The Gypsy Blood Collection by Helen Allan

Author:Helen Allan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hell West Press

Kneeling by the water’s edge, I rub his clothes back and forth on the rock, putting a little bit of yellow soap on each section, rinsing, and rubbing some more. I’m cleaning in the dark, by candle-light, because he wants his shirt clean and dry by morning. I’ve protected the nub of candle in an old jam jar, but it still threatens to flicker out whenever the breeze picks up. It’s cold tonight; my breath freezes in the air as I exhale. I can’t feel my fingers. The water has all but frozen them. But he ordered his shirt be washed while he goes to drink with his friends to celebrate a neighbour’s deflowering. And unless I want another beating, I’ll have to get it done.

I don’t know how much time I have before his return. The men will all eat sausages, drink and smoke, while the new husband has sex with his young bride in the room next door. When the deed is done, the men will make their way home. Sometimes the girl is so young it can be several hours before the consummation is complete. Sometimes the man is a pig and rams himself home within minutes. You could never tell.

What I could tell was that tonight, like every other night, I would lay on the marital bed and cross my fingers that he would not reach for me. His rapes petrified me because each one held the promise of an unwanted baby – so far, nothing he had done or said terrified me more.

The sexual assaults were quick, painful, but quick. It was the waiting that was doing my head in. Waiting every month for my period, fearing it would not come. Each time it did come, I would cry with relief. On more than one occasion, I remembered Alexander’s last words to me, “it is all about the blood.”

I would have lost count of how many months I have been here if it wasn’t for that seemingly endless monthly wait for the red. My arm is almost healed now, but unlike previous months, I haven’t come up with a new escape plan. I’m starting to fear my husband, which I know, is not a good sign. My early escape attempts had been made before the fear set in. Now I know what I can expect as punishment if I am caught, and it’s eroding my confidence in my abilities. In the past, I would sit by the fire in the day, plotting, figuring out ways to kill him or run. Now I often sit and think of nothing, nothing but what I need to do before he comes home to keep him from hurting me.

Tonight, in the dark, I am having one of those moments where I fear I might not live to see another winter in this place. I start at every noise, my nerves frayed, and run over what I have to do the following day. Every day in this freezing, god-forsaken town is the same.

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