Hanging by a moment

Forgive my English, dear reader. It may seem to you quite raw compared to all those beautiful English books that you have, for sure, read. To speak the truth, I have never wished to learn this language, but I did.

My mama was really beautiful as far as I can remember. Her voice, however, I remember quite well, it was the most wonderful voice. I still know all the songs she taught me, but now I can't sing them anymore. They say this kind of songs were never suited for such a young, naive girl.

They also say I must behave, I must be a good girl and read the Bible. They ask me for specific passages in the convent and they want me to recite the prayers. My mama never asked me to read the Bible, she asked me to dance. She could dance as well, and how could she! All the men and women would stop just to get a glimpse on her. Her long blond hair tidied in a beautiful hairdo and her big brown eyes... when she looked at me, she seemed to really see me. She used to say “Mon petit” and kissed me on the cheeks, then on the forehead and for the last, on my nose.

One day I woke up and couldn't find my mama. They said she ran away, but I could not believe in such a lie. I was left with nothing and lived for a while with my mother's neighbor. Until Mr. Rochester came.

♣

Mrs. Smith was a very unusual woman. First of all, we knew that it wasn't her real name, but she liked to be called like that. Her hair was black and long, her skin was darker than ours and her eyes were very different, so small. She never told me where she was from, but I listened to her talking to my mother one day and she told her that once she loved a man. He brought her here and she promised herself to him for eternity. Until the day he died.

Compared to Mrs. Smith, my mother had a real good life, her apartment was very well furnished and she used to receive many gifts. Mrs. Smith could not sing well, neither dance. Mama used to say her unusual features made her money and that is all.

When I lived with Mrs. Smith, she wrote a letter to Mr. Rochester and told me soon I'd have a good life, a better one. She said she didn't want me to follow my mother's steps.

Soon after, Mr. Rochester went to Paris, he and Mrs. Smith talked for what seemed hours. Then, he got my baggage and told me to get in the carriage. He was not friendly, nor happy. After a while, the carriage stopped again. A young lady got in, she was about 17. Mr. Rochester told her “This is the young girl you're going to look after”. She nod her head and everything was silence again.

♣

I guess there isn't much to tell for those first few years in Mr. Rochester's house. He was always away and when he came, it was for few days and he didn't seem quite happy to be there, but he always bought me dresses and ribbons. He'd give it to me, ask for a hug and sat on the arm chair near the fireplace with the dog. There he read a book and once in a while would look at me. The way he looked at me was not the same way my mother looked at me. When Mr. Rochester eyed me, he eyed somebody else, somebody that brought him pain, I'm sure. I wondered for a long time if my mother did something to him, however now I know. The pain was not only from my mother, the pain was there, living inside him. For all the things he said and did.

♣

Things started to change when my governess, Miss Eyre, arrived. I noticed that Mr. Rochester was happier than usual and he also stayed for longer than usual. He once told me when he was near the fireplace that our lives were about to change, no more governess, no more nurses. I liked my nurse and I liked my governess, why would he change everything?

And things did change. It was a normal day of learning, Miss Eyre and I went to the library, and then she told me something I could not believe. She and Mr. Rochester were about to get married! At first I didn't know how to react, would that mean that I would lose my governess and nurse? Yes, but it would also mean that Miss Eyre would be the closest thing I'd have for a mother. And I'd like to have a mother. I was so happy!

♣

Oh, happiness! I think happiness was never meant to be mine. On the day of the marriage, something terrible happened. I was not in the church, but my dear nurse told me everything. They said Mr. Rochester was already married, that he had his wife locked in the attic for all this time and that she was a crazy woman from the West Indians. The servants were gossiping this story over and over again, I even heard one of them saying: “Poor, naive girl, doesn't she know that happiness is not for us? Doesn't she know that we already have our place in society and there's no way to change it?” and then “What about this girl from the West Indians? They say she is very pretty, even thought her hair is messed and her clothes are old. But why locking something that even crazy is so beautiful to look at?”

I guess everything was too much for Miss Eyre, she ran away the next morning. And again it was just us in Thornfield. Us and Mr. Rochester's mad wife.

I don't remember how long it took, but in one night, I smelled smoke and a bright light was coming out of the room. Mr. Rochester came in running, he was desperate, he took me in his arms and carried me outside, my nurse was right behind us. And when outside, he made sure everybody was there. But someone was missing, he turned back to Thornfield, and he saw what all of us saw, fire and death all over the place. I screamed and begged him to not enter there again, he was the only one I had now, I couldn't lose him either. He grabbed me in his arms, hugged me so tight for the first time, and said “I can't live in guilty anymore”. After this I can only remember seeing him going inside the castle. I fainted.

♣

When I woke, I was in a carriage. It took me directly to the convent I am today. My nurse came with me, she said that Mr. Rochester was badly injured but he was being taking care now and I had to be somewhere else. No words for the mad woman, but I understood she could not be saved. My nurse said she was going back to Paris, now that she had saved some money and could help her parents there. She hugged me and told me to be a good girl.

Through the years, I received few letters from Mr. Rochester. It was not his handwriting, but he said he was well and soon would visit me. He never came.

♣

I was alone for quite sometime. The girls here made fun of my accent, the nuns were mean and said there was no room for a courtesan's daughter. I don't know where they heard this, but they said that was what I was. I never complained, never wrote to Mr. Rochester telling about this. Somehow I knew he was more miserable than me, I just had no idea how much.

