The Aunt Marchamorphosis

One morning, when Aunt March woke from troubled dreams, she found herself transformed in her bed into a horrible vermin. She lay on her armor-like back, and if she lifted her head a little she could see her brown belly, slightly domed and divided by arches into stiff sections. Her many legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the rest of her, waved about helplessly as she looked. 

“What’s happened to me?’ she thought. 

“How about if I sleep a little bit longer and forget all this nonsense,” she thought, but that was something she was unable to do because she was used to sleeping on her right, and in her present state couldn’t get into that position.

“Oh, God,” she thought, “what a strenuous life I lead! Caring for others day in and day out. Maintaining the household like this takes much more effort than one would imagine. It can all go to Hell!” She felt a slight itch up on her belly, pushed herself slowly up on her back toward the headboard so that she could life her head better; she found where the itch was, and saw that it was covered with lots of little white spots which she didn’t know what to make of, and when she tried to feel the place with one of her legs she drew it quickly back because as soon as she touched it she was overcome by a cold shudder. 

And she looked over at the window, judging the hour roughly upon the position of the sun in the sky. “God in Heaven!” she thought. It was at least half past six. Had she not been awoken by the terrible yardcock this morning? True, she had not slept peacefully, but probably all the more deeply because of that. What should she do now? The day was already quarter gone, with Josephine assuredly on her way to attend to her. 

What about if she sent word to Margaret’s girl - Hannah, was it - to report illness? But that would be extremely strained and suspicious, for even in her advanced years Aunt March was quite proud of never being ill, to public knowledge.

There was a cautious knock at the door near her head. “Miss?” somebody called - one of her staff- “It is well time you’re usually up. Is all well?”

Aunt March was shocked when she heard her own voice answering, it could hardly be recognized as the voice she had had before. As if from deep inside her, there was a painful and uncontrollable squeaking mixed in with it, the words could be made out at first but there there was a sort of echo which made them unclear, leaving the hearer unsure whether they had heard properly or not. 

This short missive made the other voices in the household aware that Aunt March, against their expectations was still abed, and soon a familiar voice - this one the upper housemaid- came knocking at one of the side doors, gently, but with her fist. 

“Miss” she called. “What’s wrong?” And after a short while she called again with a warning deepness in her voice: “Miss!” At the other side door another voice, sweet and quiet came plaintively: “Aunt March? Aren’t you well?  Do you need anything?” Who was that? One of her great-nieces, yes, but it was not Josephine. Aunt March answered to both sides: “I’m ready, now,” making an effort to remove all the strangeness from her voice by enunciating very carefully and putting long pauses between each individual word.

She said to herself: “Before it strikes quarter past seven I’ll definitely have to have got properly out of bed. And by then the girls’ mother will have come round to ask what’s happened to me as well, as the seems to have notions of these things,” remembering all the impossibly clairvoyant moments the senior Margaret had appeared at her door, turnovers, bandages, fruits in hand. 

And so she set herself the task of swinging the entire length of her body out of the bed all at the same time.

After a while she had already moved so far across that it would have been hard for her to keep her balance if she rocked too hard. The time was now ten past seven and she would have to make a final decision very soon. Then there was a shudder, and the familiar disarray of someone entering. The sound of muffled voices, and feet galumphing up the stairs. For a movement everything remained quiet. “They’re gone,” Aunt March said to herself, caught in some nonsensical hope. But then of course, she only needed to hear the visitor’s first words of greeting and she knew who it was - Josephine. 

‘Why do I have to be the one condemned to be overseen by a chronically late flibbertigibbet, who had chosen today of all days to be timely?’ Aunt March thought to herself. And more because these thoughts had made her upset than through any proper decision, she swung herself with all her force out of the bed. There was a loud thump, but it wasn’t really a loud noise. Her fall was softened a little by the carpet, and her back was also more elastic than she had thought.

“Something’s fallen down in there,” said Josephine in the room on the left. From the room on the right, the sweet non-Josephine voice whispered to her to let her know: “Aunt March, Jo is here.” “Yes, I know,” said Aunt March to herself, but without daring to raise her voice loud enough for the voice to hear her. 

“Good morning, madam!” said Josephine, projecting what seemed to Aunt March a indebted false bravado.

“Can Miss Josephine come in to see you now then?” asked the upper housemaid impatiently, knocking at the door again. “No,” said Aunt March. In the room on her right there followed a painful silence; in the room on her left that small, non-Josephine voice began to cry. 

Why did that voice not go an join the others? And why was it crying? Was it because she had not got up, and had not let Josephine in, because she was in danger of being called incapable, turned, unfit to maintain the household? And if that happened those who depended on her would be pursued by the lenders and ne’er-do-wells of the impoverished? She wanted to tell the voice that there was no need to worry about things like that yet. Aunt March was still there and had not the slightest intention of abandoning them. 

Josephine now raised her voice. “Aunt March,” she called to her, “what is wrong? You barricade yourself in your room, give us no more than yes or no for an answer, you are causing serious and unnecessary concern. I am speaking here on behalf of you family and your staff, and really must request a clear and immediate explanation. I am astonished, quite astonished. I thought I knew you as a calm and sensible person, and now you suddenly seem to be showing off with peculiar whims.” 

“Josy-phine!,” called Aunt March, beside herself and forgetting all else in the excitement. “How dare you say such things! I’ll open up immediately, just a moment. I’m slightly unwell, an attack of dizziness, I haven’t been able to get up. I’m quite fresh again now, though. I’m just getting out of bed. Just a moment. Be patient! It’s not quite as easy as I’d thought. I’m quite alright now, though. It’s shocking, what can suddenly happen to a person! I was quite alright last night, the maids know about it, perhaps better than me, I had a small symptom of it last night already. You don’t need to wait, impertinent miss, I’ll be in the parlor soon after you, and please be so good as to tell the whole household!”

