Old Blood - A Novella (Experiment in Terror #5.5) Read online

  That all changed when we decided to go for a walk after school to discuss the play. We stayed clear of the woods as we usually did and strolled along the edge of the lake until our path turned upward into rolling hills of rye that waved in the breeze.

  It was October and very cold but the sun was strong and heated my skin that wasn’t wrapped in shawls and wool. The sky was as wide as a dome with that surreal blue that contrasted with yellow fields, just like the country’s flag.

  “Pippa,” Stäva said, his voice low and his brow knotted. I stopped and looked at him, not used to seeing him look so grave.

  He reached out for my hand and grasped it tightly. My mouth opened and a tiny “oh” came out, though I wasn’t really sure what was going on. Were we rehearsing?

  “We have to be young lovers,” Stäva continued. I nodded. His eyes were filled with fear and something else I had never seen before. I had never seen lust on a man. It was so very different from the big doe-eyes the girls would give him.

  “Yes. For the play,” I told him.

  His eyes narrowed slightly but were tempered by a lazy smile. “Yes, for the play.”

  “Are you nervous?” I asked. I suddenly was. My eyes dropped from his strange expression and focused on his long fingers curling around my own.

  “Very,” he whispered. I still didn’t look up. The dynamic between us, between best friends who shared everything and were as comfortable around each other as worn socks, had changed. I didn’t like to feel nervous because of Stäva and I didn’t want him to be nervous because of me.

  “We can act. We are actors,” I said quietly. I took my eyes away from our hands and looked at the yellow grass at my feet.

  “We don’t have to,” he said and he took his other hand under my chin and tipped it up so I was forced to meet his eyes. Before I could process what was happening, his lips were on mine. It wasn’t easy – it was both our first kiss. Our teeth knocked against each other and his nose pressed uncomfortably against my cheek.

  I wish I could say that the kisses improved after that. They didn’t. But I had figured that was the way things were. I had no frame of reference, after all. Oh, I didn’t mind when Stäva kissed me or touched me but I didn’t feel the way he felt. I didn’t have the girly deer eyes and I didn’t have that lustful look that was always on his face.

  Nor did I feel anything the first time we made love. I say made love because I truly did love Stäva with all my heart, but it was a different kind of love. It was more brotherly than anything else. Though sex had been ingrained my head as morally wrong by my father, I broke the rules and decided to bed Stäva in his hayloft one balmy summer night. I hoped by doing so, the way I felt about him would change, that I would awaken some sexual being in my 17-year old soul.

  All it ended up doing was awakening my fertility.

  I ended up pregnant.

  I figured it out after missing my monthly red visit and being sick for days on end. I didn’t tell my parents, knowing how they’d feel about it. I didn’t tell Stäva either. I knew there would be no point.

  Children were something that I eventually wanted. But there were so many more things I wanted before then. I wanted to live. I wanted to spread my wings and get out of this small, dead place. I wanted to move to Stockholm and experience the city life. I wanted to take my acting and apply to somewhere that counted; not a tiny school but a theatre with paying patrons and lavish seating. I wanted that life first. Then I would work on what was expected of me. It’s not that I didn’t want to fall in love and start a family. I just wanted the choice of when.

  If I told Stäva I was pregnant, he would make me go through with it and I loved him enough to do so. He already talked about us getting married. If I wanted that life, being a farmer’s wife in a small town, maybe doing the occasional play in between pregnancies, then I would have been thrilled. Any girl would be so lucky to have Stäva as a husband and the father of their children. But I wasn’t any girl. Far, far from it.

  I got rid of the seed inside me by paying a visit to the local witch. This sounds fantastic, I know, but there is no way to describe her. Some said she was just the local whore, others said she made potions and powders when she practiced witchcraft, others said she was a holistic, natural doctor. All I knew was that she lived alone in a cottage in the high woods, where tall trees climbed upward into rocky outcrops and that no one said her name in public. They just called her “häxa” or The Witch.

  There was a single dirt path that led the way, the age-old grooves in the dirt from hundreds of years of horse and donkey-drawn carts. I was frightened to death of going to see her but the prospect of having a child and being tied to the town was even more frightening.

  The woman’s name was actually Maria and even though she was intimidating with her wild white hair and rough mannerisms, she was rather nice. She made me up a tonic to put into tea, a combination of local sage, leaves and other herbs. She warned me against the pain and the bleeding but didn’t pass any judgment on me for asking for it. It was like she understood where I was coming from and an expression of pride passed through her tired eyes when I told her my plans for the future. I was glad my secret was safe with her and hers – that she probably was a whore, judging by the man who came knocking on her door while I was there – was safe with me.

  The next month was a blur. I passed the seed in the lake on a clear evening. The sun had just gone down enough past midnight that no one would see me if they were looking. I didn’t like the idea of being in the water still, but as soon as the bleeding became nonstop, I felt it was the cleanest choice. I was afraid of what the smell of all that blood would attract from deep inside the woods. I suffered through the pain I deserved.

  After that, it was time to go back to school. I had other plans. The abortion ravaged me with guilt daily and the longer I stayed where I was, living with my parents, going to school, going steady with Stäva, the more I felt guilty for what I had done. If I was going to go through such a selfish event, I had better follow through with my reasoning. Otherwise what was the point?

