The Kattel

Three of them. Three little girls, borne within twelve months of each other. And even before they were old enough to care about social standing, they were well matched so their elders let them be.

The oldest was Nelly: Borne in 1923 and growing up around three older brothers, she was boisterous and loud, not shy at all. Her hair was brown and scraggly. In the mornings, her mother tried to tame it into pigtails, but by lunchtime, there were tufts standing off in all directions. Nelly just laughed about it, shrugged it off, knowing in her heart of hearts that her hair never would win her prices but that she would do alright eventually as the daughter of a wealthy-enough farming family.

Almost her exact opposite and the youngest of the threesome was little Evi, the mayor’s shy oldest child who had the fine hair of a baby, almost white, but who so much wanted to be dark haired that she was convinced that at the back of her head, her hair was as black as that of the fairy princess in the stories her Grandmother told her.

But the prettiest of them was little Kattel. She was the miller’s daughter. Her hair was thick and the delicious colour of the loafs her father baked in the ovens out back. The heavy pleat of it hung way down her back, thick as a man’s arm, and when she ran, her hair developed a rhythm of its own. Those running next to her had to avoid getting too close to her for fear of being sucker-punched by it. An only child, precocious and precious, she was easily influenced by Nelly and when Evi came around with her quiet nature, the characters of the three balanced well.

They knew each other from their first memory. Possibly, their mothers patted each other’s pregnant bellies and then had them sit next to each other on their blankets when the grown-ups attended to the field work and babies and toddlers could not be left home alone. They grew up like the Princesses they were, playing, running free while they could. Before long, all three were expected to help their parents on their farms, their fields or their homes. All little girls grew up to be good helpers till their fathers found them husbands who turned them into good wives.

Evi was five, Nelly was already six, and Kattel was somewhere in-between. It was a nice day, and the girls had ambled their way down to the Ukrina to cool their feet in the fresh water. They played in the shallows, pushed sticks in the mud and tried to stay out of the way of the boys that guarded the cows a little way up the river. Those boys would tease them and pull their pig tales if they caught them, so they kept a low profile, chatted, laughed, whispered about all those things that little girls whisper about. It was 1929, and world economics did not matter to them: their world was safe and they had all they could ever want. Most importantly, they had each other.

The afternoon progressed, and their little hands and feet got cold, their dresses wet and dirty, giving their mothers reasons to scold them later.

Nelly, always the driving force, eventually nudged the others out.

‘Aren’t you hungry? I am hungry,’ she stressed, rubbing her stomach to demonstrate her need.

Evi smoothed down her dress.

‘Mammi will be angry. She only just washed this dress.’

Pushing her hands away so Evi could not rub the dirt deeper into the fabric, Nelly shook her head.

‘By the time we get you home, it all will be dry and you can just brush it off. You will see: there will be no dirt left.’

Kattel simply laughed, the sound sparkling crystal clear in the shade under the trees. Nobody would reprimand her, no matter what state she came back home in.

Slowly, the girls made their way uphill to the village. Soon, the first houses greeted them.

Encouraged by the growling of Nelly’s stomach, she nettled them to speed up. Her parents’ house was the furthest away, but Kattel had an idea.

‘It is Wednesday. Today, the wife of Farmer Michels is using the ovens. She always bakes extra. And she never guards the ovens, so we can take a loaf, she will not mind!’

‘Are you sure?’ Nelly’s eyes lit up. Fresh bread … yes, that would taste good right now! And Kattel’s house was not that far off, they would get there long before she reached her own home where nothing special was waiting for her. Fresh bread … her mouth already could taste it; her teeth could already feel the crunch of it.

‘Evi? Why are you looking so glum?’

Evi was hanging back, still upset about the mud on her pretty dress.

‘I want to go to Grandma. I am sure she can help me clean this up!’

‘But Kattel says there is fresh bread!’

Sad and distracted, Evi shook her head.

‘I am not hungry. I want to see Grandma. Before Mammi finds out where we have been. And how dirty I am.’

Kattel shrugged.

‘Well, we will see you tomorrow’, she said as they hugged, Evi turning in one direction while the other two linked their arms and skip-hopped the other way.

