Tremble (28 page)

“You must have heard something?”

“It was over ninety years ago. I tell you, I can’t remember!” His face closed over and she could tell that he was lying.

For a week she drank the tea every morning before dawn. Its flavor was what she imagined horse piss might taste like and the only effect it seemed to have was diuretic. As the days passed Clarissa waited anxiously for her period to appear, but nothing happened except that she continued to gain weight.

Her distress did not go unnoticed. One morning the nun woke to find the abbess perched on her bed. She was so frail that she seemed to float above the sheets.

“You have lost your faith,” the abbess said softly. Clarissa looked at her in surprise.

“Your Mother Superior told me all about it.”

“I don’t know, I’m not sure what I feel anymore.” She turned away in embarrassment, unable to hold the abbess’s gaze.

“We have a retreat, a special place where the sisters may go for periods of solitude. I have been there myself. It is a cave by the sea.”

On reading the expression of dismay on Clarissa’s face the abbess smiled. “Oh, it’s not that bad! It’s fully equipped with electricity. It is a beautiful place to be alone and reflect. You are at one with the elements. It’s magical—trust me, I know. Anyway, I’m giving you no choice; my driver will take you there tomorrow.”

She exited in a cloud of lavender water and flurry of pale blue skirts.

Clarissa climbed out of the car and helped unload her bags—two suitcases, one full of books, the other clothes—and a tray of potted seedlings. They were some herbs and several bulbs she had planted to remind herself of Australia.

The retired soldier who chauffeured for the convent peered at the sea and the rocks then back at the Australian woman.

“You gonna be all right?” he asked gruffly in broken English, thinking she was too pretty to be a nun.

Clarissa looked at the mouth of the cave. It had a yellow door neatly built into the stone wall. Wild lavender, thyme, and fennel grew down the side of the cave and onto the grassy outcrop in front of it. A small cove fringed with spotless white sand lay below. It had rock pools into which the sea crashed.

“We Australians are survivors,” she said and smiled.

He grunted and insisted on showing her where the nuns kept a lobster pot in the ocean, explaining how she should pull it up once a week to either eat or free the unfortunate crustacean inside. There was also an oyster bed, mussels that could be picked off the rocks, wild onions and garlic growing farther up the grassy slope and a lone peach tree planted by a nun two hundred years before. Although Clarissa had brought plenty of supplies the driver was still reluctant to leave her alone in this remote spot.

“Here,” he said, holding out a mobile phone, “this is for you to use in an emergency. The Mother Superior said you should keep it with you at all times.”

“No, thank you. I don’t think I want the temptation of talking to people.”

The driver ignored her and pushed it into her hand.

“You take it, if you don’t I lose my job. I have been told to collect you in four weeks.”

Shaking his head he walked back to the car. All English are pig-headed but the colonial English are most pig-headed, he thought as he carefully maneuvered the ancient Jaguar back up the grassy slope.

Clarissa slipped off her sandals and walked down to the beach. The soft grass felt delicious under her feet. She reached the sand, stripped off, and waded into the shallows naked. She lay down and allowed the gently lapping sea to roll over her body, lifting her up with every wave. For the first time in her life she felt safe, as if her physical self was melting into the water, extending like a thin film that stretched over the surface of the sea, then the oceans, then over the very skin of the world itself. Total safety, total surrender. Perhaps it is Nature that is divine; the thought curled at the edge of her mind like a whisper, almost indiscernible from the scented breeze that carried across from the beach, brushing against her closed eyelashes and cheeks.

It was later, after a simple meal of fresh crab, bread, and salad, that she noticed the tray of seedlings. They had grown at an extraordinary
rate—the basil, which had barely been visible, was now six or seven inches tall and covered in leaves. Even the bulbs had shot up, several bearing buds just about to burst into bloom.

“It’s not possible,” Clarissa said out loud; she’d only planted them the day before. Could she be mistaken? No, there was no way—she’d planted the seedlings herself, using the dry scrubby soil she’d scooped out from the convent grounds. She couldn’t imagine that thin earth being particularly fertile. So why were the plants growing at such a phenomenal rate?

As she walked back to the kitchen table she became aware of how heavy her body felt. She stood up and lifted her smock, running her hands over her belly. She seemed to be swelling visibly. Was she growing as well? Coincidence; must be some kind of weird optical illusion, she thought, then carefully measured herself with a piece of string, tying a knot to mark the breadth of her waist. After another glass of wine she finally fell asleep watching the dying embers of the open fire.

