T i m e O u t

The Candy Woman

The Candy Woman

You may have heard that Beatles song "She's Leaving Home" I don't suppose many people have stopped to wonder what ever happened after she "silently closes the kitchen door and steps outside where she's free." Maybe my story is one version of the answer.
A few months ago I, too, left home. Only, I didn't silently close the kitchen door, I slammed it as hard as I could. I'd been wanting to do that for so long.
I was a six-year-old wisp of a girl called Misha Pulinov when life as I knew it came to a halt and I became Sally Trooper. Of course I didn't know then that not all kids lived like us in big buildings with rooms full of beds and cots and rubbish. I never could remember the exact day when Rosemary and Jonathan Trooper, my adopted parents, came for me. I only know what they told me afterwards. As we walked out the gate, I looked back once, then stopped talking and didn't speak again for two years. I know that Rosemary tried learning a few words of my native language but she soon gave up when there was no response from me and that one day I found an injured pup and spoke to him. My first words in English!
I knew nothing about hugs and kisses with which Rosemary was lavish. I think a professional therapist got paid a lot of money to tell them that they would have to "win me over gently."
I suppose you could say that I had a normal upbringing in Manchester and by that I mean I watched tv and went to school and to dance classes where I made progress but didn't excel. I remember hearing some other professional mention "early diet deficiency" for my not so strong legs and Rosemary made me eat even more meat and cheese after that verdict. I learned to read reasonably well "despite her late start" as the teachers never ceased to point out. Rosemary liked reading up on "kids like you dear" and parading me round to these experts until Jonathan told her to handle things herself. She was a professional nurse and he thought she should have the answers.
...
The three of us knew there was a problem. No, it wasn't me. It was Jonathan. I was thirteen the day he packed his bags and walked out the door and never returned. He'd opened my bedroom door while I was undressing and fondled my budding breasts. I didn't mean to but I screamed for a whole hour and started mumbling in my own language using words that I could no longer understand while I rocked back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
Rosemary and Jonathan were shouting and he was thumping the furniture.
"She's been nothing but trouble. Either she goes or I go."
"We both know you have somewhere to go and where you've been going this past year." Rosemary's voice penetrated even my screaming.
She told me one day that they were getting a divorce. I asked her why and she said they didn't love each other anymore. I asked her if she missed not loving him anymore and she said he was no longer the same person, they'd grown away from each other. Was it because of me I asked. She smiled and said "Silly Sally."
And then, for a few years there were just the two of us. There was no extended Trooper family living in the Manchester area. rosemary's parents were in Australia and Jonathan's were in Scotland but they rarely travelled or so I was told. After Jonathan left, Rosemary worked a lot of late shifts so I had the house to myself a great deal. I asked her if I could bring a boyfriend home and she said ok but to "be careful". Boyfriends came and went. I tired of them easily and they of me. I wasn't the "hottest" girl in school. I think word got round that I was "not much good between the sheets". Girlfriends, too, found me hard-going.
Very gradually I let my mind go back to the things I'd said that "screaming" day. I realized I'd been speaking Bulgarian. My language! I remembered something.
From then on, once I'd finished my homework and my chores, I was on the computer listening to Bulgarian being spoken and visiting sites on Bulgaria.
One evening at dinner I told Rosemary I was studying Bulgarian.
"Really! Whatever for?" She seemed genuinely shocked.
"I just like it," I said. "Would you mind if I use my real name anymore?" She was more shocked.
"If that's what you want, I suppose we can."
"Thank you - Blagodarya."
"What?"
"Nothing. Just thank you."
...
I snooped around in Rosemary's desk and, when I removed a drawer completely, there it was sealed to the bottom. I'd found what I was looking for. The information that she'd never thought I needed to know. I translated a letter to the orphanage in Rosemary's name and got an email reply.
Then two days after my eighteenth birthday I told her I'd bought a ticket to Sofia.
"What?"
"Sofia, in Bulgaria,"
"How long are you going for?"
"I don't know yet. It depends."
"You ungrateful girl. After all I did for you. I invested my whole life in you."
"You were just unlucky. Sorry I wasn't your dream daughter."
"I sacrificed my marriage for you, you know."
"I think your marriage was sacrificed long before I came along and I just wasn't enough to save it."
And that was when I pounded up the stairs, grabbed the backpack I'd been preparing for some time, walked out and banged the door.
...
I arrived at the orphanage wondering what I'd remember. Very little really. It held no familiarity, no sense of belonging. It looked modern. I introduced myself and a great fuss was made of me. The children had prepared a song to greet me and I listened politely. I was about to take some sweets from my backpack when a boy who could have been eight or nine took me by the hand and whispered:
"Are you the Candy Woman?"
"No," I whispered back in unison. "Are you the Sniffer Dog?"
"No!" He was as surprised as I was at our banter. "I'm always the Slug but you're too big to be the Lollipop."
"I was the Lollipop once when I was smaller than you. What's your name?"
"Josef."
The head sister intervened, smiling. "You remember it all Misha?"
My eyes were brimming over. "More than I realized."
In the orphanage child-lingo, the Candy Woman was someone who came to look us over and make her first selection. They usually brought sweets and chocolate for all the children. The Lollipop was whoever was chosen. The Slug was someone who was never selected and who was usually kept well out of sight when a Candy Woman was arriving or a Big Man came to inspect. The Sniffer Dog was usually a very savvy child who had the job of making sure there were no snotty noses or nits visible on the days when a Candy Woman was due to arrive.
The head sister was delighted when I asked her if I could stay on. An extra pair of hands was a godsend. Because of my background there was relatively little paper work.
Josef became my right-hand man. Teaching the children English was going to be one of my priorities. For the first time I read fables and fairy tales to two and three-year olds and I liked the sounds and the rhythms of the stories and the songs. I liked using baby English.
And one day I knew I needed to share this new chapter in my life with Rosemary. For some reason I missed her. I missed her voice, her smell, her turns of speech. I emailed her to tell I was well and outlined my plan to stay on.
"There's so much to do and so many to be cared for. Some days I feel really tired and homesick. There's a little boy who would need so much massaging to get his thin legs to work again after a long period of immobility. I put him in a tepid bath yesterday and I could see from his eyes that it gave him great relief. I hope I did the right thing. Maybe you might send me some gauze for his blisters. It's scarce and we don't change the bandages as often as we should."
Two days later I received a text.
"Hold on, Misha. Arriving tomorrow midday with the gauze and some other stuff."
I found myself counting the hours.
...
When Rosemary greeted the children Josef whispered to me:
"Is she a Candy Woman?"
"She was my Candy Woman once but now she's a really special lady who wants to help the big people look after the children."
"Are you a child or a big person?"
"I thought I was a big person but sometimes I'm just a slug and I really need to be looked after too."
"I'll tell her and I'm sure she won't mind."
"Thank you Josef. I'm sure she won't mind at all."
For the first time in my life I reached out and took another person by the hand. Josef was about to pull his away but then he looked at me and, with all the courage he could muster, he let it stay in mine.