SHARING and CARING :)

HI all,
Just a quick note to say that I anjoying reading the re-writes, and to thank those who feel comfortable enough sharing their rewrite on the Blog. Grades to follow... :)
All the best, Esther

P.S. Come to class please !!! (Wednesday class now 2-4pm in WT 904)

Postman Always Rings Twice

This my re-write of the 1930 The Postman Always Rings Twice. I introduced a new character to add tension to the story as the original lack this in some ways.

As the car rolled down the hill Cora could only wish that Frank was all right. The car rolled to a stop at the bottom of the hill and tilted slightly. Cora squinted her eyes to see what is going on as the moon had gone behind a cloud. She could see movement at the bottom of the cliff. A body appeared to fall out of the car and a voice shouted out “Cora, it’s me Frank, Nick’s dead.” His voice echoed throughout the valley. “Now quick, run back up to the street and flag down a car” Cora quickly grabbed her purse and ran to the road side. A car could be seen in the distance, traveling quickly. As Frank started his ascent up the cliff he did not notice what was going on behind him. Nick had slowly rolled out of the car and pulled himself behind the rock that lay beside the car. He hid himself away out of sight.

A couple days later after the whole ordeal, Frank and Cora went back to living somewhat normal lives. They survived the court case, claiming them of trying to kill Nick but got off on it being an accident and were now happily living with the insurance money. With no idea that Nick was still alive and trying to gain strength at the bottom of the hill. He lay behind the rock screaming out for anyone to hear him. He was burned badly from the accident. There was no one around. The tall cliff face worried Nick as he wondered if he would ever get out of there. The car still lay on upside down. Pulling himself back to the car he searched for any sort of food or medical supplies. Luckily for Nick, Cora was always worried about something happening to him on long business trips, so she packed a first aid kit and food in the trunk. Opening the first aid kit he wrapped up his burns. He could hear a car coming closer to where he was lying. Yelling at the top of his voice

“Help. Down here”

He could hear the car slow down so he continued to yell.

“Help”

The car slowed down and stopped. Nick breathed a sigh of relief. Help at last. This was only a trick as he heard the engine roar again and travel off into the distance. He continued to yell hoping somebody would hear him. He knew there was a dirt trail that followed the road and maybe somebody was walking along there. Yelling again he noticed a figure appear at the cliff edge. Nick’s vision was burly due to the accident and could only make out the small tender figure. As they approached Nick noticed she was an African woman, dressed in a long flowing white dress, bare feet and a small bag. She knelt at his side. She lightly touched Nick’s leg. He felt the touch serge through his body.

“What happened” she asked in a concerned tone.

“I was in a car accident. My wife ran of with my kitchen hand” Nick replied quietly.

“That is terrible. Let me go find you help”

She stood up and left Nick, turning to assure him she was coming back. Nick thought he was dreaming. There were no woman of colour around the area or so he thought. It seemed strange that she would travel all this way and offer her help to a stranger. Hours went by and she had not returned. Nick thought it to good to be true so he decided to try to move himself or at least stand. Pulling himself closer the car to use as support he lifted himself into a sitting position.

More cars drove pass but none could see the accident from the cliff side. It was starting to get dark and no sign of the mystery woman. Had it been a dream. Nick was desperate for anything. Pulling himself up again he managed to stand up on two legs. They didn’t seem to be broken, he applied some pressure. He let out a scream of pain and fell to the ground. They burns were worse then the thought. Night fall had arrived and Nick knew it would be to dangerous to move with rocks and crevices all around the area. Propping himself against the car door he fell asleep. He dreamt of the young woman coming back to him and saving him. He was woken throughout the night by the sound of wolves howling and the noises of the wind whistling through the car. Deciding it would be safer in the car he crawled in and lay on the roof. Closing the door he fell back asleep until morning.

When Nick awoke he saw the door had been opened and a bag laying at his feet. Sitting up he reached for the bag. This hurt his legs so he pulled himself out of the car. The sunlight shone brightly and he had to shield his eyes. He could see the figure again but didn’t trust his eyes but she was gone again by the time he had wiped his eyes.

“Hello?”

There was no reply. He pulled himself out of the car and tried to stand again. She appeared out from behind the car. She was still dressed in the same clothing from the day before.

“Where did you go?’

She looked at him and started to cry. He fell sorry for her and beckoned her to his side.

“I went to find somebody but there was no one that would talk to me.”

Clasping at his side, he caressed her back and comforted her. She shook in fear of what would happen to her in this new place. Her first encounter with a person and she was unable to help him. She was only young and didn’t know much of the outside world. Travelling miles to make a new life for herself she was taught nothing of the land outside. Nick moved his legs around a bit. She saw that the bandage had come apart, revealing the burns from the accident. She got up and looked around. There was a small bowl and some water in the kit Cora had packed. She looked out into the wasteland before them to see if there were any natural ingredients she could use. There was some cactus and bits a dead grass lying around the place. Taking the knife from her pack she cut the cactus open and removed some of the liquid from within. It was cool to the touch and must have some healing properties to it. She mixed it in the bowl with some water and applied it to Nick’s leg. They cool soothing ointment felt wonderful on his legs and let a sigh of relief.

Meanwhile Frank and Cora had spent days back at the hotel wondering what became of Nick’s body. They hoped nobody would see the car from the cliff otherwise they would be in trouble. Cora was coming into her pregnancy increasingly as the days went by and thought deep down that her child would never know it’s father. She didn’t tell Frank of the horrible state she was in as he would leave her. He was a free spirit and wasn’t going to be tied down by a spouse and a child that wasn’t his. She was going to try anything to change him. She cleaned and tied the hotel waiting for guest to arrive. The occasional person would ask about Nick. She had rehearsed her answer. He was abroad on business and was unsure when he would return.

Days passed and Nick was still revealed that she had decided to stay with him a nurse him back to health. There was enough food in the trunk to last a couple of weeks so they knew that they wouldn’t starve. They could draw water from the cactus and coming into winter it started to rain more at night. Nick left the bowl out in the rain and collected water. During the long nights alone in the car they would talk. Nick taught her the new technologies that he was so used to. He taught her of the vast world and what was out there. New countries were just waiting to be explored. They huddled together to keep the warmth in the car. She was afraid of the thunder and lighting one night and Nick told her that it was just God’s way of letting lose. She was interested in learning more about God. Where she came from there was nothing like what Nick had taught her. She worked in a rice field with her older brother and younger sister. Her parents had been killed by people she did not know. They came in the middle of the night and dragged her parents outside. Standing them against trees the aimed an object at them. She remembered a loud bang and her mother falling to the ground. She started to run but was held back but a large man. Next the man holding the objet pointed it at her father and another loud bang. He slummed to the ground. Trying to stand up there was another loud bang and he collapsed. Not getting up again. She was thrown back into the hut and footsteps heard running off into the forest. Her brother went after them with his spare. He did not return.

