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  Ilsa

  A Novel

  Madeleine L’Engle

  TO MY MOTHER

  [PART ONE]

  1

  I watched the little girl for a long time. She sat on a rickety wooden fence that had never been painted any color. Now it had the look of the burned, parched-out brown-gray of the August grasses at her feet—or again of the cracked palm leaves that sounded like paper rattling in the sultry devil’s breath of wind—or the dead hair of Spanish moss smothering the live oaks.

  She was talking to some men from a chain gang. They were very big and very black, and their muscles moved with a smooth, liquid beauty under their bare, sweat-streaked backs. Their black-and-white-striped trousers were cut off or rolled to their knees and so dirty that the stripes were blurred to a uniform gray.

  “Why are you here?” the little girl was asking. “Did you kill your wife with a hatchet?”

  Standing with their weight on one lazy leg, their picks swung loosely over their shoulders, the colored men were telling her how they got on the chain gang—some for petty thievery, some for meaningless murder, some for rape, some because they beat their wives when they felt good.

  I crouched very still behind a clump of palmettos because I was scared. Mamma had told my sister and me time and again that if we were bad the chain gang would come at night with their fetters clanking, and the overseer, too, with his long black whip like a snake and his gun in a leather holster on his hip; then we would have iron bracelets soldered onto our ankles and become part of the gang, with the chains dragging as we walked. I was especially frightened because I’d just been very bad, and my being hidden there behind the palmetto clump, with the hot, dry sand burning through my trousers and through the calluses on my feet, was bad in itself.

  The men didn’t see me and neither did the little girl. She was far too busy with her conversation, sitting there on her burned-out fence. Her huge straw hat had slipped back on her head and was hanging by a pair of frayed scarlet ribbons. Her wild, sun-bleached hair was exposed to the intense heat of the afternoon. Her faded blue cotton dress was tight against a body that, almost imperceptibly, was beginning to lose its childish straightness and take shape. The dress was so tight, indeed, that there was a great rent down the back, and though some of the men eyed her in a way I didn’t understand and didn’t like, the biggest buck of all kept wishing plaintively that he hadn’t broken his wife’s neck so she could be there to sew up the tear, or put in a patch, because the little girl had said she didn’t have a mother.

  After a while the overseer moved out of the small shade of the live oak tree where he had been standing, wiping his forehead and the back of his neck with a red cotton handkerchief. He cracked his whip against boots that were laced to his knees. I looked at him and thought that he was dressed exactly the way Mamma described the overseer of a chain gang; but his face wasn’t a bit frightening. He simply looked tired and bored.

  When they heard the crack of the whip the colored men said good-bye to the little girl and shuffled off through the gray sand of the road while she waved good-bye to them until they rounded the bend and were lost to sight in the pine woods. She sat kicking her heels against the fence for a few moments longer; then she jumped down and caught sight of my pony where I had tethered him to a palm tree a few yards down the road in the opposite direction from which the chain gang had gone.

  I got up from the shade of my palmetto clump and followed her. She didn’t hear me because she was so intent on the pony, who was nuzzling into her empty palm.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Is he yours?” she asked, turning around.

  I slapped Billy’s rump in the way that he liked. “Yes. He’s mine.”

  We were silent. I hoped she would speak again. I liked her clear, cool voice. After a while she said, “What do you call him?”

  “Billy.”

  I wondered where she lived. She seemed very much at home out here in the wilderness in her faded dress and bare feet and sun-bleached hair. Her strong, straight legs and arms were covered with mosquito bites and she began to scratch her ankle now, saying, “My father has a horse. Her name is Calypso. What’s your name?”

  “Henry Randolph Porcher. You spell it P-o-r-c-h-e-r but you pronounce it Puhshay,” I said pompously. “What’s yours?”

  I thought she smiled a little oddly as she answered, “Ilsa Brandes.”

  “How old are you?” I asked.

  “Thirteen. How old are you?”

  “Ten. Almost ten and a half. But I’m taller than you are.” And I was; by a full inch. She didn’t say anything; she just shrugged slightly, and we stood looking at each other, one on either side of Billy, until we saw a tall, stooped man in a shabby Palm Beach suit and a panama hat walk slowly down the path toward us.

  He had an extraordinarily fine head, blue flamelike eyes that were duplicated in the little girl, a broad high forehead from which thick light hair was brushed back proudly under the hat, a patrician nose that was delicate and strong at the same time, and a sweet, sensuous mouth.

  I didn’t notice any of this at the time. I only knew that the little girl was no longer paying any mind to Billy or to me but was looking with adoration at the man. She stood still and tense in the middle of the road until he came up to her, put his hands on her shoulders, and looked with his blue eyes into hers.

  “Well, Ilsa?”

  “Father—”

  “You have made a friend?”

  She nodded.

  “Suppose you introduce us?”

  She turned to me. “This is Henry Randolph Porcher. My father, Dr. John Brandes.”

  “How do you do, sir?” I held out my hand.