  And so I dropped out of school just as we came into the last year and decided to head to Stockholm to pursue my dream. Maybe then the guilt would stop clawing at me.

  My decision came as a shock to everyone I knew. Stäva wouldn’t come with me and didn’t understand how I could leave him. Neither did any of my classmates or teachers – to them, we were the perfect couple. My parents were livid. They told me that if I left I would not have a home to come back to when I returned. In other words, they disowned me. I expected as much from my father and didn’t really care what he thought but my mother’s actions surprised me. I suppose she was so hurt that I would leave them that I didn’t deserve to be her daughter. I am still not sure if that’s true or not. On good days I think my mother was wrong to shun me like that. On bad days, I couldn’t really blame her. At least it prepared me for a pattern that would endure for the rest of my life. Looking back, I wonder where my “karma” began to fester. Was it when I had the abortion? Or was it when I selfishly abandoned my only love and family?

  I left the place of my childhood with nothing on my back but a small sack full of belongings. I can still tell you what was in there: Two dresses, one fancier than the other. A tube of red lipstick for “acting” purposes. A clip for my hair. My nightgown, corset, stockings and two pairs of bloomers. A copy of Dante’s Inferno in English to help my language skills (I nicked it from the school library). A tiny notebook and pencil. A handful of licorice.

  I didn’t have any money and was planning to hitch rides to the big city, but Stäva surprised me and borrowed his father’s car to drive me to nearest train station. It was about an hour away and together we had our last ride together. He didn’t say much to me but I could see how I was breaking his poor heart. It absolutely tore me up inside and I when he hugged me goodbye – slipping a wad of kronas in my pocket for the train and a few nights in a hotel – I broke down in tears. As emotional as
I was on the inside, my steely reserve finally collapsed and in his arms.

  “I don’t understand you,” he whispered into my ear as I choked back the tears that wouldn’t stop coming. “But I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  And with that ringing in my ears, I got on the train and left my old life behind for good.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  In some ways, I did find what I was looking for. When I arrived in Stockholm two days later, dirty and tired, I was immediately enthralled by the big city. There was a pulse here with bright buildings as high as I’ve ever seen them and so many people it was like I was swimming in a sea of them. Speaking of the sea, the water stretched onward dotted by hundreds of tiny islands. This wasn’t a lake but a moving and breathing sea that stretched to faraway lands. It was a gorgeous and bustling metropolis to this country girl and I probably stood on the streets for hours, just gazing at everyone and everything.

  Eventually I had to fix myself up, eat and sleep so I found a nearby boarding house by enquiring into local shops. It took a few tries and a lot of my patience until I found one that was willing to take me in. The war was going on and though Sweden was a neutral country, there was a surplus of people from Norway, Denmark and Finland hiding out in Stockholm until the war was over.

  The place I ended up finding was a bit run-down but it was for women only, and that made me feel safe. No one was very talkative and they kept to themselves, but the owner helped me with finding a job. I worked as a maid at the house for two weeks, my work for my keep in return, before I found my dream job – or the closest thing to it.

  A community theatre had an opening for an “all hands” type woman. They wanted someone with experience in the theatre, particularly in either makeup or wardrobe, and who would also be able to clean-up the theatre after the performances and rehearsals.

  As you can imagine, I jumped at that listing. At school, I had done the makeup for the plays as well, and though I didn’t have experience with wardrobe, I knew I had a flair for it regardless. In my mind, I was perfect for the job and I was determined to get it.

  The theatre was downtown but near a rather derelict area. I was scared out of my wits going there to meet the manager, just as I had been when I met with Maria in the woods. In my town, I was never leered at by strange men, I never had vagabonds shout rude words at me. Part of me wondered if it was some kind of test that I’d have to go through, to see if I wanted this life badly enough.

  By the time I made it to the theatre, I was a pile of nerves. It didn’t look like much from the outside, just a grey stone building with chipped pillars and slippery steps, and I started to think if I had perhaps made a mistake.

  But the door flung open and a rush of warm light bathed me from the inside. Before me stood Lisbeth, the theatre manager. She was taller than I and in her late thirties, wearing men’s trousers and a short, curled do. Her lips were smeared with red lipstick that matched my own (later we would simultaneously compliment each other on it) and a smile that lifted my weary heart.

  “You must be Pippa,” she said, holding out her hand.

  I nodded, feeling shy for the first time in a while and shook her hand back. Hers was strong and vibrant.

  She ushered me into the building and it was then that I knew I had passed the test. I was meant to come here.

  Though falling apart on the outside, inside the theatre was opulent in a museum-type way. The halls had plush, dark green carpeting, creaky chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and tapestry paintings of classic performances and plays, from Roman theatre to Shakespeare, hung from the walls, competing for space with fading posters of shows long past. There was a staircase leading to the balcony level that had gold-glazed railings, that even though they were old and chipped, still gleamed like the heavens. The theater itself had rows of velvet and gold-trimmed seats in a deep, wood brown.