She told him years later after her sister died while working in the rice field she was walking along the beach. A large canoe like vessel was out in the cove. It was like a canoe but much bigger and made from the same material of the object that killed her parents. She decided that there was nothing left for her on the island and what harm could it do to swim over and climb aboard hiding beside a large wooden crate. As Nick was listening to her compelling story he filled in the blanks as best as he could. He told her the objects were rifles and killed people with bullets. The large canoe was a ship and made of metal and wood. It travelled across the ocean to new lands. He told her she had arrived in America, the land of the free. However America was going through the Great Depression and the American Dream was a nightmare. People were questioning all the maxims on which they had based their lives including democracy, capitalism, individualism. Nick spoke strongly about these issues and explained them to her. When she asked him about it he got himself worked up so she let the subject go. Times where changing and they weren’t getting any better. She thought about that for sometime and wondered if she had made the right choice leaving home. Days went by and she continued to nurse Nick back to health. During the day she would help him stand and walk again. Each day they would try a little further and was able to make it to the base of the cliff. Late one night they heard a car stop at the cliff edge. The lights shone out into the valley. Nick grabbed her and ducked behind the car. He did not want to be rescued. Even though he had money, a house and what he thought was a wife he was happy. He kept the news that he could walk now and his burns had almost healed from her as he was enjoying the time alone, away from the outside world. Each day he would share he experiences of the new world and tell her of the amazing things that were out there for her to try.

As the weeks went by Cora had been granted a divorce on the terms that Nick had not returned. Frank was over the moon and wanted to marry her as soon as he could. They decided to take a trip down to the beach and have a relaxing day. Packing up the car they set off. There was only one road that lead to the beach which passed the crash site. They slowed down and got out of the car. Cora shook in fear of what she would see in the valley. Creeping slowly to the edge she peered down. The car was still over turned. Grass and bushes had started to grow around the car. For a minute she thought she saw something move in the bushes. She yelled out to Frank who came running over.

“Look. Down by the car. Something white.”

He rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. it was a white dress floating in the wind. They both carefully climbed down the cliff and made their way over to the car.

“Hello?”

Cora stood back as Frank walked toward the backseat door. The bowl and bag were lying on the roof.

“Come here” he yelled to Cora.

She ran over carefully avoiding the rocks. Looking in she saw the items and the white dress. It wasn’t hers as she didn’t pack any of her clothes in the car. Maybe it had flown in from the wind and got caught or a drifter was using the car as shelter. She knelt down and looked in the bag. A sharpen rock and some flax was wrapped up in it. She beckoned Frank over to have a look. He looked in the bag and noticed something he had seen before on his travels. The woman that worked in the rice fields used these to cut the base of the plants. Cora heard a rustle behind her. Turning sharply she saw Nick standing there with a naked woman.

She collapsed at the sight of Nick standing there. Frank went to approach him. Nick stepped back and grabbed her hand. Frank saw Cora coming around and helped her to stand.

Nick to the opportunity and pounced at Frank. They rolled around hitting rocks and cactus’. Cora could only stand and watched as the two men she loved fought. The woman covered herself with her dress and picked up her stone. She remembered Nick’s face from years ago. He was the man that held her back when her parents were murdered. She got into the brawl and repeatedly hit Frank over the head. Moments later he stopped moving and lying on top of Nick. Nick pushed him off and stood up. Cora screamed out as Nick ran towards her.

“You killed him”

She hit his chest over and over. He grabbed her arms and threw her to the ground. Walking over the Frank he picked up the young woman and walked off with her. Cora’s cries could be heard around the valley. Making their way up to the car hey got in and drove off. Never to see Cora again.

The Mandalay

Introduction to The Mandalay

This is a re-write of Rudyard Kipling’s poem ’Mandalay’ from 1890. I have always loved this poem, because in Denmark a respected folk singer made a pretty song out of it. But when I recently read it more careful I was actually surprised by it simplicity and in my eyes disrespect of the main character, the ’Burma girl’, as she is degraded to be called in the beginning. Further research also showed that many of the facts in the poem are not true. Kipling has altered the reality so it fits the structure and content of the poem.

Tha’t why I chose to re-write it. I have tried to honour the details by unfolding the story and elaborating the story of Supiyawlat, making the Burma girl a real person with skills and pride. I have also aimed to critise Rud (the I narrator) by giving him the author’s name and making him appear a little clumsy, stupid and stereotypical manly – but also affectionate and devoted.

In order to respect the history and the realities of what happened in Burma around the period where both the poem Mandalay and my re-write play (the colonisation), I have tried as well as possible to make all my descriptions of Burmese nature and traditions and not least historical facts true to reality.

Read Kipling’s original poem here http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Mandalay

/Fie Krøyer Dahl, September 2010

The Mandalay

Moulmein 1882

She looked west to the sea. The ocean was calm today. The humid was hanging over the city, clinging to her naked shoulders and the heat pushing her towards the ground. It would be a rainy day. But the hungry earth did not know yet, it was still only a notion in the air.
Supi rested her head on the wooden doorframe of the old pagoda, where she had a perfect overview of Moulmein and the surroundings. Flat hills, lush and green with rainforest continuing into the country.
She sighed at the movement. Stretched her slender legs out in front of her and made sure her yellow dress with the golden threads weaved into the fabric covered her knees.

Though the morning had been quiet as always, she had woken up with an unease in her body. The days here seemed similar, she could not remember one from another. Neither her friends or family were there, and she had read her last book yesterday not knowing when a new load would arrive. Mail was slow these days caused to all the turmoil in the country.
She slowly scanned the harbour for activity. Moulmein had a busy waterfront, with teak tree companyes closely decorating every available spot at the mouth of the Salween River, and when walking along the dock one could see boxes filled with all sorts of tropical fruits ready to be shipped to whom ever would pay for it.
Supi decided to go down there. Maybe she would find some entertainment somehow.

When she reached the harbour, the rain started to fall. Small drops prickling her face, as she leaned her head backwards and closed her eyes. A cool breeze caught her hair, thick and black it danced in the wind.
Suddenly she saw the ship, approaching in the distance, three masts with an umistakeable British flag silently shouting its mightyness to the world. The rain was now pouring impolitely from the grey roof above her. She found a sheltered spot with a good view and sat down to look at the voyager as it called to the port.

Soon she could hear the commanding voices of the admirals directing the seamen to dock the giant vessel. Ropes were thrown and tightened. A moment after the wharf was buzzing with fair haired men in blue uniforms, some looking very determined; others less sure of the meaning of their feet now placed on Burmese ground.
Supi unconsciously shook her head. The spectacle looked crazy from her hideout above. Like an invasion of ants struggling not to drown. One guy stood up over all the others, his back straight and his mouth a thin line, looking for something, worried. He took a few steps, not paying attention to the direction, and stumpled on some cages with chickens.
- Poor soldiers, Supi thought.
For a minute she was happy about her own situation, even though she sometimes felt stuck. But she definately had more freedom than them, even though she lived in a country which had been battling invading powers for more than fifty years.
She recalled her mother’s stories: The smell of gunpowder in the streets of Rangoon, where she was brought up, the Burmese soldiers fighting to death and the sound of a thousand civilian feet fleeing, diappearing in the mountains.
The atmosphere was always tense in this country, and Supi had a feeling that soon another shift of paradigm was to come.

