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Original in German |
Volume: 430 250 signs ~ 287 A4-pages of 1 500 signs |
NOVEL: Renewal |
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Writer and Copyright: Simone Heil |
Renewal |
19.12.2014 - 27.11.2015 |
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Viola has raised her head from her sewing and looked out the window. Down in the valley the river Orb winds. Weapon noise and battle cry make her shudder. So close now. She puts the pompous dress carefully over the chair back. She could no longer concentrate on sewing. For hours, for days, for years she has been sewing in this room. Should she climb the rock face down and seek refuge in the valley? Just as she had sent her son down there four years ago? She decides to wait for the capture of Béziers in a little used room in a defunct side building of the former cathedral St. Nazaire. Here as well sewing utensils. Too uncertain the situation outside. Up here on the hill, she knows the area. She is the dressmaker and chambermaid of the mistress Marina, life companion of Patrick, the ruler of the settlement community of Béziers. Where was Lydia? Loud rumbling makes her flinch, she turns to the door, startled. Where had she been with her thoughts? The door is just entered. Two ragged men, bleeding, drawn by fights, built themselves up in front of her. - Well, who do we have here? A fine castle maid with hole in trousers. The man is beating her. Viola stumbles, tastes her blood on her lips. - Stop that Theo, could be the seamstress. - Oh what, she is too old. For months, no woman has left me some. She is alone, not a witness, only the two of us. A bit of shaking cannot hurt her. Viola looked fixedly into nothingness. In every conquest the same: rape and looting. - Why don't you go to a prostitute? - Cannot afford that. They make the prices as they want. - Rape is prohibited. You know the direction of Thomas. Every woman is asked. And here she is. Lots of sewing stuff is around here. Are you Viola, the seamstress bitch? Your type is required by the boss. - Lucky you, you're up to the boss. And when he's done with you, it's our turn! - Anger rises up into Viola, supplants for a moment the fear. - I am a seamstress. That I am a bitch, however, is new to me. Oh, no, what should that be? What had happened to her? Theo grabs her wrist hard and drags her outside. The castle was now full of men. It had to be hundreds. - Is that the seamstress bitch? Lock her somewhere. We have not heard of Thomas yet. She'd been sitting in this room for hours. Had to be in the main building to which she rarely had access. Nothing, nothing, was in here except the chair on which she was sitting. Outside stood a guard post, which accompanied her to the latrine. In the site it had become quiet. A silence, which was always interrupted by women screaming. Life has become rougher for women since the collapse of Europe in many small and large settlements in 2019. Despite differences in domestic policy, the settlements have partly joined together into city states and countries whose borders are protected by agreements, respected and also guarded. In the World Continents Council, the continents negotiate the cultural and economic coexistence of the world's population. Europe and Russia now officially form a stable continent, Eurussia which represents externally very closed and unified its interests in the world confederation of the continents. But this external unity deceives. In the interior of Eurussia there are fierce struggles for government forms within the individual countries. But every country fights for itself and does not interfere with the affairs of another country, worldwide it is so. Electricity is scarce and no longer available everywhere. Large areas of the former France are uninhabited. The settlement communities live self-sufficient, join forces and make conquests. There are different forms of government, from democracy to autocracy. Béziers had been governed autocratically by Patrick for four years. What would happen now? A dark blond woman entered, in the early forties Viola estimated. She has an oval face, a curved nose, violet-blue eyes and full lips. Laurine, she introduces herself. - I am neither your servant nor your clerk. I will accompany you and help you if necessary. The sober words were followed by a bright smile, which gave off oblique but healthy teeth. Laurine and the guard led Viola to Marina's private rooms. Sabine looked very much taken, but uninjured. Nothing remained of her arrogance. - What did they do with you?, asked Viola - Nothing, your bath is ready. Her bath, now Viola remembered Lydia , her twelve-year-old older girlfriend. Each had assisted the other in the rare bathing sessions, replaced the running faucet, kept awake memories of Europe's unity. - Where is Lydia, she asked excitedly. - Lydia is dead, killed by your own people. She did not want to sacrifice your hiding place to give you time. Viola slumped down, aged from one moment to the other by years. The news seemed too much for her, her lips quivered. She wiped her tears from her eyes. Laurine did not want Thomas to see her like that. She mingled: - You will find a new confidant. Unlike the old, but your covenant will be strong. If you are right, I will be at your service in the bath. The two women looked at each other and both knew that Laurine is that woman. Viola seemed to calm down. After the bath she looked attentively in the mirror. Her face and body are drawn, both of fine sensuality. Her big, camouflage-colored eyes lie deep and prevail against heavy eyelids. Although she is girlishly slender, her chin gives way and cannot hold the skin underneath. The upper part of her hair is gray in various nuances, the lower half of an outgrowing ash-blond. She is beautiful and yet not beautiful, old and yet not old. She turns her eyes away from herself. She is like she is. Cumbersomely, she put on a floor-length, green dress. Laurine sighed and frowned. Laurine is talking to her: - I would like to dress your hair. I'm good at this. You'll see. Yes, she saw it in the mirror. Her high-pushed hair bulged slightly and softly around her face. She looked really noble. Viola had indeed no interest to look noble for the conqueror but the hair style gives her somehow power. Laurine smiled pleased. Laurine and a guard accompanied Viola. She tapped at the door of her sewing room. The man at the window did not turn. He wore a red wool jacket and Paris-blue trousers, both carefully and well-worked. Good afternoon, she croaked roughly. Where had her voice been? Her mouth was so dry. She stopped. That was her room. Here she had waited for women and men. The man at the window turned around and came with a smile toward her. Under the open jacket was to be seen a bright blue ruffle shirt. And indeed, he has red boots with steel caps on. She could hardly see his face in the back light. She thought for a moment of Jim Morrison, the lead singer of the Doors. They walked slowly toward each other. He had that men's own casualness that Viola was searching in vain in herself or in other women. For years she had been trying unsuccessfully to investigate the causes of this male casualness. Their eyes met. He seemed to recognize something and smiled delightedly. Was it her hairstyle? But then the man frowned like Laurine. The second woman, who presents herself to me in this sack-like appearance. First Marina and now Viola, thought Thomas. Are these here Muslima under autocrats? While the robe of the one, of coarse brown jute fibre, stretched around her curves and almost seemed to bust the seams, the one of the other hung limply, greenly shimmering and let only guess her body shapes. Nevertheless, both dresses were similar, only of different fabrics, and belonged to one of the two women, Thomas was sure of that. But which one? Evidently one was wearing the dress of the other, because mistress and maid-servant wore scarcely the same clothes here. He followed Viola's gaze on his feet and looked down at hers. Her dress gently ground on the floor and gave no glimpse of ankle or shoes. Was that intention or not? He was sure she was wearing worn-out baskets and probably a pair of trousers under the chasm. He was still silent. - Good afternoon, said Viola again with a rough voice. ... ... ... |
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