Eternal Traces (Part One)

 {Is it possible to completely delete a person?

Is it possible to separate a part of yourself, leave it behind, and continue to develop independently of that part of your personality, even if it dies?

Driven into a corner by the social principles and expectations, Cynthia splits into two people, one oppressed and the other, a fugitive from a bitter life.}

(Scene from S. Dali´s movie "Un Chien Andalou"

“News, dreadful news! Read them yourself! Buy the paper!”

Ginger looked through the glass wall. The boy waving with the newspaper in his hand was walking towards the boutique where she worked. She could see the date on the front page; 13^th May 1912. She was surrounded by nice dresses, but no customers. Though Ginger didn´t usually bother herself with the news, she felt strange poking in her stomach urging her to rush outside and get a copy before the boy sells them out. Passers-by who usually ignored newspaper sellers started to gather around him. Their eyes grew as they read the “dreadful news” the boy had spoken about. Papers were passed from one pair of hands to the other, strangers exchanged terrified sighs and glances. Ginger bit her lip and hurried outside.

“Last one, miss”, the boy said, taking a seven pence from her.

The poking in her stomach made her hide from other people, just like it told her to run away so many years ago… no, the one who ran away wasn´t Ginger, it was another person, a completely different girl. She looked at the picture on the front page only after getting back inside.

Ginger spread papers in front of her.

Her fingers relaxed and the newspaper fell, unfolding like a pile of leaves on the floor.

A girl died. She committed a suicide. Her mother found the body. Her husband kept it locked in their house, the family hadn´t seen the girl for years. The reporter wrote that the husband was at first a suspect for murder, but he proved to be innocent. His wife was unstable and…

Ginger didn´t need to read further.

She changed the sign on the door to closed. She stood in front of the mirror which the customers used when trying out one of the dresses. What an irony it was, her present job, compared to the family business… yes, her family, but still not Ginger´s family…

Has she really changed so much? The newspaper seller looked at more than one front page, saw the photo of the dead girl dozens of times, and yet didn´t do as much as flinch when he gave her the papers. All those people in the street, who were appalled by the article, nobody expressed outrage when she passed them by. She pressed her cheekbones with the tips of her fingers, made circles over her cheeks. She gently touched her forehead, went through her short hair. It was ticky because of the hair spray. She pulled her nose, blinked once, twice…

She felt satisfaction because only she understands and doesn't have to share this incredible knowledge with anyone, but she also felt alone, so alone because she was left without the only person who could actually understand…

Cynthia Samson, the girl on the front page, has been dead for much longer than the reporters wrote.

1888 - 1898

Cynthia was a happy, lively child full of energy.

She was born in 1888 as the first and only child of her father, who owned a share in a spinning mill, and her mother, a good and obedient wife, always present in Cynthia's life from the earliest days. The parents loved their daughter. Cynthia hadn't even walked yet and she already had a collection of dresses, dolls, miniature tea sets, bows, everything you could give as a gift to an average little girl. When she finally stood on her feet, Cynthia's mother hired a governess. Not that she herself didn´t have enough time to bring up her daughter, but it was inappropriate for the wife of such a rich man to pay too much attention to her child. While Mrs. Limes spent an inordinate amount of time at tea parties with other ladies in the same position she found herself in, or hanging out in overpriced dressmakers' shops, Cynthia had to contend with a strict governess.

The girl didn't want anyone but her mother to take care of her. Cynthia's mother was an angel, she loved her, played with her, cuddled her. Cynthia already understood at the age of five that her mother didn't like the parties she went to, but Mister Limes forced her to attend them because of the incomprehensible "social reputation".

Cynthia made sure to drive each of her nannies to the brink of a nervous breakdown. She would run away from the house, get her socks dirty in the mud, tear off the dolls' heads and throw them at the governesses. She would eat candy before lunch, then throw up in a bowl of soup.

She was as tame as a kitten with her parents, so they didn't understand why all nannies left the workplace after a month.