In the evening she returned to the wooden bungalow, where she had resided the past months. The torch-lit porch welcomed her and she knew the warmth and kindness of this place existed only for her, so that she could recuperate as well as possible.
Lwin came out to the veranda.
- How are you, my dear, she asked, her voice soft and squeeky like an old rocking chair.
- You are all wet! It’s no good for your health, Supi.
Supi waved away the worries with her hand.
- I’m fine, she replied with a smile and put together her palms to greet the old lady.
- Just been wandering about all day, she said.
- You are one daydreamer, child. No wonder you get sick when you do not pay attention to neither cold or storm.
Lwin shook her head and then led Supi into the house. It was just one big room with woven carpets on the walls and big glassless windows facing a big garden.
- Come get some dinner.
They sat down in the middle of the room on the colourful mats on the floor. The housemaid brought in two big platters with food and put them on the low table. Fish, rice and crunchy fresh vegetables steaming with the smell of turmeric and other spices, Supi couldn’t define.
She ate with great hunger.

Bazaar

A black and yellow butterfly was resting in the window sill beside her bed when she woke up the next morning. It seemed to ponder for a brief moment, maybe thinking were to go next, and then it fluttered the big wings and floated away.
Supi closed her eyes. Sounds from the kitchen. Birds twittering. Somewhere a dog barked. Then she opened them. No rain! She got up, pushed open the bamboo door and peeked out. Light embraced her. Sun.
- A perfect day to go to the bazaar, she thought and hurried to get dressed. Every opportunity to get out she would accept with great pleasure. She had been forced to stay indoor and mostly in bed for so long, because she had caught the malaria, but now she felt better and of course she was free to do what she wanted. But she could not just wander the streets alone without purpose. At least not too often, it was not suitable for a young Burmese woman. She did it anyway, though. Like yesterday. She would go crazy if she were only to hang around the bungalow all day.

But the bazaar was close, and she could not see any reason not to go on such a lovely day. She sneaked out the house without Lwin’s notice, grabbed her shoes on the porch and ran barefooted down the road, jumping straight into every puddle she passed.
The entrance of the bazaar was already busy with all kinds of people. Salesmen with wagons, bald Buddhist monks and women with children hanging on their hips. Everywhere bargains were promoted out loud; everywhere people was chatting, laughing, crying and fighting in the narrow streets.
Supi loved this place. She loved to endulge in the many strange foods and artefacts one could buy and to walk around anonymously and observe the life and take in the atmosphere.
Suddenly she saw him. The tall soldier from the wharf yesterday. Sitting on a wooden chest, looking like he had eaten something poisonous; all pale and shaky. His friend beside him obviously did not know where to place himself. His long arms were restlessly flickering the golden buttons of his royal marine uniform, looking so neat and spotless and misplaced in the messy, dirty bazzar.
Supi moved closer, trying to distinct the words of the foreign language from each other.
Before she came close enough, someone took her by the arm. Old friends of the family, whom she hadn’t seen since she was a little girl. When the couple finally finished talking and she turned around, the soldiers were gone.

She went on through the masses of people, the sun now burning down from a blue sky. Though she actually never had to shop for anything herself, because everything was always provided for her both here in Moulmein and at home in Mandalay, she bought some red rambutans and a mango. She was just about to invest in a new scarf as well; its colours were bright and appealing. But she did not really need it. And Thi would not like it if she returned to Mandalay after two months with half the city on the wagon.

Outside the bazaar again, she headed back to the bungalow. She thought about her parents. Both old now, fragile and less mobile than they used to be. Supi feared the day they would no longer be there. Of course she would still have her three sisters. But they were all older and wrapped up in their own family life. Supi was the youngest and when she was a child, she was always the one who was allowed to fall asleep in the arms of one of the others. She was also the last one to leave the big house where they all grew up, and she had right from the beginning been the apple of her father’s eye. No one understood her as well as him.
She missed him. He was almost blind now, but his mind was still full of imagination, life and colors. And Supi knew that if death came to them, it would only take them to the next life until someday they reached Nirvana, as Supi was sure they would sooner or later. But hopefully they still had some time left here.

Head bent down and far away in thought, Supi suddenly felt something in front of her, like a shadow. She abrubtly took a pace backwards in order to avoid collision and looked up.
It was him. The soldier. He, too, seemed to be occupied with everything else but paying attention to where he stepped. He was alone now.
Initially he stared surprised at her, not knowing to go one or the other way around her. She did not move but observed his desperate moves. Then she smiled. And he laughed.
- I’m sorry, he said, shaking his blonde head.
- I did not see you at all.
Supi liked the way he pronounced the words. Soft, not like the other Englishmen she had met.
She shook her head.
- Me neither, she replied.
- That’s pretty, he said then.
- Are you lost too? he asked.
No, no. She was just on her way home, she told him. Been to the bazaar. The soldier explained how he had suddenly been feeling bad and when his friend had left to find some water, they had lost each other in the crowd. Now he was trying to get back to ship on his own, but the small streets of Moulmein confused him, all looking alike.
Supi felt a strange, faint thunder inside. She knew it would not be right to do it, but she could not help it:
- I can take you there, if you want..? She raised her eyebrows in question.
He was thrilled. Thanked her.
- I’m Rud by the way, he said and put out his hand to say proper hello.

Temple

So Supi started to walk towards the harbour with Rud by her side. They were a funny sight, the graceful Burmese girl next to the broad-shouldered Brit. Their stroll so different from one another, uneven in rhythm.

But conversation was smooth.
Rud had never been out of Europe. He told her about the long journey from England to Burma; about the tedious days on the ships, the quarrels and fights the soldiers in between. But he also unfolded for her the beauty of the rough sea, the starry sky in the quiet nights and the excitement of not knowing what was to come.

They passed the road leading to up a small hill to the temple, where Supi used to come. She invited Rud to see it. Since he had did not have to be back at the ship before dusk, he said yes.

Outside the temple Supi took off her shoes. She waited for Rud to do the same. But he just looked questioning at her.
- What’s that for? he asked reluctantly.

Supi looked surprised at him.
- We never wear our shoes inside. And definately not in sacred places, she said.
- It would be offensive to the Gods.

Rud put up a great laughter implying the ridicule in this. All that trouble every time going into a house?
Supi turned her head away and went inside the temple, leaving Rud on his own. Whatever. If he did not want to respect it, she did not care. She was surprised about his suddenly swift in person, almost mocking her religion. He had seemed so polite and oddly captivating.

She bent down and kissed the golden Buddha at the alter. Shortly after Rud joined her. His feet were bare, his socks peeking out from the left pocket of his uniform. Supi had never worn socks.

They were quiet for a while. Then Rud faced her.
- Can you accept my apology..? he whispered.