That was my life so far, until this morning. One of the youngest nuns was send to me in the kitchen. She said I had a visit, she was arrogant but I was used to it. When I arrived to the living room, Miss Eyre, I mean, Mrs. Eyre was sitting on the couch. She was beautiful, smiling at me and said in French: “It's good to see you, Adele”

When I told her how everything had turned out, how was my treatment in that convent and how I missed everybody from Thornfield, specially Mr. Rochester, she smiled at me and said: “Your father has been through a lot during his life. But now he is all right, you'll see Adele, things will change for the best. You and I are going back, you'll see the beautiful castle you're going to live in and there will be no more nuns telling you who you are supposed to be.”

And so we did.

By Marcella Narvaes

Then, and only then, happy again by Maçao Filho

Fanfic style story based on the character Rochester from the novel Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte


Unmistakably, it was her and of that I was sure in the very moment my eyes met hers. No other woman in the world could ever resemble all her features quite so perfectly. No disguise could ever reproduce faithfully enough those features that I knew so well and that were so dear to me, like freedom to a man long imprisoned when he is, at last, set free. I would finally hold my Jane in the very arms of mine and everything would be like it was supposed to be. Just a few steps separated me from happiness itself.
Or so I naively thought right before the merciless reality took it all away from me. It had happened again. Another dream like all the others. Just another cruel joke the sleep had played on me. None of it was real. Jane Eyre’s whereabouts remained painfully unknown. And even if she had indeed returned to put all my misery to an end, my eyes would not have been able to meet hers, neither would have been my arms to hold her the way I so badly long to do – for I am now not only blind but a cripple.
Once so proud and independent Mr. Edward Fairfax Rochester. Now just a man doomed to live surrounded by nothing but never-ending darkness, with no one by my side but two servants, whose feelings of pity for me only make the burden heavier for my broken soul to bare it. A downfall that could be easily seen as a punishment sent from God Himself or, at least, as an undoubtful sign that if He does not want to condemn me for my faults, He does not wish to make things any better for me either.
Though quite aware of all the sins I have committed, I cannot help the feeling that if someone is to blame for everything that happened to me, my brother and father sure deserve each a fair share of it. For there is no denying that all of my ruin started because of their greed and that jinxed wedding. They were the ones that sentenced me.
If only I had never married Bertha Mason, then everything could have had turned out so much differently than it did. But what’s the point in thinking such foolishness? Since there’s no changing what has already happened, I probably should be more worried about my present, instead of looking back at all the things that went so wrong. Too bad that my current circumstances seem to be just as hopeless as my past.
Upset for being once again trapped in the chain reaction caused by those dreams, I reached for my watch on the nightstand next to my bed. It was something I did out of habit, just because it somehow gave me some sense of normality. I had promised to myself I would stop doing it for it was by all means useless after all. But I just didn’t have the strength to give it up just yet. I would not let that be taken away from me too.
Unwillingly aware that the watch could not tell my blind eyes how far in the dead of night all that was taking place, I tried in vain to make sense of it on my own. What troubled me was the fact that Ferndean is rather too quiet a place in any time of the day, indifferently to the passage of the hours and the sun. So there was nothing in the overwhelming silence that could help me situate myself the way I wanted to. I only assumed the sun had not yet risen because that my injured eyes could still vaguely tell.
Pilot did not seem to be anywhere near the bed since I could not hear him breathing, but that was not of much help either. My loyal dog no longer puts a lot of effort into being around me the way he did before. In spite of all his affection for me, it is clear that the poor animal feels unease in my presence after the accident – a behavior that is probably due to the fact that my bad temper has only gotten worse ever since.
Something similar can be said about old John and his wife, Mary. Both are always trying their best to be useful, efficient and kind, which is exactly what upsets me the most: having to be taken care of by a couple of servants, like some old invalid man on his deathbed. They usually help me keep some track of time, especially by bringing me the candles I ask for when I sense that the sun has set. That, though, pretty much sums up all that I accept from them: following my orders. They know I rather be left alone with my thoughts instead of dealing with the constant attendance of servants.
What they cannot understand and neither can anyone else is that all of this is far more than I can handle. I cannot stand the feeling of being held captive inside of my own mind but at the same time I do not see a way out of this prison. Sometimes I fear that I might be turning crazy like her, the woman I once called my wife. I wonder if this is some kind of repayment for keeping her in the attic of Thornfield like a prisoner.
But then again, wasn’t she a threat to herself and everyone else? Or is that what I like to tell myself to justify all that happened and all that I have done? I also thought I was doing the right thing when I tried to lead Jane to marry me and the ultimate result was losing the only woman that I truly love and that loved me in return. Taking such things into consideration leaves me wondering more and more often if God is not indeed trying to teach me some lessons about all my former mistakes and their reasons.
Sadly, though, my faith is yet far too little and fragile. I do not have enough of it to keep me safe from all the feelings, memories and thoughts that haunt me untiringly. I have been nothing but a ghost, a faded shadow of my former self, ever since the fire and the absence of my beloved took away everything that used to give my existence a meaning. I just keep on living a life just like that: waiting alone in the darkness, eager for some light that will set me free, while knowing that no sun rising in the horizon shall bring me back my angel, for it seems now that she will only return to me in dreams.
Human and still in love as I am, I did that night what I did in all the ones before, I rested my head against the pillow and closed my eyes, waiting for the miracle of being able to see her and hold her again in my sleep, for only then I could feel happy again.