"Enough. Cynth is too old for nannies anyway. Such a bright little girl needs education!" Her father said these words the day before he enrolled her in school.

Cynthia didn't want to attend school. Until then, she only hung out with girls who came to her house with their parents who were friends with Mrs. and Mr. Limes. Those kids annoyed Cynthia. They wanted to imitate grown-ups, pour unreal tea into cups and dance waltz with their heads held high. Cynthia had had enough of such games before she turned five. Hand on heart, she didn't rip off the heads of dolls just to catapult them to the hated babysitters. The death penalty simulation was more interesting to her than the tea party.

She was badly mistaken, thinking that she would find the same boring girls at school. Already during the first week, Cynthia met two students with whom she formed an opposition to the rest of the class. Judy and Zelda were wild like her. They rejected the trifling toys that adults push on girls with the same disdain as Cynthia and yearned for adventure like her.

Judy was the daughter of a successful journalist. Zelda had no parents, she was raised by her uncle, a priest. Cynthia's parents were delighted to learn that their smart daughter had made friends with more or less respectable backgrounds.

Although Zelda and Judy weren't top students like Cynthia, who passed her first year with the highest honours, they were on the same level when it came to pranks and fun. Zelda came up with the idea that instead of being executed, they should sacrifice dolls. Judy kept suggesting they race and play with ball. They talked about everything, there were no secrets between them, and the most important to them were the pieces of information they'd learn from their parents. This was secret information that parents don't share with little girls. To them it was more valuable than gold.

"The suffragettes are giving my father trouble," Cynthia boasted.

"Supra..."

"Suffragettes," Zelda finished for confused Judy, "women who want to be men."

"They don't want that!", Cynthia said and folded her arms importantly like her mother when she reprimanded servant. "They want the right to vote."

"What is that?"

"Oh, Judy, you're so silly! That's…" Actually, Cynthia wasn't sure either. The scattered bits of conversation she had overheard eavesdropping on her father and his guests came together in her mind. Yes, Cynthia was a smart girl, and what she didn't learn from others, she was able to figure out for herself. "That's what makes men more important than women. You know, the right to decide. They decide who goes to war, who runs the country..."

"They choose a king?"

Judy burst out laughing. "No, Zelda, that's hereditary!"

"They elect members of parliament." They all nodded wisely, as if they understood the role of parliament.

"I want the right to vote too," said Judy.

"Is that smart? Cynth says these women cause trouble . . ."

"Yes, but that's because my father doesn't give them as much money as they need to buy food, and these women have children too, you know? I think they have a right. I don't know why my father won't help them. I´d like to vote, too."

"It's a matter of principle."

Judy and Cynthia looked at Zelda in confusion.

Zelda shrugged. "That's what my uncle once said when a guy in the church asked him why he wanted to restore the chapel when the old one was perfectly fine. He said that another priest in his church had new gilding on the chapel, so it was a matter of principle. That's why mass attendands must pay him for. For the chapel. Principle."

They wisely nodded once again in an agreement.

1900

Zelda has disappeared from school.

Judy's mother met her uncle. The priest told her Zelda had started behaving rudely. She doesn't pray as much as she should, she doesn't do housework, she reads books that he forbade her. Because of this, he decided to educate her himself, as is appropriate for a lady. Outside, in the world, at school, his niece fell under a bad influence. That's why she's developing into a brat.

"Nonsense!" protested Cynthia. "We're not a bad influence. What's that old man up to?"

But Judy just kept silent and fingered the fingers of one hand over the other. Lately, she was often silent and visited Cynthia less and less.