At his words a pleasent shiver went down Supi’s back.

Of course. He was new to everything here; the climate, the culture, the traditions. He was excused.

She told him about the Buddhist rituals, the temples, the monks and the meditation. She was not orthodox, but she obeyed some of the most simple rules, since it was something she was taught from the very beginning of life. So different from his, she realised.

Just before the sun set they left the temple, where they had been sitting outside on a bench enjoying some traditional pickled tea, which Rud of course initially refused to taste but then tried and found very tasty.

After having pointed him in the right direction towards the waterfront, she walked back through the semi-dark of the end of the day.

Pagoda

When they met the following morning he was newly shaven and wore his normal clothes. Supi had agreed to meet him again since she did not have anything more exciting to do – and because she actually enjoyed his company.

Again they walked side by side, aiming for no where in particular. Supi could feel the warmth steaming from his body. He was not used to the heath, he explained. In England it was cold and rainy. Though the summers could be nice, he added.

Suddenly they were near the old pagoda, where Supi had caught the first glimpse of the big ship, which had brough Rud to Burma.

She was eager to show him the view and dragged him up the high hill, though he objected and complained about being thirsty and in need of shade. But when he stood on top, he was amazed. They sat down on the stairs where the view over the Moulmein harbour was excellent. The sun caught the waves, blinking at them, inviting them to come closer. Maybe they should go for a swim later, Supi thought.

From up here they could see the workers load teaktree on to ships and of course Rud’s giant military vessel was there too. The seamen were preparing it for heading to sea again already tomorrow. Moulmein had just been a stop on the way further in to the country on the Salween River.

- Do you like being a soldier, Rud, she suddenly asked him.

- Do you like having the power to kill other people and take over their land and property?

He seemed to be surprised about the question. Hesitated for a while. Not sure about what to answer.

- It’s just the way it is, he said and went on:

- I’ve never really given it much thought. I’m proud of serving my country and the Queen. I think it is an honour.

He straightened his back a little when saying it.

Supi was so puzzled by this man. She liked him. And she did not like him. Or maybe she just did not like where he came from. The values he represented. And the fact that he obviously seemed to be thinking that all others than Europeans were somewhat underdeveloped.
But she was not sure. There was something about him which also intrigued her. He continued:

- And all my friends are in the army as well. All young men are asked to join. Or… asked is maybe not the right word. You have to.

- Says who?

- The law of course. Rud was seemed surprised that she did not know.

He looked down at his rough hands, turned them around and got lost into his own thought, staring at the palms, as if he was looking for some answer and hoped to find it there.

- And, well… there was not really anything for back home. I had gotten into some bad company, I guess you can say... With some bad habits. Gambling and such, you know. Because I was restless. And sad.

Supi listened in silence, waiting for him to continue.

- And so I chose to go away for a while. I thought it would probably be a good idea. And that it would help me back on the right track again.

- And so… does it feel better? Supi asked.

Rud nodded.

- Now it does, he smiled.

He definately knew how to pick his words.

- So what about you, Supi from Moulmein. What’s your story? Rud then asked.
Supi warded off the question. Not much to be said. Or that she wanted to tell.

- I’m not from here. I’m from Mandalay, she said. She told him about her family. That they were still in Mandalay, and she was only here because she was recovering from a severe illness, and so they had arranged for her to stay here in a house with a nurse and servants.

- Wow, your family must be rather wealthy then, when they can afford all that, Rud said.

Supi did not reply to the comment. She just looked distantly out to the river and smiled vaguely.

Rud grabbed for something in his pocket, pulled out a pack of cheroots and offered her one. Supi rejected the offer. She did not smoke, unless it was a special occasion. Besides, she added, it was only for old men with nothing better to do.

Rud laughed loudly, then he lit the long brown Burmese speciality and took a deep drag, eyes closed. He confessed that he used to smoke cigarettes at home, another one of his recently caught vices. But this cheroot was a whole other legue, he could already tell. Much richer and better than the imported paper tobacco.

They spent the rest of the day just walking around Moulmein, strolling the buzzing streets of the center and escaping the noise on the more quiet banks of the river. Rud bought her a bracelet and put it on her wrist.

- Never take it off, he made her promise. She promised.

When the darkness started to fall upon them so did the rain, and Rud asked Supi if he could walk her home. But she would not let him. And so their goodbye took place underneath a big durian tree sheltering them from both weather and the rest of the world.

Rud kissed her, and Supi kissed him back but only for a brief moment. Then she realised what she was doing, remembered the reality; her reality, and in that reality kissing another man, a stranger, was not a option.

She turned around and ran away, leaving Rud in alone in the rain.

She never saw him again. What she would never know was that Rud later would return to England after more than two years on the sea. He would pick up his life and his sorrows exactly where he had left them and never recover from the ache in his heart, of which origin he did not really know.
When he lay in the hooker’s bed in the narrow alleys of London, he would close his eyes and sweep off to the distant skies of Burma and the softness that was Supi. He would become the old sailor in the joint, telling stories of far away countries. But he would never be happy. Supi was like a jungle disease that never ceased haunting him until the day he died.

Queen and King

The next morning Supi was woken up by noises outside. She put on her morning robe and stepped outside, only to meet a sight she had certainly not expected. A large wagon with horses and coachman was parked in front of the bungalow. And out came Thibaw. The king. Her husband.

He smiled broadly. Opened him arms and approached her. Supi was terrified. Could he tell she had only the night before rested in the arms of someone else?

But Thi could only see him self. That was his gift, and though it was one of the things she liked least about him, for that Supi was grateful right now.

They hugged each other. The last time they had done so was several months ago. Then he led her to the carriage, and there the nanny was waiting with two little children.

Supi’s children. Whom she had not been allowed to bring with her to Moulmein, because she needed the outmost rest, as the doctor had said. Supi had cried for days, but it was out of her hands.

Now she cried again, but this time of happiness. She took them in her arms and never let go of them again.

- I have missed you, Queen Supiyawlat, Thibaw said.

And Supi realised that she had did the same. Even though Thibaw had never made her heart leap to endless hights, he was her husband and she loved him for his care and devotion to his family, and his courage in leeding the country.
This was her life, and she was content.

India 1930

She starred to the sea. The last days she had had a strange notion of longing. It did not happen that often anymore, she had been here way to long and almost gotten used to the thought of never going back. She looked to the horizon, across the calm ocean, so different from the waters of river she once called hers.
Somewhere out there on the other side was her old home. Somewhere in the dark was a past life, memories hidden in a far away drawer in a closet never opened, as tightly closed as her heart had been for years.
She had been safe in India, yes. But she always knew, from the minute the British troops had exported her and Thibaw to their exile here that she would never be the same.
On that November day in 1885, after only seven years of reign, when the soldiers had defeated the king and his army, and Thibaw was forced to abdicate, leaving his kingdom to Victoria, the queen of England, something died in Supi.

