Monday, 29th of July, 1981
Dear Marianne,
This morning, about halfway through our first “cultural appreciation” of the day, Elodie was called out of the room by an assistant who said there was a telephone call for her. To be perfectly honest, I was relieved to see her go- I had a bad stomach ache this morning, and I appreciated the chance to rest for a moment instead of going over scripts and trying to think of new ways to flatter my teacher.
Well, “a moment” turned into nearly an hour. I’m a little embarrassed to admit it, but I’d fallen asleep in my chair as the other girls talked. One of them had to shake me awake and tell me that Elodie had summoned us all to the ballroom.
The ballroom is the most beautiful place in the whole house, all decked out in royal purple and gold, with a ceiling that takes up a whole extra storey by itself. It made the perfect setting for Elodie to scream herself hoarse. It seems her “detractors” are causing problems again, and she has decided that it’s all our fault.
Spoiled, she called us. Ungrateful. Not willing to work for the things she generously gives us. “Do any of you have it in you to defend me to my detractors? No! You hide behind an excuse of shyness, but really, you’re all cowards!”
Maybe we are cowards, Marianne, because not one of us had the nerve to point out that we have no idea who her detractors are, let alone how we might defend her from them.
She continued. “You sit here without a care in the world, and outside of these walls, the whole world is falling apart! Nuclear weapons! Racism! Twelve-year-old girls losing their virginity to their brothers! If you’re happy with the way the world is, then fine! Stay silent! But if not, GET INTO THE HABIT OF DEFENDING ME!” And with that, she stormed out of the room. We didn’t see her again for the rest of the day.
Nobody knows for sure who that telephone call was from. “Her lawyer,” said one girl; “her accountant” said another. I would be interested to know, but, in my heart, I know that it probably doesn’t matter. To Elodie, it all comes to the same thing- her detractors, her detractors, her detractors.
Yours,Coralie
*
Tuesday, 30th of July, 1981
Dear Coralie,
You need to buy a train ticket and come back now. Elodie Healy is completely nuts, and whatever you find out from her, it’s not worth it. (If what you find out is even true, because, again, ELODIE IS NUTS.)
In fact, do you know what? I’m taking back my promise from last week. If you’re not back by Friday, I’m telling Mum everything, and I don’t even care if I get into trouble as well.
Don’t think for a minute that I’m bluffing. COME HOME.
Yours,
Marianne
*
Thursday, 1st of August, 1981
Dear Marianne,
I had hoped that the stomach ache would go away after a little rest, but if anything, it’s worse now. I feel as if I might throw up at any second. Not only that, but it only seems to take the slightest activity to make me completely out of breath. I feel like one of those fragile, fainting Gothic heroines we always read about- I’m certainly in the right place for it.
Elodie is still angry. No matter what we say to her, it’s never good enough. Yesterday, she had a long, poisonous lecture in stock for me specifically, when I had no comment to give on a particular line in the day’s text. “In a whole week of giving my best to you,” she told me, “I have seen no results. Come on- think for a change! Respond for a change!” (She slapped the table with her hand as she spoke.) “I can’t do it for you!”
I tried to reply- I tried to say anything– but the room began to swim before my eyes, and I had to concentrate on getting my breath back. When I could finally focus, I saw that Elodie was giving me a look of the purest disgust. You would have thought that I had spat in her face.
“There really isn’t a whole lot I can do for you at this point,” she told me, and then she went on to the next student.
Yours,
Coralie
(To Be Concluded)
camelwithout 