  He frowned when he heard my name; nevertheless, he smiled as he took my hand in his and said, “So you are one of the famous Porchers.” He pronounced it properly, the French way, not the soft, slurred “Puhshay” I usually heard it called.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Henry, and I would like to ask you to stay and take supper with Ilsa and me, but I think your father would not like to have you enter my house. Do you live in that big place on the river? Are you one of those Porchers?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You have a good two hours’ ride ahead of you. I think you had better start now if you are to get back before dark.”

  “I’m not going back,” I said.

  “What?”

  “I’m not going back.”

  “Never?”

  “Never.”

  “I’m afraid your father will have something to say about that.”

  “Please let me stay to supper,” I begged.

  Dr. Brandes hesitated for a moment before he answered. “I really do not see how Ilsa or I could contaminate you, but the Porchers are such rare creatures that they are very afraid of contagion.”

  “It’s so hot,” I said.

  Dr. Brandes looked down at my flushed face. “Yes. You are right there, my boy. It is very hot. And, since you rode out here in the heat of the day, you’d probably do better not to go back while the sun is still full. Both of you come along to the house with me.”

  “May I ride the pony?” the little girl asked quickly.

  “Ilsa,” Dr. Brandes said.

  “Oh, she can ride him,” I answered, and in a flash she had vaulted into the saddle and was off like the wind.

  “Ilsa!” Dr. Brandes called after her. “Don’t ride the pony too hard! Remember he feels the heat, too!”

  She pull
ed the pony up immediately, and they trotted on, while Dr. Brandes and I followed behind.

  2

  I hadn’t realized how near we were to the ocean until the unmistakable sound of waves was suddenly distinguishable from the sound of the hot land wind in the pines. But even when we got up to the house we couldn’t see the water because we went in the back way. It was a long, low house, made half of coquina, half of cypress wood. It was set quite far back from the beach, and was surrounded by palmettos, scrub oak, myrtles, and palms. Ilex bushes grew closely around it and by the door was a chinaberry tree. As we came up to it there was a flash of red from ilex bush to tree, and Dr. Brandes pointed out to me a redbird’s nest. The heavy smell of four o’clocks burdened the air, and we could hear the sea gulls mewing like cats.

  Ilsa had taken Billy to a low barn that was off to one side. Now she came running to meet us, then hurried ahead into the house, slamming the screen door in our faces. We followed her into a big room paneled in pine. The walls were lined with books, many of them in Latin and German, and most of them heavy and dark and learned-looking. In one wall was a huge fireplace with a bright tapestry above it; a skylight faced north, and under it was a long pine table covered with books and papers and specimens of plants and insects in jars. Under the staircase was a piano; the lid was up and a lighted lamp had been placed by it to keep out the damp. From the two front windows and the front door you could see the great stretch of ocean and sand, with a long cement ramp leading down over the scrub and the dunes, culminating in a little bulkhead to keep the tide from eating the sand away up to the house.

  Ilsa was sitting on a low stool, scratching her mosquito bites; but she stopped quickly as we came in.

  “I saw you,” Dr. Brandes said, and they both laughed in a way that made me dreadfully homesick—but I guess it was for something I’d never had.

  “They itch so!” Ilsa said.

  “Do you want your foot infected again?”

  “Unh unh.”

  “Well.”

  “All right, Father. I’ll try not to scratch. Do you want to go swimming, Henry?”

  I nodded. “But I haven’t got a bathing suit.”

  “Oh, we don’t need bathing suits. We can go in just in ourselves, can’t we, Father?”

  He looked from Ilsa to me, nodding his head slowly. “You can undress in my room, child. Ilsa, you will please hang your dress over your chair and not roll it up in a ball on the bed. Turn around.” He looked at the rent in the back of her dress. “Ilsa! How did you do that?”

  She looked down at her feet that were firmly planted on the rough pine floor. “Climbing a tree. For scientific purposes.”

  “Explain.”

  “I wanted to see how far back from the beach you could still see the ocean.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes.”

  “How far?”

  “Tomorrow I will measure it. I got in a conversation. Father, please take Henry up to your room so we can go swimming.”

  “All right, ladybird.” He turned to me. “Come along, child.”

  I followed him up the stairs. His bedroom was bare and light and immaculate. A narrow bed, with a mosquito net rolled above it; a chest of drawers; a straight chair, all made of unpainted pine. The curtainless windows looked out on the beach; it was like being in a cabin on a ship. Dr. Brandes gave me a large towel and left me. I undressed. In a moment I heard Ilsa’s impatient voice. “Henry! Hurry up!”

  I ran downstairs, and she burst out laughing. “Father, look at him!”

  “Ilsa, that is not polite.”

  “But he’s brown only where he hasn’t worn a bathing suit! It makes him look skinny!”

  “Ilsa, you will apologize or you will go upstairs and lie on the bed with your eyes closed for an hour.”

  She looked at me and held out her hand. “If I’ve said anything rude, or anything that would hurt you, I’m very sorry.”

  I took her hand. “Oh, it’s all right.”

  “Father, he’s younger than I am,” she said. “I thought it was only in front of grown-up people that I couldn’t say what I thought.”

