind, only those in front of me,” she retorted whenever anyone criticised her driving. Now she had more freedom and at last could drive herself to the shops for the daily provisions.
As time passed and the children grew older, Zoshia and Harvey enjoyed their life together. Sometimes they would drive a few yards away from their children walking home from school. Victoria was now ten years old and she held the hands of her two little brothers in a very domineering way. Harvey and Zoshia would laugh at their offspring and talk about how lucky they were to have a family they could cherish.
It seemed as if nothing could come between them. However, life, can find a way of altering things in an instant. Was it providence? Was it destiny? Harvey beckoned to his wife one morning to sit down, as he had something to tell her. Zoshia could see by the position of his head which was turned away from her, that this was serious. “Zoshia,” his voice muttered in a loud silent tone. “I have been told that I have bladder cancer. I knew! I knew! There was blood. I ignored it. I knew…” he said faltering in his words as he struggled to communicate the disastrous information. “I did not want to confront the issue but when I finally went for a test, my worst fears were realised.” Silence. Stillness. No words were uttered. Zoshia was dumbfounded. Her beloved Harvey. How would he cope? Her children. How would she be able to tell them?
She would cope. In her state of complete shock, Zoshia remembered how she and Hannah had managed to bury her beloved parents when she returned to Antwerp two months previously. Zoshia knew that from then on she would have to be strong for herself and her sister. How she would miss her parents, she thought. Even though they had lived in separate countries, Zoshia had known they were there if she needed them. How could they have died within two days of each other? It was as though neither one could live without the other… “Zoshia! Aren’t you going to say anything? Zoshia, oh Zoshia!” His wife could not believe that death confronted her again like an old acquaintance: it was both familiar and completely surreal. She was stunned by the ache of inevitable destruction.
As Harvey brought her back to reality, Zoshia replied, “I will help you. We will battle this together. I am just like my father. I am strong.” Harvey held her close knowing that he could rely on this caring and compassionate woman who he loved so much. Zoshia knew that from now on their lives would be controlled by the disintegration of her adoring husband. She had spent the most part of her life fighting battles but he had been cossetted in comparison. A gentle soul, she would have to take charge of him and make sure that her family were protected from the hurt that this would cause. She must not give up for the sake of her husband and her children.
Year after year, Zoshia spent a large part of her time travelling to and from the hospital to visit Harvey. In moments of remission he would be sent home and could see his children, who seemed to have become teenagers without him even noticing. Although there were some savings and their home was not mortgaged, Zoshia had to work hard to organise the household accounts. Harvey gave up his medical practice which resulted in a small income from his medical superannuation contributions. Zoshia paid for a home help because of the frequent visits to her suffering husband at the hospital. Somehow, she found the strength to support him, even though she saw her life destroyed through watching him deteriorate into a shadow of his former self. Zoshia hardly recognised this old, withered, grey haired man except for his intense green eyes which told her of his love for her in the midst of the unbearable pain he was suffering.
Harvey eventually passed away at just after midnight on the 1st January 1968 – Zoshia’s birthday. What cruel hand of fate would allow this to happen? This was a powerful blow to her, but she knew that her precious husband was at peace at last. Zoshia realised that love and death were two sides of the same coin. This gave her a kind of relief, though she was unable to externalise her grief, focussing now on her children and their sadness. She loved Harvey so much and could not bear to lose him. How could she live without the man who had meant everything to her.
After the funeral, Zoshia collapsed. She had felt the room turn and spin around as everyone was eating sandwiches, drinking tea and generally chatting. She wandered
how people could just talk in a normal manner, when her husband had gone – had left her alone. She woke up in a hospital bed surrounded by her children and her sister. Zoshia had been given tranquilisers to calm her and she left hospital feeling much better. Hannah had been very supportive which helped Zoshia to relax. She had arrived with her husband a week before Harvey’s death. On returning home, Zoshia found it difficult to physically and mentally cope with her grief. Hannah was helpful in organising the household chores and did her best to comfort the family. She had married late in life in Antwerp to Maxim Martor, a kind man who doted on his wife. This had made her a much more caring person and she adored her sister’s children. She loved to put her arms round them and comfort them when they showed sadness at their father’s death. Hayden returned to comfort the family but did not stay long, as he was not able to grapple with his brother’s family’s misery.
Zoshia wandered how she would be able to carry on. The first step was to sort out Harvey’s clothes. He had possessed a huge, brown, oak wardrobe which contained his life’s possessions. Although he had not been a materialistic man, he loved to dress smartly: always insisting on wearing a shirt and tie. When Zoshia opened the central mirrored door of his wardrobe, she at once felt her dizziness return. How often had she carefully hung up his shirts and tidied his suits? Her fingers shakily stroked the clothing. The majesty of this wardrobe had always ruled the bedroom. Each section of its compartments represented the purgatory she was in now and the paradise of the memory of her beloved Harvey. As she picked up his black spectacles, she could see his emerald eyes telling her that everything would be alright. When she discovered his stethoscope, Zoshia could no longer carry on the search and everything would need to remain in the wardrobe for a while longer. The charity would have to wait until she was ready.