In the morning, half-awake, she turned automatically and was shocked to discover she had grown so large that lying on her side was impossible. She glanced across at the plants: the tulips had already blossomed and were beginning to die, while the basil had gone to seed.

Maybe whatever’s wrong with me has speeded up as well! If it’s a disease it could be spreading unnaturally fast. The thought that she might have picked up some parasite upon her arrival on the island filled her with horror. She reached for the mobile phone but accidentally knocked it to the floor where it broke on the tiles.

Panicked, Clarissa struggled to her feet. What was she going to do now, miles away from any medical help? She glanced around the cave and noticed a small pile of flares neatly stacked in the corner. She picked one up, it was damp with mildew. They were all useless. No flares, no phone, and no transport—she was trapped.

“Clarissa, be rational.” The sound of her own voice echoing slightly against the cave walls made her feel even more lonely. Determined, she continued, “Don’t panic, perhaps the swelling will start to go down by itself.”

To double-check that it wasn’t just her imagination she pulled the
length of string from the mantelpiece and tried to wrap it around her waist. It didn’t even join. She was bigger, far bigger.

Repulsed by her body she threw on a loose dress, then realized that she was ravenous. Like a crazed woman she pulled out the supplies of sardines. Her hands shook with hunger as she ripped three tins open and emptied the contents onto a hunk of bread. She crammed the food into her mouth, hardly chewing, desperate to appease the gnawing sensation that radiated out from her center.

With oil dripping down her chin she eased herself into a chair. The weight of her stomach pushed against her bladder and made her legs ache. And still she was visibly expanding.

“Well, if I’m still eating I can’t be that ill, right?” Anyway, what could she do? The nearest road was at least ten miles away and she couldn’t imagine finding the strength or the agility to walk there.

“Trust in God” would be the advice she would give to a village woman in the same situation. Trust in God. But where was her faith? Desperate, she lowered herself onto her knees and began to pray. Suddenly a curious sensation made her sit up. Her stomach actually jumped slightly, then again.

She froze, terrified. Whatever was inside her belly was moving. Perhaps it was a parasite, wriggling through her organs up toward her heart. She looked around wildly, trying to get some sense of reality. She noticed a series of charcoal marks crossed off on the whitewashed wall. Written neatly alongside each row were dates and names of women. Nuns, she guessed, who had stayed here before. It was a crude calendar. She peered closer; some of the dates went back to the sixteenth century. Suddenly she noticed the initials
MS
carved into the wall:
MS 1904
.

Of course! MS stood for Maria Stelopolis, the other woman who touched the nipple, the one the herbalist remembered! No wonder he didn’t know what had happened to her—she probably came here and perished! Never to be heard of again. For a second Clarissa wanted to weep, imagining herself curled up, dying alone at the entrance of the cave, miles from anyone.

“Get a grip,” she told herself. “This cave is real; women have stayed here before and survived. I’m going to recover from whatever’s happening to me. I will!” She took a deep shuddering breath and forced her heartbeat to slow down. Then she was overwhelmed by another bout of extreme hunger. Again she was driven to the table, this time
with an insatiable desire for cheese. In half an hour she’d consumed half her supply of feta. Finally she was forced to drag the bed over to the kitchen table, which she had covered with fruit, olives, bread, and yogurt. She spent the rest of the day lying on the bed, cramming herself with food. She continued to swell at a rapid rate. By late afternoon she’d abandoned her loose dress as it had grown too tight and had wrapped herself in a sheet.

Outside, the shadows grew longer. Clarissa walked heavily over to the fireplace. She lit the pile of driftwood balanced precariously over the mound of coals, then turned on the lamp. She had just made her way back to the bed when she was gripped by a terrible cramp. It lasted for about five seconds then disappeared. Minutes later she was seized by another shocking pain. It went on for hours. With each new wave of agony she swore that she would make herself crawl outside and just scream for help, but then the pain would abate and she could do nothing except gather her strength to deal with the next surge. There were times when she thought the agony would kill her, would split her in two like a peach being ripped open, but as the night progressed she slowly sensed a shift within her body.

The first light heralded the dawn. With a mighty effort Clarissa pulled herself to her feet and squatted, acting on pure instinct. She screamed—one long howl at the top of her lungs—and pushed down hard. To her complete surprise a baby shot out of her vagina and onto the bed. A bluish-red color, scrunched up, with a cone-shaped head; it was obviously a boy and obviously alive. Clarissa collapsed back onto the bed in shock.