Understanding Maud Thornton
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Maud Thornton was thinking about John Wilson again. John was a rude giant with dirty warts and ugly toes.
Maud walked over to the window and reflected on her noisy surroundings. She had always loved hilly Moscow with its valid, vivacious volcanoes. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel barmy.
Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the rude figure of John Wilson. The big man was walking very slowly along an embankment; his white clothes flapped against him as he moved, suggesting some sort of insect about to hatch forth from one side of his body and settle firmly upon another. A butterfly.
But why should it be walking at such speed? What could cause this enormous insect’s feet to move so swiftly in their own clockwork way… Maud went out into the street and peered through gaps in people’s coats at John Wilson’s bottom end as he came down towards her building.
Then the whole thing changed! Her reflection wavered, then shrank until she was looking through the wall across the courtyard where Peter Stoyanov was watering his plants.
His naked shoulders made the white pegs he wore appear as sticks for fishing fish out of water. And the dusty dry leaves were gone – replaced by tall stalks waving vigorously under hot wind which snatched them all up like colored skirts…
Maud leaned back against the brick-laid wall beside her apartment house and took great care not to blink any more than absolutely necessary while examining Peter’s waistcoat buttons. No doubt they really were useful, but why did you have to keep staring at them? They seemed far too numerous for practical use…
There were lots of trees near her: elm, ash After them flew small boat linden. These had been planted early last century to decorate the city. Their foliage hung lower now after summer frosts had withered their branches. Ally when struck by the heat and steam coming off the boats’ engines.
Down there were some men standing on the beach near the railway lines, shouting and laughing loudly together before setting sail towards the ripples in the lake that represented the Baltic Sea. One of these was John Wilson who was wearing shorts again today.
At his hip rode a revolver with a long silvery barrel which seemed quite heavy in his hand. What terrible powers this weapon must possess, thought Maud! Certainly, it wasn’t good enough for John… She looked straight into his face and felt so miserable that she might well burst open. At that moment John began running down the hill past the little houses.
He threw himself suddenly to the ground near the line of trees. His gunshot off a few times, but missed its mark each time. The sound of the shots ran through Maud like an electric current: no sooner did the first report reach her ears than another followed immediately afterward at exactly the same pitch, like two whistles rung simultaneously inside her head.
That noise sounded for the whole world as if all those little pebbles clumping over the rocks below were rushing along in pursuit of each other. Now the laughter in the park carried to her through the air – although the men hadn’t noticed yet the horror rising above the embankments on top of the bridge… Something else was happening there, too!
This woman whose hair hung down in tumbled ringlets behind her head was watching everything carefully. Her eyes narrowed and a sinister smile rose between her lips… With an effort, Maud looked away. Suddenly there was the sharp crackling of twigs being snapped beneath barefoot feet – several pairs of shoes hurried round the corner into a small green park… and John Wilson got up again.
His head was balding and his brown face wrinkled now; on his mouth grew a mustache and beard bristled from his chin. For many years John Wilson had worn a uniform decorated with badges of bravery that had come to him as war honors from the civil administration: all of them had been conferred on him following battles against forest fires during the terrible summers of 1944–1945. Once every year for twenty years John had worked hard clearing woodland in order to prevent such conflagrations from breaking out again.
Apart from this job he also collected used cooking oil from homes around the city, filtering it and taking it to the refinery to burn. Wherever there had once stood buildings filled with human beings he would plant flowers instead, or build roads.
If the poor starved anywhere nearby, he set up soup kitchens for them. Every morning he cut his hair short before going to work because it bothered him, and once a week he visited a beauty parlor. When his old, small boat stopped working correctly and sank into the river, he ordered a new one made from scratch within five days.
A lot of this information, as usual, did not mean much to Maud herself, since she knew almost nothing about anyone except her mother. But when the beautiful red-haired stranger spoke to him, and she smiled sweetly into his eyes, that kind man changed completely and became strong, brave, and intelligent once more.
She wanted John to do something difficult for her then: ‘Help me with my homework,’ she said, pleading. He went to the teacher’s room without hesitation and helped the girls there with their arithmetic lessons.
And at home, he took care of both their daughters equally well, whether they belonged to the fairer sex or the masculine sort. A splendid father, thought Maud, remembering the only time in her life when she’d ever seen one. Not everyone could find one so readily, even though it really was necessary.