She looked down at her pearl bracelet. A faint memory of a soldier came to her. Was it true or had it been nothing but a dream, those Moulmein days? Supi was no longer sure. And it did not matter. It was all in the past. Long gone, like Burma and Thibaw and all that was theirs.

All gone.

Flight of the Conchords Rewrite

This piece is written from the perspective of Dave’s character in Flight of the Conchords, Brett and Jermaine’s American friend who owns a pawn shop down the block from their flat. Dave has no knowledge of where they are from and has absolutely no clue as to where or even what New Zealand is. It’ll deliver a quirky insight to how Dave perceives the duo’s strange New Zealand customs in the ‘land of opportunity’.




A Visit from Home

A neon green glow lit up the room in harmony to the screaming buzzer that accompanied it. Subway trains charged past the second storey bedroom window of Dave’s apartment every few minutes, acting as his failsafe ‘snooze’ button.

“Man I’m getting too old for this shit” moans Dave, as he tossed and turned under the sheets in search of a comfortable posture worthy of being pulled back into his snoring slumber.

It had been a long day yesterday for Dave. This was not because of him catching up to his daily online gaming spree to slay the baddies in front of his computer, but it was more the fact that he had been rushing around Manhattan looking for an ideal outfit for Brett and Jermaine’s “Super Choice New Zealand Themed Party” for the following day.

‘Super Choice’? What the hell does that even mean?

Is it code for the choice of New Zoolander girls that I can get my ins on at the party?

Dave still had not grasped the idea that the folk duo who he had known for over a year now had come from a country he had never even heard of. For all he knew they were but figments of his own imagination, but he had sold them a guitar once so they were definitely real, or at least that’s what he’s come to believe during the time in which he’d known them for.

After Dave’s usual weak attempt at getting ready to open up shop which would usually consist of getting dressed, having breakfast and brushing his teeth in the space of ten minutes, he headed down the narrow stairway to the crowded shop floor of his apartment complex.

“Another day in paradise; that’s if paradise looked like the depths of a school janitor’s closet room. Hell, I might as well work as a school janitor. I’d probably make more money selling drugs to the high school kids than selling any of this crap!”

Day in and day out it was Dave’s job to man the pawn shop he loved so dearly, yet sometimes he would secretly wish that it would burn down so that he would be able to collect a hefty insurance claim on the shop and his belongings. Although this was a recurring fantasy of his, this would not necessarily be the most convenient way of doing so seeing as his flat was but one short stair climb up from the shop itself, but there was no harm in fantasising about it.

Three-stringed guitars hung along the side of the wall, decommissioned kitchen appliances were stacked under the wall shelving units behind the sales desk, and countless plastic hobby-boxes filled with odds and ends cluttered the remaining space in the shop, leaving ample room for customers to walk in and have a browse.

Dave had thought of clearing up the store a bit for those occasional customers with wheelchairs, but then again what kind of wheelchair bound New Yorker would come in looking for the latest in Dave’s running shoe collection?

Hours had passed and many cups of coffee had been spilt throughout the day. Dave had been waiting all day for this party to roll along.

He pulled the invitation from his back pocket and began to navigate his eyes through the clutter of New Zealand memorabilia photo cut-outs which crowded the majority of the piece of card. Panning through the collage of photographs including the famous toothbrush fence of Te Pahu and Jermaine’s hand drawn Kiwi bird which resembled an old pinecone more than anything else, Dave landed his eyes on the party’s initial kick off time.

5:30PM? That’s way too early to start a party. They must have one of those strange sleep cycles only those New Zanker people could have.

Nevertheless, Dave proceeded to close up shop before any more customers came and pestered him for more faulty goods.

With a hasty fit of his New Zealand themed costume and stuffing a quick sandwich down his guller, Dave rushed his way down the steps of his apartment building and proceeded to venture onto the dim lit streets of New York.


* * *


This must be the place.

Standing at the foot of Brett and Jermaine’s entrance staircase, Dave double checked the number on his invitation to the numbers partially screwed on and painted onto the front door.

A cheeky grin crept across Dave’s face, quietly proud of himself for finding their place. The directions on the invitation were a huge help for Dave, as he had previously walked around the block several times in search for the exact same address.

Dave knocked on the large, red wooden door and waited for an answer.

The noisy streets behind him yearned for his attention as every passing yellow cab sang carols of rusty horns and screeching tyres. Trees pulling their way out of the sidewalk gave partial shade to passersby with their leafy canopies. Sounds of children playing on the street corner, dancing with danger with oncoming traffic as their soccer ball rolled gracefully across the street.

There was a sound at the door, followed by an eye peeking out through the side window. Moments later, Dave was let through the cavity of the rotten wooden door frame.

Dave was met by Jermaine in the dark and grimy hallway. Last week’s newspaper still hung out of the tenants’ letterboxes and many looked as if they hadn’t been emptied in years.

“Jermaine! Good to see you man. Listen, I wasn’t able to bring along any hot babes but I—“

“Dave, you know this is a New Zealand themed party aye?” Jermaine interrupted.

“Yeah dude, it took me a while to find but I found it in this sweet costume place just around the corner from 42nd Street, fits perfect too man you should come check it—“

“You dressed up as Steve Irwin.”

Dave stood in the hallway wearing his khaki short shorts and partially buttoned up khaki shirt, an alligator tooth chain around his neck and a dirty pair of khaki coloured work boots.

“Well duhh, it wasn’t as if I didn’t know anything about the guy. He ran around in the wild chasing giant lizard things and all that, jeez I thought you’d know seeing as you’re the ones hosting this party.”

“Yes Dave, but you dressed up as Steve Irwin.”

A look of confusion mapped out Dave’s face.

“Why, did somebody already show up as Steve?”

“No Dave, Steve Irwin is... Never mind. Come on up mate, Brett’s getting the ham and cheese toasties ready.”

With not a single ounce of hesitation Dave bolted up the marble steps of the complex, swinging himself around the corners on the handrails.

“I can smell them from here dude! Damn I already love New Zeaworld!”

“New Zealand!” Jermaine yelled.

“Yeah whatever dude!”


* * *


Brett and Jermaine’s apartment had been decorated beyond recognition, but strangely enough made their flat feel more vibrant than it was before. Pint-sized ‘All Blacks’ flags littered the entire flat, sticking out of already occupied plant vases and hanging off of the ceiling fan. Stuffed animals were placed neatly on ever seat ranging from Kiwi birds to Tuataras, which Dave mistook for native New Zealand hedgehogs and miniature alligators.

Brett stood over the stove preparing the cheese toasties for the party. He turned to Dave and Jermaine as they waltzed in through the front door.

Brett took one look at Dave and then to Jermaine for an explanation. Jermaine shrugged as he stood awkwardly next to Dave and his outfit.

“Dave, you dressed up as Steve Irwin.”

Dave’s face turned from content to frustrated.

“Are you guys screwing with me? Because I looked for this outfit for days and the lady told me that this was definitely what I was looking for. I asked her if she had anything that a New Englander would wear--”

“New Zealander.” Brett chimed in.