  Then there was the stage. It wasn’t a big theatre but it was big enough for me. The red curtains were embroidered with metallic swirls and hung from the edges of the stage while ornate fixtures framed it from above. The stage was a worn wood that had seen decades of dancing feet. I immediately saw myself up there too, receiving red roses that were chucked from the crowd.

  At that moment I knew I’d do anything to get the position but as fate would have it, I didn’t have to. I guess Lisbeth liked me or saw potential in me or perhaps took pity on me, but I was more or less hired on the spot. I would be starting in two days and would be in charge of makeup, wardrobe and cleaning on performance and rehearsal nights. I would also attend any cast and crew meetings that she would arrange. The pay wasn’t very much considering some days I’d be working every night and others I’d barley be working, but it was something and I would have been a fool to turn it down.

  My luck improved later that night when one of the main actresses, Anne Todalen, made an appearance.

  Anne was 22-years old and had been acting with the company since she was my age. She told me she finally worked her way up and this was the first year she was a featured player. She also told me that she was looking for a new roommate. Anne was renting a small apartment not far from my boarding house and said her previous roommate got married, leaving her unable to take care of the rent on her own. I assured her that I wouldn’t be getting married anytime soon.

  “Sure, but look at you,” Anne said to me after we said our goodbyes to Lisbeth. “You’re beautiful. Once our actors get a glance at you, they’ll all be fighting for your hand.”

  I laughed and blushed at the compliment as we made our way out of the theatre and into the September night. Being with Anne made me feel safe in the seedy area and what she had said tickled my fancy. Perhaps I would finally meet a man who I’d love in more than one way.

  Anne wasn’t bad-looking herself. She had a face and body that was made for performing. She was tall and not reed thin, which was good for being seen on stage. She had a pretty face with a wide mouth and nose that was slightly too large, but paired with her sparkling eyes and high cheekbones, her parts created a sum that was just as intoxicating as her personality.

  The next day I moved out of the boarding house and settled into a place that would become my home for the next five years.

  Anne’s apartment was on the top floor of a white-washed building which was a real drag when you came home from shows absolutely exhausted but it was a place I loved to pieces. It was a tiny one-bedroom apartment with a shoebox bathroom and a balcony that only fit two chairs and no table. Some of my best memories were sitting on that tiny space during the summer and smoking cigarettes over beer and vodka as Anne and I watched the city wind down from another long day.

  Because Anne had the bedroom to herself, I got the sofa in the living room. These were pre-Ikea times but us Swedes still knew about the “futon” before the rest of the world. It was comfortable enough and though I lacked privacy, I didn’t have to pay as much in rent. My salary barely allowed me to live as it was but Anne was paid more and was always generous with her budget. She would often cook on the days we had off and would make too much, so I had no choice but to help eat it. I knew she did this on purpose, so I didn’t feel bad about her charity, but the food was so good that I didn’t care. Besides, I knew it made her feel good to do things for me. Like me, she didn’t have the best upbringing either and we both leaned on each to replace that.

  At first my job was extremely nerve-wracking. Back in the country, I never had a problem being loud and outspoken but in the theatre, I was in constant awe of everyone around me and constantly aware of how I didn’t measure up. From Anne, Marianne and Henri, to Frederick, our star player, to the supporting cast of Paula, Johanne, Vala and Peter, each actor was larger than life.

  It should be noted that not everyone was as lovely as Anne, either. Frederick was a menace to me and to everyone around him. He was relatively famous in Sweden for his good “dark” looks (though to be honest, I think he resembled a monkey in a tuxedo) and over-the-top acting style and he ne
ver let anyone forget it, especially someone like me, who, as a cleaner was the lowest of the low. Every time I would do his makeup before a performance he’d ask if I had washed my hands and even when I said yes, he would make some comment on how no dirty housekeeper should be allowed to touch his face.

  I wanted to slap him in his ape face, but of course I never did. I held in my feelings and harsh words and dealt with it. And with time I began to see how he would grate on everyone else’s nerves. He once refused a kissing scene with Anne because she smelled of herring. The remark was ridiculous because everyone in Sweden smells like herring.

  Eventually though, my work got better as I settled into the role. I became less nervous about putting makeup on the actors and after a while, when we branched out onto more fantastical plays, I was able to do some really creative artwork with my makeup. Clowns, fairies, witches, starlets – I was able to do a range of looks from just my own imagination. The clothes became more interesting too and I quickly taught myself how to sew in my spare time. Before I knew it, I was making clothes for the cast - as well as myself. Another way your frugal Pippa was able to pinch pennies.

  It was as my career was getting more fluid and comfortable though, that other parts of my life were getting…strange.

  One night I was cleaning up after a performance. It had been a particularly tiring night with everything going wrong. The stage scenery had fallen during a scene, Paula fell and hurt her ankle during a dance routine and had to be replaced by Anne’s understudy. There was a snowstorm outside and only half the theatre was full. By the time everyone was done, they just wanted to go home. I told Anne to go on right ahead and not wait for me. She was exhausted from performing five days in a row and in pain and I had at least an hour of cleaning up to do. I told her I’d take a cab home, a necessary expense sometimes and especially when the weather was foul.