In this way I should be grateful, she told herself, trying hard to feel better. Then she remembered a letter written to her parents recently. It came from a university professor living in Stockholm. Now retired, he had spent part of his academic career looking into how people related to birds, in particular swallows, martins, and hummingbirds, for they’re the most popular amongst ornithologists.
Writing on behalf of her deceased husband the doctor Hans Gruber, who was probably murdered in connection with his studies of tropical diseases, the good lady Lotte explained what kind of problems her daughter had experienced in the family.
From birth, Maud had been greatly attached to the bird’s nest hanging from the eaves outside her window, where a pair of robins nested each springtime. Even when she lay in bed pretending to be dead during her illness and woke up feeling sad, it didn’t matter if it happened twice a month; at those times it always cheered her up to see the two adults making the strange twittering sound that these birds make while raising three young ones that were fed by regurgitated food brought to them first hand.
Because they never left the house to collect worms, insects, and caterpillars themselves, they must have quite an unglamorous existence compared with our own, thought Maud, smiling happily.
Sometimes a little dark crow appeared briefly in the yard but quickly flew off again – just like many humans today who would rather pretend they don’t exist than spend a moment’s energy on things that seem unduly difficult and complicated to them. However, her pleasant thoughts broke down when Mrs. Wilson repeated one phrase very carefully. ‘Your name is Maud…’ she mused.
One thing, at least, still concerned Maud. Ever since her childhood, she had wondered why there was no one in the entire world called the same as hers. The youngest child in the whole community certainly wasn’t the only one in the district named after Mary or Martha, a fact which astonished her somewhat.
Nothing to worry about, though, since one day she’d have to travel far away and settle in some unknown town in another country. (The thought of leaving England didn’t help her sleep either.)
Many other names were unusual too. Besides the strange titles which were common in certain families in the north of Scotland and the northern parts of Ireland, you found the nickname David on practically every street corner, as well as other biblical words such as John and Paul in their hundreds.
All of these seemed oddly familiar somehow. Wasn’t that type of human nature? It just happens to me too, thought Maud bitterly. Perhaps she should become interested in such matters later, along with everything else. Just now she felt too upset and confused to think straight.
***
On Wednesday afternoon Hannah visited Euphemia Banks at the hospital where she spent several hours being treated. Her body looked emaciated, her hands trembled constantly, and when she opened her lips to speak it was obvious to see they lacked saliva.
That very evening Hannah learned through the official channels about the death of Dora. By all accounts, it happened in a way that suggested suicide. Euphemia, however, refused to believe it. Dora must have died because she hadn’t yet received enough medication or proper treatment.
Who knows what might happen next? As soon as possible Hannah needed to report the tragic event and ask for directions.
At home, the three of them spent nearly eight hours discussing various possibilities. Faint hope remained high, whereas pessimism steadily retreated from their minds as they continued to mull over details. After midnight they finally fell asleep exhausted, only waking up long before dawn to start again. On Thursday morning they had more visitors: Mrs. Krasovskaya and Elena.
In contrast to the previous time, both women appeared calm, although neither could hide the disconcerted looks which would occasionally flit across their faces whenever somebody spoke to them.
They carried bundles full of documents that simply couldn’t wait any longer, not even today when everybody was trying to relax by playing games outside. Maud observed carefully but noticed little detail while Elza distracted herself with pieces of paper covered in childish doodles. I’m afraid there are more surprises waiting for us this summer, she mused bitterly.
An hour passed quickly and the end arrived much faster than expected; everybody began packing up quietly, not wishing to wake anyone up. An early lunch soon followed and they set off to return home without delay.
It turned out to be rather difficult – quite literally. Not once did they encounter any vehicles at a junction or an intersection, so they were forced to walk halfway around town until finally, they saw the main road running between fields. Along here it was impossible to find anything resembling civilization.
Although the air became progressively fresher and greener with every step, they continued trudging along narrow paths alongside freshly plowed fields filled with heaps of fresh earth, marking the outlines of abandoned farms.
There isn’t really any chance we’ll get home in time. There’s absolutely nothing going wrong for anybody except ourselves. Their mood worsened with every passing minute, and even Eliza started feeling claustrophobic. Finally, about two o’clock in the afternoon, when they thought they wouldn’t make it in time, their eyes spotted something ahead of them: a little house standing alone among rows of wheat, completely devoid of all its windows.
We’re saved! The first rays of the sun shone through the clouds on top of the tall white walls surrounding the property, turning the shaded path into broad green stripes of light which seemed to lead directly towards them, as if carried upwards on a soft breeze.