They approached the miller’s yard from the back so that the Michels woman and Kattel’s mother did not notice them. They could have asked for fresh bread and would not have been denied it, but opening the oven and taking some secretly was so grown up, they did not think twice.

They danced across the small creek that formed the border of the miller’s property. The aroma of the bread in the ovens welcomed them. The girls exchanged smiles.

‘I know how to do this, I watched Mummy do it,’ said Kattel as she grabbed one of the peels leaning alongside. Carefully, she opened the oven. The roar of the fire and the crackling of the wood sounded loud and Kattel threw a worried glance towards the backdoor of their house. Now that she was doing this, she was suddenly worried what her mother would say if she discovered her. Kattel was not allowed near the ovens on baking days. But no adults came running, and she leaned closer to reach one of the small breads that were almost ready. They had timed their arrival well.

Nelly stood by, watching, rubbing her anticipating stomach.

Later, she could not tell what exactly and how it happened.

Maybe, Kattel came too close, maybe a spark got blown up and out.

Kattel’s hair was on fire.

Nelly shrieked.

‘Kattel, the creek, jump!’ she yelled, pulling her friend the few steps to the saving water. She was sure to have the younger girl by her sleeve as she herself rolled and splashed into the small stream.

As if she was rooted to the ground, Kattel had not moved.

Nelly’s yelling had brought the women from the miller’s kitchen.

Kattel’s mother, seeing her only child aflame by the open door of the oven, started running and screaming for help, with the wife of Farmer Michels right behind her and others rushing in as fast as they could.

In the ensuing mayhem, someone grabbed Nelly and pulled her splashing and flailing out of the water.

Within hours, Nelly developed a fever. The only doctor was three days’ travel away and could not be called, so the old women looked after her, boiled tea and sat with her, stroking her hands, her face. Hushed voices wove a background to Nelly’s hallucinations and the nightmares that made her shriek and cry.

When she came to, Evi was sitting with her, smiling shyly.

‘Kattel?’

Evi shook her head. Tears started and she swiped at them almost angrily. Had her mother not told her that Kattel had gone to a better place, that she was now an angel and with the Lord Jesus in heaven? Why should she cry? But cry she did. And when Nelly understood, she started crying, too. The girls huddled on the hard bed and cried in unison, like only best-friend little girls could do.

The next day, when Nelly was feeling better, she asked to see Kattel. Her mother told her no, but Nelly insisted.

The miller’s daughter was laid out in a small room at the back of their house, waiting for the priest to return from his trip to some other villages under his office. Messages had gone out for him to return, but there had not been word of him yet.

The grownups had said their goodbyes to the little girl whose beautiful hair now was a blackened, mangled and horrific mess. The old women had tried hard to cover the stench of burnt hair and flesh with offerings of fresh herbs and spices. Flowers were brought daily for the girl that waited to be buried.

Nelly had seen the flames leech off Kattel’s head, had seen the first licks of flame catch her friend’s clothes. Now here lay pretty little Kattel, who would laugh and sing no more.

As Nelly studied her friend’s disfigured body intently, Kattel opened her eyes. From bulging eyes whose lids had burnt away, she looked directly at her friend. She moaned, her spoiled lips trying to form words.

Nelly shrieked.

‘She is alive! Kattel is alive!’

A woman came running.

‘Quiet, child.’

‘No, honest, Kattel looked at me. She is alive!’

They dragged her away, kicking and screaming.

Nelly told Evi who told her father, the most important man in the village: Kattel is alive, their friend is not dead! But nobody listened.

‘Hush, child’, they were told. ‘Kattel is dead. She burnt, trying to steal bread from the oven.’ What happened to little Kattel would be made into a lesson for children to behave and pay obedience to their elders.

Nelly was put back to bed. She was forced to rest. She was not allowed to visit Kattel again; neither was Evi allowed to go to the miller’s house.

Three days later, the priest returned and a funeral was hurriedly arranged.

The procession wound its way from the miller’s house to the church and the cemetery beyond.

Nelly was meant to stay in bed, but when her Greatgrandmother fell asleep by her side, she took her chance and escaped. She could not help herself, she had to see it. Hiding amongst the legs and coats of the adults along the way, she followed the coffin.

She could have sworn that she heard small fingers scratching the rough-hewn wood of the coffin.

Kattel was alive. Nelly knew it.