  “When what you think is unkind, you don’t say it to anyone.”

  “I see.”

  He pushed her short wild hair back from her face. “Child, some day you are going to find it very hard to forgive me for the life I’ve given you.”

  She flung herself at him. “Don’t be silly.… Come on, Hen, I’ll race you to the water.”

  She tore out of the room, slowed up, and stumbled a little as she got into the soft loose sand, then leaped like some wild animal across the great stretch of beach packed firm by the tide, scattering a group of sea gulls, who rose into the air screeching and swirling over our heads as she splashed into the water. I followed her, a good distance behind.

  “You didn’t do too badly for someone who’s never been here before,” she said kindly.

  The water was very quiet. We were only shoulder deep when we got beyond the breaking waves and could relax in the quiet swells. Ilsa rolled over on her back and floated, and the sea gulls gathered on the beach again.

  My sister and I were never allowed in the water unless a grown person was with us. Ilsa said, “Father taught me to swim in all sorts of water, so if I go swimming alone I won’t get caught in the undertow or change of tide. But I’m not allowed to go out above my head; so if you do, I assume no responsibility for you. Father says if you ever see anything that looks as though it might be a shark or a barracuda, just float. Don’t move a finger. Sharks are very nearsighted and they’re not apt to see you unless you get excited and move. You’re a pretty good swimmer. You live on the river, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Aren’t there moccasins in the river?”

  “Yes. Papa keeps antivenom in his bathroom,” I said, “and we always have to have a grownup when we go swimming.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “My sister and I.”

  “How old is your sister?”

  “Twelve.”

  “Everyone’s younger than I am,” Ilsa said. “What’s her name?”

  “Anna Silverton Porcher.”

  “I like the name Anna.”

  “We call her Silver.”

  “Well, I like that, too. Why aren’t you going home?”

  “Because I cut Monty’s head open.”

  “Who’s Monty?”

  “Montgomery Woolf. Our cousin. I hate him. But he’s older than you. He’s fifteen. Almost.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  “I don’t think so. But maybe he’ll die.”

  “Why did you cut his head open?”

  “Because of Silver’s rocking horse. She never lets me ride it. And then when Monty and Eddie and Violetta—our cousins—came over this morning to spend the day, she let Monty play with my violin I was making.”

  “Making?”

  “Yes. Out of cypress wood. And using rubber bands for strings. And he broke one of the strings and he laughed and then Silver got on the rocking horse. She’s much too big for a rocking horse. Twelve years old. And she said I couldn’t ride it, but Monty could. She just sat there and rocked and rocked and smiled and smiled and looked at Monty, and then I hit him on the head with the violin. I wish one of the nails had gone right through his head.”

  “What do you want with a rocking horse when you’ve got a pony?” Ilsa asked me, then ducked under the salt water and began blowing bubbles. She came up and said, “You’re too old for a rocking horse, anyhow.”

  “It’s a very big rocking horse,” I said, as she went down again. I watched the bubbles rising to the surface of the water and remembered the hurt when Mamma rapped me on the head with her thimble and said I was a wicked boy and she was astonished at me, and I would have to pray very hard that night if I didn’t want the chain gang after me; and Papa called me into the library, pulled down my trousers and switched me, and told me all about gentlemen respecting their sisters and n
ot striking their cousins, even though Monty was almost fifteen.

  I knew I would always hate my cousin Monty Woolf and his twin sister Violetta, though I sometimes liked going over to their house to play, and I was fond of their younger brother, Edwin, who was just a few months older than my sister. There was a large grove of magnolia trees near their boathouse where we used to play, and there were oak trees, too, and great grape vines hanging from them that made wonderful swings.

  On Sunday, after Sunday school, we often went over for dinner, and afterward we played the Bible Game, a kind of combination of conundrums and Old Maid, that was not considered playing cards and that taught us all the stories about the Bible so that I remember them to this day. Tobias and the Angel was always my favorite, and somehow or other I learned that Alborak was the white mule Mohammed went to heaven on, though I’m sure that’s not in the Bible and wasn’t in the game.

  “I suppose you go to school,” Ilsa said, rather wistfully.

  “Of course. Don’t you?”

  “No. Father has me read things, though. Do you like school?”

  “Not much. But I like our teacher. She really teaches the big ones English, but she has us this year because our own teacher is sick. Her name is Miss Myra Turnbull. She took us on a picnic and we sang a song about me.”

  “About you?”

  “Yes.” I sang loudly:

  O, where have you been wandering, King Henry, my son?

  O, where have you been wandering, my pretty one?

  King Henry, see? She said it was about me.”

  “It’s a nice song,” Ilsa said politely. “I think I’d like to go to school.” Then she turned a somersault in the water. “In the water backward somersaults are easier than forward ones. Have you ever looked at faces upside down?”

  “What?”

  “Looked at faces as though they went the other way around? Float. Now, see, if I cover your nose and mouth with this hand, and look at you as though your nose and mouth go where your hair goes—upside down, you see.… Oh, Henny! You look awful! You look like a ghoul. Do you want to try me?”