“Yeah whatever man. I thought you guys would be happy that I’d at least put some effort into this getup. Come on guys give me a break here!”

The pair shrugged and continued to cater for the party.

“So what are you supposed to be Jermaine?” asked Dave with a quizzed look on his face.

Jermaine’s skin was covered from head to toe in black tribal designs, a grass skirt and a large carved wooden spear. The getup was impressive, although Jermaine didn’t quite suit the character of who he was trying to be. He didn’t seem to enthusiastic about his costume.

“I’m a Maori tribesman. Yeah, New Zealand culture is riddled with these sorts of outfits.”

Dave’s puzzled face turned into a huge smile.

“Wow dude! Like one of those evil wizards from Lord of the Rings!”

Jermaine had given up with Dave.

“Yes, from Lord of the Rings, evil wizard, yes.”

“He’s not from Lord of the Rings,” added Brett placing his warm toasties neatly onto a large dinner plate, “he’s dressed up as New Zealand indigenous tribe chiefs.”

“Brett... don’t. He’ll only ask more questions.”

“So who are you Brett?” asked Dave.

“I’m the Prime Minister of New Zealand.”

“The Prime what?”

“Prime Minister, they’re in charge of the country. Kind of like the President here in America.”

Dave’s face resorted straight back to a state of confusion.

“I don’t mean to be a dick Brett but you look like a very strange looking woman wearing a suit.”

“Yeah her name is Helen Clarke. She used to be the Prime Minister a couple of years back. I wanted to go as John Key who’s our current Prime Minister but they didn’t have the silly hairpiece to go with it, so I went as Helen instead.”

Jermaine looked up at Brett from the kitchen table.

“You do look a little silly though Brett. Maybe you should’ve just got a haircut to make yourself seem more like John rather than a Helen.”

Walking up to the blue pin striped sofa in the corner of the room, Dave knocked off the stuffed animals for a comfortable seat amongst the dense amount of decorations. To Dave’s observation it seemed as if he was the only person who had shown up, or maybe they were still yet to show up?

“So when are the hot babes coming over? I bet you’ve invited some great looking ‘sheilas’!”

Dave looked proud of himself as he tried his hand at New Zealand slang.

“We don’t say ‘sheilas’ in New Zealand Dave, it’s what an Aussie would say.” explained Jermaine.

“Sorry Jermaine but I ain’t really a fan of his music let alone what he says. I can’t even understand him on TV half of the time.”

Brett and Jermaine glanced over at each other and shook their heads.

“You’re kind of the only person we invited Dave. We invited Mel but told her we cancelled the whole party.”

“Whys that?”

“Well she showed up outside our flat with a pillow and sleeping bag early this morning. We’re not the kind to delve too deep into her realm so we cancelled it.”

“But you didn’t cancel it.”

“Right.” replied Jermaine.

“Awesome! My very own New Zohan party!”

“New Zealand!” yelled Brett from the kitchen.

Trying his hand at the remote Dave attempted to switch through the TV channels, receiving nothing but static and a screeching noise. The old 70s Television looked as if it had been through a lot during its lifespan, with little nicks and scrapes splattered across its entire outer casing. Sparks would be seen being spat out from behind the TV every so often, spraying stars onto the navy blue apartment wallpaper.

“Dudes, your TV aint working at all. How do you guys pass the time if you haven’t got American Gladiators blaring through your living room?”

Jermaine oddly showed little interest with Dave’s TV issue seeing as it was their own to mend. He continued tidying up the stray decorations which had been knocked over when Dave first arrived.

“Why don’t you guys just use some of that New Zeeter ingenuity? I mean it’s probably just a faulty aerial. I can go check it out if you want?”

Jermaine seemed unsure about Dave’s request.

“Nah. The aerial’s too high off of the roof. Brett tried fixing it with a couple of those plastic pegs you use to hang your clothes with, but that just made it worse.”

“They were wooden pegs Jermaine!” bellowed Brett.

“Oh... yes, they were wooden ones. Yes.”

Dave rose up from his seat in front of the TV in protest.

“I don’t know how you New Skyland people fix things back home—“

“New Zealand!” yelled the pair.

“Right whatever, Im just saying that here in America we create our own opportunities, and this broken aerial here, my friends, is an opportunity that has come a knockin’ at my door.”

“Well if anything Dave, it’s knocking on our door, seeing as we live here.” mentioned Jermaine with a dazed look on his mug.

Shrugging his comment off, Dave advanced his way to the front door amongst all of the flax bushes and stuffed Tui birds, swiping the ferns trees out of his face as he struggled to grab the door handle.

Brett was the only one who showed some form of half-assed concern.

“Dave, be careful up there! It’s dangerous, and very high off of the ground!”

By the time Brett’s warning had left his lips, Dave had barrelled up the stairway towards the very top of the complex.


* * *


Wrenching open the doorway to the roof, Dave had finally made it outside after his long stair climb of three floors, which in his case was the most exercise he had done all week.

A large pigeon cage unit had been constructed in the far corner of the silent rooftop. The sound of hundreds of pigeons was all Dave could fathom from the sky’s eerie silence. Nothing but a few half filled plastic buckets of rainwater and a number of stray soccer balls accommodated the building’s top edge.

To the far left of the rooftop stood the almighty aerial, slightly overhanging off the side of the building and onto the taxi cab filled street below.

Pfft! Lazy New Zeepers.

Dave began to fantasise about the scenario in his head.

The world has called for a man of many talents and wonders but he has not come, until this very day where I, Dave the all powerful handyman has arrived to solve the world’s home appliance problems!

The aerial stemmed off at an odd angle the very corner of the wind riddled rooftop; almost like the flag poles you’d see saluting VIPs at the front of an expensive city centre hotel.

Dave took a peek over the edge of the roof’s eave.

“Holy crap. That’s a long way down alright.”

Dave began to doubt his decision of fixing the aerial, but stood his ground and convinced himself that he was more than capable of fixing Brett and Jermaine’s TV. He mounted his left foot onto the roof’s eave before firmly gripping the main stem of the TV aerial with both hands. Kilometres of cable had been webbed around the aerials intricate system, falling in the way of Dave’s approach as he tried to pull up his remaining right foot onto the eave as well.

He was now in a bit of a sticky situation. Dave had come between the overhanging aerial stem and the drop of doom to the streets below, firmly holding onto the metal object to prevent him from falling backwards into the sea of yellow.

You can do this Dave; it’s all in the hips... and in the arms of course. Who says that? ‘It’s all in the hips’? I don’t know a single person who’s ever used that phrase in their life! The last thing I would want to be told before doing something this dangerou—

There was a jolt from the aerials main stem. A snap, crackle and pop came from the TV cables being ripped from their floor bolts. The cable ripped and ricocheted its wound up tension towards Dave, before the entire aerial began to give way on him. Meters and meters of black cord were wrapped around Dave’s entire legs and ankles, tightening ever so much the more he began to fall back.

