I, Sofia-Elisabete, Love Child of Colonel Fitzwilliam by Robin Kobayashi

Author:Robin Kobayashi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, Colonel Fitzwilliam, Historical Fiction, Regency Era, Regency Period, England, Napoleonic Wars, Childhood, Orphan, Poverty, Opium, Moon, Love Child, Illegitimate
Publisher: Robin Kobayashi

Chapter Nine

The Three Curses

MY FIRST NEAR TRAGEDY, thinks I, on this long voyage to a moon world, was not when I nearly froze in the emerald waters of lake Zug, or when I nearly tumbled over a precipice in the Gemmi pass, or even when I nearly slipped into the wild torrent of the Saltina, although Doña Marisa, no doubt, would say I had been thrice cursed. You see, I believe ’twas when I nearly despaired of saving a friend from a life of poverty. And now that I think on it, I could persuade Doña Marisa to agree with me, at least on that point. In the stories Doña Marisa told me about her family, she, too, once suffered from poverty, and even though she somehow escaped a life of misery, she never forgot the desperation that comes from being poor. Doña Marisa, it turns out, possessed a compassionate heart, but only when she chose to lay claim to it. And so it is for us all.

With Denzler No. 2 acting as guide, we traversed the Canton of Valais – the ‘Land of Goitres,’ observed Señor Gonzalez, for many people here had goitres. Sometimes a goitre was the size of a cherry; other times, it grew as large as a peck loaf. ‘Qué horrible,’ whispered Doña Marisa, when a goitrous woman walked by us. Methinks the goitrous women took pride in their goitres. I heard one of them remark that Doña Marisa, being goitre-less, was goosenecked. It occurred to me then, as I felt my neck, that I was goosenecked, too.

The dusty road in the Valais led on for ever in my mind, and thus I became ever so restless, bouncing on the seat or swinging my legs or leaning out the open window, although all I could see were marshy meadows. Finally, I espied something interesting – three small children riding astride an ancient mule.

‘Holloah! Holloah!’ I hailed them, leaning out the window.

‘Siéntese!’ Señor Gonzalez quickly pulled me back inside the carriage, for I had nearly fallen out.

Doña Marisa covered her mouth, horror-struck.

‘She is safe,’ he reassured her.

‘She is cursed,’ declared she. ‘The witch has returned to harm my family.’

‘The witch?’ I gazed at her with curiosity.

‘Once upon a time, there lived an ugly witch, a bruxa, in the French empire,’ Doña Marisa began. ‘She had deep-set grey eyes, a pale complexion, a curved nose and black greasy hair that she cut square over her ears, the rest of it being gathered in a long pigtail. One day she flew with the north-east wind – vuuuu vuuuu – to Portugal where she aimed to do evil to its people.’

‘I can fly when I turn my mind to it,’ boasted I.

Pico laughed. ‘Liar.’

‘But I can,’ insisted I.

‘Vuuuu vuuuu,’ he teased me, and we began to elbow one another.

‘Basta!’ Señor Gonzalez’s sharp reprimand quieted us.

Doña Marisa sighed, and she continued her story. ‘The witch entered a caza de pasto, a public-house, in Lisbon where she requested a dish of bacalhau,

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