“Did you understand a word of all that? That was the voice of an animal,” said Josephine, with a calmness that was in contrast with the housemaids screams. “Anna!” Josephine called into the kitchen through the entrance hall, “Get a locksmith here, now!” There was no sound of the door banging shut again; they must have left it open; people often do in homes where something awful has happened.

Aunt March, in contrast, had become much calmer. So they couldn’t understand her words any more, though they seemed clear enough to her, clearer than before - perhaps her ears had become used to the sound. They had realized though, that there was something wrong with her, and were ready to help. 

Aunt March rested a while to recover from the efforts of the morning, and then set herself to the task of turning the key in the lock with her mouth. She seemed, unfortunately, to have no proper teeth, but the lack of teeth was, of course, made up for with a very strong jaw; using the jaw, she really was able to start the key turning, ignoring the fact that she must have been causing some kind of damage as a brown fluid came from her mouth, flowed over the key and dropped onto the floor. 

“Listen,” said Josephine in the next room, “she’s turning the key.” Aunt March was greatly encouraged by this; but they all should have been calling to her. “Well done, miss,” they should have cried, “keep at it, keep hold of the lock!” And with the idea they were all excitedly following her efforts, she bit on the key with all her strength, paying no attention to the pain she was causing herself. As the key turned round she turned around the lock with it, only holding herself upright with her mouth, and hung onto the key or pushed it down again with the whole weight of her body as needed. The clear sound of the lock at it snapped back was Aunt March’s sign that she could break her concentration, and as she regained her breath she lay her head on the handle of the door to open it completely. 

Because she had to open the door in this way, it was already wide open before she could be seen. She had first to slowly turn herself around one of the double doors, and she had to to it very carefully if she did not want to fall flat on her back before entering the room. She was still occupied with this difficult movement, unable to pay attention to anything else, when she heard Josephine exclaim a loud “Oh!”, which sounded like the soughing of the wind. Now she also saw her - she was nearest to the door - her hand pressed against her open mouth and slowly retreating as if driven by a steady and invisible force. 

“Now, then,” said Aunt March, well aware she was the only one to have kept calm, “I’ll get dressed straight away now. Will you please report to your mother accurately then? It’s quite possible for someone to be temporarily unable to arise, but that’s just the right time to remember what’s been achieved in the past and consider that later on, once the difficulty has been removed, she will certainly be back to appropriate diligence and concentration. Please, don’t go away, at least first say something to show that you grant that I am at least partly right!” 

But Josephine had turned away as soon as Aunt March had started to speak, and, with protruding lips, only stared back at her over her trembling shoulders as she left. She did not keep still for a moment while Aunt March was speaking, but moved steadily towards the stairs without taking her eyes off.

Aunt March realized that it was out of the question to let Josephine go away in this mood. She had to be held back, calmed down, convinced, and finally won over; the future of Aunt March’s reputation depended on it! If only that voice could get involved. It was clever; it was was already in tears while she was still lying peacefully on her back. And Josephine loved her sisters, surely the other child could persuade her; the girl would close the front door and talk her out of her shocked state. But no other girl was there at present. Aunt March would have to do the job herself. 

She let go of the door; pushed herself through the opening; tried to reach Josephine on the landing who, ridiculously, was holding onto the lower banister with both hands; but Aunt March fell immediately over and, with a little scream as she sought something to hold onto, landed on her numerous little legs. 

There then, not far away in front of her, she could now see a small girlish figure, rosy-cheeked. Yes! There! The shy one! What was her name…Elsbeth? She was at first quite engrossed in herself, but then she suddenly jumped up with her arms outstretched and her fingers spread shouting: “Help, for pity’s sake, help!” The way she held her head suggested she wanted to see Aunt March better, but the unthinking way she was hurrying backwards showed that she did not. 

“Young miss! Elsbeth!” said Aunt March gently, looking up at her. She had completely forgotten Josephine for the moment, but could not help herself snapping in the air with her jaws. That set the girl screaming anew. Aunt March, though, had no time to spare for the wretched girl now; Josephine had already reached the bottom of the stairs, with her chin on the banister, she looked back for the last time.

The flight of Josephine seemed, unfortunately, to put the upper housemaid into a panic as well. She seized a nearby stick in her right hand, picked up a newspaper from the hall in her left, and used them to drive Aunt March back into her room, stamping her foot at her as she went. 

Across the room, despite the chilly weather, that foul Eslpeth girl (why did she weep so??) had pulled open a window, leant far out of it, and pressed her hands to her face.

Aunt March had never had any practice in moving backwards and was only able to go very slowly. If she had only been allowed to turn round she would have been back in her room straight away, but she was afraid if she took time to do that the maid would become impatient, or the girl start crying again, and Aunt March pushed herself into the doorway without regard for what might happen. One side of her body lifted itself, she lay at an angle into the doorway, one flank scraped on the door and was painfully injured, leaving vile brown flecks on it, soon she was stuck fast and would not have been able to move at all by herself, the little legs along one side hung quivering in the air while those on the other side were pressed painfully against the ground. Then the maids gave her a hefty shove from behind which released her, and sent her flying, heavily bleeding, deep into her room. The door was slammed shut, then, finally, all was quiet.

Quiet, but for the soft weeping of a child. 

A hearty thank you and apologies to Mr. Kafka. See you next week!