It all happened so fast. Dave shut his eyes faster than you could say... eyes, and began to plummet down to the gum riddled sidewalk below.

Then, a final yank to the legs was all Dave could feel as he came to an abrupt yet extremely lucky stop. Dave waited for a fair amount of time before opening up his bloodshot eyes, revealing to his disbelief that he was in fact hanging over the edge of the apartment complex by a group of electrical cables wrapped round his entire lower body, just meters from the ground.

“Help! Heeeelp! Somebody get me down from here!” screamed Dave in absolute terror.

Dave had never felt so humiliated yet so lucky in his life until his body began to rotate in the wind, bringing to light the apartment window stationed a foot away from where he was hanging. If that wasn’t humiliating enough, he was suspended before Brett and Jermaine’s open kitchen window, who in the meantime had been stuffing their faces with cheese toasties before waltzing up to the window for a good laugh.

Fear still dominated Dave.

“Guys, get me the hell down from here! I’m serious!”

Brett put down his cup of tea on the window sill and chuckled as he yelled out to him.

“Hey Dave! Dave!”

“What man?! I’m kinda in a world of shit right now dude!”

“At least you came properly dressed for the party now aye Dave?” added Jermaine with a giant grin on his face.

Dave seemed confused and angry at the fact that they were not helping him in any way.

“What the hell has that got to do with anything you jerk?!”

Brett chimed in his response with his signature form of wit.

“Well now that we know AJ Hackett has joined us, we can finally get this party started!”

High five.

--Robert McCambridge

Jane Eyre

Novel : Jane Eyre.

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte is a novel about an orphan girl's struggle in being raised by her wicked aunt and cousins and then moving to a strict boarding school. The story follows her
life as she goes to work as a governess and tutor for a wealthy household. It is at this place
where she falls in love with her master Mr Rochester. However, the love affair has complications. One of the problems with a potential marriage is that Mr Rochester has a dark secret in which he is already married to a demented woman Bertha Mason, who he keeps withheld in a room in the top floor of his mansion.
For the re-write I wish to delve into the personality of this secret wife Bertha and portray her views of the events which occur during this part of the novel. P25- 97.
I will keep all the events the same, however elaborate on the mysteries of the mad woman and her perspectives by introducing new information about this character and her motivations for the things that happen.


Re-write

It was an ordinary day for Bertha. She had got into a habit in the last year or so of her imprisoned life of waking to spend an hour of awkward dance steps and gestures which took her back to the days in which she had first met Mr Rochester before they were married. At the time, she had no knowledge that Mr Rochester's purpose of marrying her was for money so she was completely enthralled by the idea that he was deeply in love with her. Due to not being able to ever talk to her family members of love and all things pleasant, that time in her life, even though quite imaginary was very blissful. The dance steps would take her there.
Now that she spent her days in this dark moldy room mostly alone she put most of her effort into cultivating a pretend life. It had become ritualistic for her. She had truly lost it however seemed quite content.
A small window looked out over the fields towards Millcote After dance class she stared for a while soaking up the morning sun as it was her only chance to get daylight and to feel re-energized. Mrs Fairfax would be in the front garden, tending the herbs and vegetables which she found most enjoyable Bertha thought. She would do this until Grace Poole came with her morning meal. The knock would signal the next phase which was to have a gourmet meal, sumptuous and filling. In reality it was just …...................
This was to be no ordinary day for Bertha. Little did she know that a new governess was coming and this would upset the balance that Bertha had regulated in her mind about the supposed normality of the situation. In Bertha's mind, her and Mr Rochester were still together and a normal couple. The fact of being locked in a secret room was just based on a minor quarrel and was necessary and only temporary even though it had been going on for more that a few years.
The first signal of alert came from Rochester's daughter Adele who was speaking french with such enthusiasm. This was out of place. Curiosity made Bertha listen very carefully and put her ear to the ground whilst grinning with great distrust for this potential threat. Someone had arrived and was moving in to the mansion. That changed her habits dramatically. She soon discovered it was a young woman and her rage increased.

A few days later, Mr Rochester arrived home. Bertha could hear him coming up the stairs and pause for a while to prepare to meet his mad wife. Bertha was pacing back and forth and full of rage and pity. The curtain was drawn back and the key put in and the door unlocked. Bang, Bertha tried to close the door on him. He was not willing to play this game and shunted the door aggressively open as she stumbled back and started crying and then cackling with a lonely hysteria. Mr Rochester could see that Bertha wanted answers and sat on the shaggy mattress and he patted his hand on the bed to show he wanted to sit with her. She suddenly flipped her mood and ran to sit next to him with a creepy smile whilst breathing heavily. Mr Rochester shuffled over a little and pulled out some carrot cake from his pocket. Bertha took it and placed it at her make shift shrine in the corner on the floor on top of a handkerchief. Her deranged thinking was obviously in high etiquette mode in that particular moment and desert was to be saved for the appropriate time, besides it was a special gift from her sweetheart.
Now that Mr Rochester had subdued her, he contemplated telling her about Jane. Although Grace Poole her caretaker treated her like an animal, Mr Rochester felt differently and looked on her with a kind pity and even though she didn't talk knew she could understand.
He told her a new servant was her for Adele and that was all. It was as though he had to report to her and was under her control. This feeling made him feel so weak and disgusted at himself. She tried to attack him with her claws and he wrestled her arms down until she was exhausted. He left Bertha, locked the door and walked down stairs to speak with Jane.
Bertha was furious and planned to get revenge as she didn't believe a word of it.
Bertha was a crafty woman. She had managed to fool Grace many times and had stolen things from her during her care-taking. Once she stole a key for the room however would not dare use it blatantly in the case of losing it. She really didn't want to leave anyway. She only went out in the dark of night when no one was awake. Sometimes to steal food or to play with items around the house.
Bertha would never really want to kill Mr Rochester, she just wanted him to suffer for her suffering. That night, she sneaked out once everyone was definitely asleep. She took a candle light and crept into Mr Rochester's room. She stood for a while entranced by the way he lay there so peacefully. She smiled as though mesmerized. Logic kicked in and fury starting to burn within her. She stared at the flame and spun in a circle gently watching the flame that represented beauty and immense pain. She cherished it at this moment. She set the sheets alight and quietly slipped away. Once safely back in her room she sat crossed legged in her room and listened for the inevitable screams.
Jane's voice was a not expected and Bertha stamped her fist that this woman had interrupted and even saved the day.
Time went by and a group of women come to stay at Thornfield. Many guests came. Mr Rochester made a special effort to come and talk to Bertha about it and to say he knew about the fire she had lit. He said he forgave her and hoped that she would be good while the guests stayed. He promised to reward her if she stayed in her room. Bertha was hesitant to agree however, she understood and was curious of the gift to come.
While the guests were staying, a shock visit by Mr Mason, Bertha's brother happened. Mr Rochester was worried and Bertha knew why. He was the only person outside the estate to know of Bertha. The door unlocked and Mr Mason addressed his sister. He was very sad to see how much she had lost it both physically and mentally and was a little reluctant to stay in the room with her. Mr Rochester assumed she wouldn't hurt her brother so left the two of them together and went off to entertain the guests before retiring for the evening.
It was a full moon that night. Bertha was unsettled and having her brother there didn't help. Maybe he had come to take her away, she thought. As he slept in the chair, she watched him with suspicion. She thought of their childhood days and how mean he was to her and all the times he told on her. She had fought to get away from her family to be with Mr Rochester. Mr Mason snored and this made her anger escalate. She took out a knife from under a floorboard where she kept the stolen items. She suddenly attacked. Mr Mason awoke and screamed help. Bertha had stabbed him in the arm and now was snapping teeth at him. She bit him in the neck as Mr Rochester busted in. At this time the guests were all disturbed and calling Mr Rochester. Mr Rochester pushed Bertha off and tied her up while scolding her for her attack. He quickly tended to Mr Mason, put Bertha back into the secret room and then rushed off the settle the guests convincing them that it was a bad dream of one of the servants.
Bertha sat tied alone with Grace minding her as her helpless brother leaked blood all down his side and off the chair onto the floor. Pretty soon Mr Rochester returned with Jane giving Jane instructions to tend to Mr Mason. Jane knew nothing of Bertha however sensed a strange presence nearby. Bertha growled from behind the wall and Jane was lead to believe in was Grace who had attacked Mr Mason.
As morning came around Mr Rochester came back with a doctor to have a look at Bertha's brother. He took him away quietly while all the other guests were asleep. Bertha was angry that Mr Rochester wasn't exposed by the event and how Jane was involved. Grace reprimanded her over and over and she violently shook in the chair and spat in Grace's face.
Bertha was now on the edge and ready to explode. She fell over sideways on the floor and smacked her head knocking her out. Grace was a little worried but mostly relieved thinking she would wake later as she did. Besides, Grace wouldn't mind if she had killed herself anyway. It wasn't much of a life looking after this creature day after day in secrecy however it had benefits as she could often persuade Mr Rochester to do things for her as payment for this terrible burden.