They hadn't seen Zelda for a long time, until the horrible incident. The atmosphere at school that day was tense. Judy and Cynthia had no idea what was going on until a little girl whispered to them, "That friend of yours, Zelda? She was here. She's been fussing, swearing at her uncle, and assuring the teachers that she´s not allowed to leave her house, and if she tries anything her uncle doesn´t like, he locks her in a cold, empty church and makes her kneel on the icy floor. If she resists, he beats her. She showed us the bruises on her hands and knees. Then her uncle appeared. He was so polite, he tried to comfort and calm her down, but she persistently ran away and screamed. He apologized to the teachers and explained Zelda was sick. Finally, they managed to catch her and take her away."

Zelda's friends were stunned. They didn't doubt the truth of Zelda's accusations. She never liked her uncle. Even while she was still attending school, she used to confide in them that her uncle had slapped her on the arm because she fell asleep before praying or because she mispronounced a Latin word.

Cynthia begged her parents to visit Zelda.

Her mother was staring sadly at the cup of tea on the table. She offered her daughter some cakes, as if the treats would get the idea out of her head, but Cynthia didn't even look at the tray. "Honey, this is all awful, but what would people think if we went knocking on a priest's door and demanded that our twelve-year-old daughter speak to his ward who is... er..."

"What? Sick? If Zelda really is sick, she could use some company."

"We're sorry, honey," her father said in a deep, serious tone she'd only heard when she eavesdropped on his meetings. "That is out of the question, we have to consider social reputation."

"Social reputation". That mystical concept again, the muzzle and leash that keeps them all at a distance from the fulfillment of their sincere wishes.

Months later, Judy admitted to Cynthia that she had known for some time Zelda was no longer living with her uncle. "I didn't tell you because I was afraid you'd do something stupid, but now it's old news. Uncle sent her to a correctional facility. Bad kids are taught there how to be good."

"Was Zelda bad? What did she do?"

Judy shrugged. "She didn't do what they told her to do."

1901. - 1904.

Judy and Cynthia remained like a bird with stunted wings. Without Zelda, their friendship was crippled. They had a hard time talking. The duo outgrow the games they enjoyed as a trio.

Judy first fell in love when she was fourteen. Cynthia wasn't interested in boys. She loved to ride bikes and enjoyed it when local guys would stare at her ankles with open mouths. She liked to stick her tongue out at them and run away giggling, but she never saw these boys as potential lovers. Judy read too many romance novels. Her mother lived trapped in a romantic story that Judy's father, eternally busy, never gave her. She fantasized about the future with her daughter. Judy will have a loving, wealthy husband who will take her to dances and buy her beautiful jewellery. Judy will bear beautiful children to that fantastic man and they'll all live happily in a big house.

Judy's ideas about the future made Cynthia sick. From their first conversation about the suffragettes, she remained true to her decision; she wanted to be like them. She wanted the right to vote, which she understood much better at fourteen than at ten, she wanted to do whatever she wanted, and at that point she wanted to become a botanist. As an excellent student, this would not be a problem for her.

"And you would constantly dig in the mud, mong those plants, and smell the stench of wet earth?"

"Judy, that's a wonderful smell! That's what nature smells like!"

But Judy was no longer enthusiastic about such trifles. When they were walking in the park and Cynthia would impulsively decide to climb a tree to see if there were birds waiting in the nest on the branch, Judy would watch her from below, hiding her face with a lace parasol. Cynthia didn't mind getting her dress dirty if it was a necessary sacrifice to go to the library on rainy days, but Judy spent those periods indoors, doing manual labour.

"I'm giving up school," Judy said before the summer started.

Cynthia choked. She was just eating a sandwich that she had prepared herself at home. Judy only ate regular-cut, cucumber-and-egg sandwiches, and only if they were made by a real cook. "But, Judy, why? How are you going to get into college without school?"

"Cynth, stop! You know nothing will ever come of it. You should change your priorities too, but I know you won't, so I wish you luck and..." She didn't say anything more. She ran, not quite as gracefully as she had been running for the past year, and left Cynthia with a sauce from sandwich dripping on her dress and a bicycle by the bench.

