Little Grey Mice Read Online Free PDF Page A

forward, to bring herself nearer to her daughter. She reached out to the girl and said: ‘Ursula? Hello, my darling.’ There was a response at last, to the physical contact. Ursula turned to her mother, without the slightest recognition, and made a sound, which was quite unintelligible. The disjointed, unconnected movement to the music lessened, just slightly.
    â€˜Hello Ursula,’ said Elke again. Still with her hand outstretched Elke moved to stroke the child’s face, to push back a skein of straying hair, but Ursula pulled sharply back, not wanting to be touched, and Elke immediately dropped her hand.
    â€˜Nice,’ said Ursula, unexpectedly. The voice was harsh, coarse-sounding, not like a child’s voice at all.
    With no idea to what the child was referring – if she was referring to anything – Elke said: ‘Yes, darling. Nice. It’s Mummy, darling. Mummy’s come.’
    Poppi began to agitate in Elke’s arms, and the girl looked towards the dog. It had actually been bought for Ursula, the year before it had been necessary to commit her into care, a forlorn hope of Elke’s that in some way it might penetrate Ursula’s enclosed world, as the music did. When it had been a puppy there had occasionally been something Elke tried to believe was affection, some sort of tenuous bond, but now she knew it hadn’t been, not really. ‘It’s Poppi,’ said Elke, to the girl. ‘Poppi’s come, too.’
    Ursula put her hand towards the dog, a straight-fingered, exploring gesture, not a caressing one. Poppi flinched but then came back, moving to lick the extended fingers. At the first contact Ursula gave a surprised cry, neither pleasure nor fear, and jerked her hand away. Then she said: ‘No!’ and paused and said again, more vehemently: ‘No! No! No!’ and slapped out. Elke easily pulled the dog away but the swipe was a heavy one, reminding her of the strength Ursula possessed, the strength Elke had ultimately found impossible to manage.
    Without positive intention Elke began comparing her child to Ida’s daughter. Although only a year older, Ursula was far bigger than Doris, her feet and hands ungainly and nearly out of proportion to the rest of her body. She was much fuller lipped, too, her eyebrows were heavy, more masculine than feminine, and there was more hair than Elke would have expected on the child’s arms and legs. Doris finally started her periods … she seemed quite proud. Ida’s announcement of the previous day sounded in Elke’s mind. Ursula had started much earlier, just after she was eleven: Elke knew from Dr Schiller how carefully they had to keep a calendar note because there was no way to explain it to the child and Ursula was terrified, every time it happened. She suffered a lot of discomfort, too.
    Practised from the years they had lived together, Elke offered her hand again and this time Ursula didn’t flinch away from her face being touched. Elke began smoothing her cheek, back and forth, as she’d coaxed her to sleep when Ursula was young, and after a while Ursula bent her head towards the caress and began making a guttural sound, humming without any tune.
    And Elke talked.
    She knew there was no purpose: that there would be no understanding or comprehension. But she talked nevertheless, forever hopeful of entering a window not even Dr Schiller suspected to be open, hopeful of a word – her voice alone – meaning something, of somehow reaching Ursula. Most of all, forever hopeful of the child realizing, knowing, that the person who came every Sunday was someone who loved her and always would love her. Elke talked of the winter going away and how the sun was shining now. Of Ida. Of Georg and Doris, who had always been very kind to her when Ursula had lived outside, never treating her as if she was in any way different from them. Of the river ferries and the trip she’d decided