Every evening, Cynthia sat by the window, with a kerosene lamp illuminating the blank paper she filled with her thoughts or the book from which she drew other people's thoughts. After school, she roamed the streets, aimlessly, in search of something exciting. It wasn't the same without Judy and Zelda.

She observed her reflection in the mirror. She had long eyelashes, curly blond hair. A straw hat with a blue bow, a white dress with a flower pattern. The corset bothered her, but she got used to the tightness of the wires against her skin like all the other girls who have been wearing it since the age of twelve. She couldn't recognize the person whose reflection she was facing. She was no longer the cheerful little girl that her parents love, a mischievous child who has two genius friends, a smart student who often changes her wish about what she wants to become when she grows up. No, she didn't recognize herself.

That was the first time she wanted to become someone completely different. To take off the skin, pull out the hair and dig out the eyes, replace them with orbs that have not seen anything yet, children's eyes, innocent eyes. Reshape herself like a clay.

“Cynthia, guess what!” her mother exclaimed. She entered her room unannounced. Cynthia was staring out the window lost in thoughts. Earlier that day, a group of women marched past her school with pamphlets. She saw these mysterious suffragettes live for the first time. She thought about them constantly. Why are they trying so hard when the public keeps stepping on them, what do they want to achieve? "Today I heard extraordinary news. Judy got married!"

Cynthia almost fell off the bench and onto the floor. She wanted to fall and let the floor absorb her as if she were water.

Judy spent many months with relatives in the north. Cynthia sent her at least five letters, but received only one, very brief reply. "I'm fine. My cousins teach me wonderful things they don't teach us at school. At least not at our school. Your school." It was as if she was judging her for still attending school! "How to be a lady. Run a household. Be a woman."

"Judy's mother told me they found her a wonderful man, and he's only eleven years her senior!"

Judy's birthday was two months and three days ago. Cynthia remembered both her and Zelda's birthdays. She lost one friend a long time ago, while the other was just running away from her, slowly but with great strides. Sixteen years. Which means her new husband is twenty-seven. Is he as handsome and kind and generous as Judy imagined him to be? Will Judy be happy, content, with a bunch of little kids to take care of while she can still be considered a child herself? No female relatives can teach a sixteen-year-old how to be a woman.

"They bought a big house." So that part of the dream came true. "We should visit them!" Cynthia was still staring out the window. A man eleven years older. Eleven. Years. "Cynth, what's wrong, you're sad? Ah, I know." The mother put her hand on her daughter's arm and rubbed it. Cynthia looked at her, looked at her attentive eyes through the tears. "I know, Cynth, honey, I know it's hard, but don't worry. You'll find someone soon too! Look how beautiful, good, smart you are! Listen, maybe it's time for you to go on a trip too. Your father doesn't want you to leave school, but if we suggest it to him together, he will oblige us. You can go to my aunt in France. Imagine! Judy didn't go that far, but you can."

You. Who was that, again? The word resounded in her ears. Ah, yes she remembered, she was this woman´s daughter. Cynthia would like to go to France.

"Yes, I´d like that."

"Good. Do you want us to tell him right now that it's over with this nonsense at school?"

Cynthia quickly shook her head and withdrew her hand. She was confused, so she didn't immediately understand her mother's whole speech. She, jealous of Judy? Sad because she herself is not married? No, no, she certainly didn't regret that she didn't have the same future as her friend.

"No, mum, there's no way I'm dropping out of school!" Mrs. Limes cocked her head in confusion, as if her daughter had transformed into an exotic bird of unknown colour. "I want to travel, but not to prepare for being somebody´s wife!"

"So what do you want?" Her mother raised and lowered her hands nervously. She was angry. She had never been mad at Cynthia before.

Why did they send Zelda to a correctional facility? She didn't do what they wanted her to do.

"To explore. Consider options."

Her mother measured her. "All options?"

Cynthia swallowed. She didn´t want to be sent to some kind of reformatory. "Yes, of course, Mom. All of them."

TO BE CONTINUED

Submitted: 1st March 2023

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