After the guests had left and time went by, Mr Rochester planned to marry one of the young women named Blanche Ingram. Mr Rochester had learned that she was only really interested in his money so was not very overjoyed. Yet, he traveled to London to buy a carriage for the formalities of the wedding. During this time, Jane was excused to go off to visit her dying Aunt in Gateshead where she lived as a child.
Bertha spent this time recuperating from the past events and now that the house was quiet she simply got back into her old habits as if nothing had happened it seemed.
On returning, Jane went for a walk with Mr Rochester and told him how she felt about him and her deep love for her. He felt the same way and they decided to get married.
One that evening, Bertha heard laughter outside her window so she rushed to see. It was Mr Rochester and Jane coming back towards the house
holding hands and smiling at each other. Something was going on. Bertha began to breath heavily and uncontrollably. She couldn't believe what she had seen. She thumped at the wall and yelled. Grace came in to settle here but it was no use. Grace had ways to subdue her. She pulled out a cloth coated in Chlorophyl and covered Bertha's mouth. Bertha passed out.
That night Jane had terrible dreams and was tossing and turning in her bed. Upstairs and wide awake, Bertha pressed her ear to the floorboards and listening with great interest. She decided to venture. She slipped down stairs and into Jane's room. She then saw the a beautiful wedding dress on the chair. She took it up and looked at herself in the mirror. Next she took the veil and placed it over her head. She feel into sweet-bitter memory and then tore the veil in two. Jane stirred and Bertha inspected her closely before retiring to her quarters.

It was the wedding day. Mr Rochester and Jane and a small congression gathered for the wedding. Little did they know that Mr Mason was there and was to interrupt. When the vowels were being said Mr Mason spoke out and told everyone that Mr Rochester was still married. Angrily, Mr Rochester admitted to it and the wedding was canceled. Mr Rochester led everyone to his Thornfield mansion to reveal Bertha to everyone.
Bertha looked out the window at the group approaching led by Mr Rochester. She was in a panic. She looked to Jane and saw that Jane was disappointed. Bertha thought that maybe they hadn't gotten married and maybe she was about to be no longer hidden from society.
Bertha could her Mr Rochester explain as they walked up the flights of stairs. He was giving everyone a warning about her.
Grace was already in with soup for the day. Bertha crawled up into the corner and was more aware than the old woman who was partially deaf. The door opened and Mr Rochester said, “This is my wife”. Bertha didn't look up. Her long black hair hung down over her face and she growled feeling threatened by such an intrusion.
Later once all had left, Jane sat alone in her room. Mr Rochester came in and tried to comfort her and get things back in order. It was a difficult day for Jane. She had pretty much given up on Mr Rochester now and he tried hard to convince her that they could still be together. He decided to tell her the whole story. Mr Rochester had married Bertha for money due to his older brother taking the family fortune. Little did he know that madness ran in the Mason's family. Bertha used to be beautiful and well dressed as a young woman but eventually Mr Rochester realized she was quite stupid and that they shared nothing in common.

Jane had slept on the undecided decision she was making about Mr Rochester. In the morning she left after having a dream of her mother expressing that she should leave while she could. Mr Rochester woke to find Jane gone. He felt so upset he went up to express his anger to Bertha. Bertha screamed with an intense rage until her breath was gone.

Weeks went by and depression had crept all over the estate. Even the servants could feel the strength of Mr Rochester's lost daily. Bertha was in a permanent grudge. She was planning again and this time it would be the end of her miserable life. Mr Rochester was becoming increasing odd. He started to spend more and more time in Jane's old room and often with a bottle of whiskey stuck in is clenched fist. He would skip meals and stay in clothes for days without changing. The servants were very upset at this behaviour.
Bertha despised the memories of Jane and the room below her's where Mr Rochester was increasingly spending time. It had to burn, she thought. She was ready to destroy this place.

That night Bertha took some chalk she had taken from Adele and drew pictures on the walls of the people and events from left to right. Firstly the wedding of her and Mr Rochester. Secondly, the tragic decline of her state and her secret room. Then, Jane coming to stay and bewitching Mr Rochester. Lastly the mansion on fire. The site of the completed picture gave her peace of mind. She felt relieved that the end was her and the seeing the stages drawn out solidified her idea of setting the building a light.

The fire had to be set in Jane's room. Bertha stared out at the moon and heard the distant hoot of an owl. It was the signal. She took one last walk around the house whilst the others slept. Mr Rochester was snoring heavily, deep in alcoholic slumber. Bertha proceeded to Jane's room. She entered and could smell the stench of sweat and whiskey that Mr Rochester had left behind from all his depression. She took the chalk and drew the pictures again. This time a little more refined. The ideas had gained stronger form.
The bed would be the place of intense fire where the sins of betrayal had happened. Bertha took a half bottle of whiskey left behind and poured it all over the sheets. She then stood at the door with a candle and looked upon the scene for the last time. Satisfied, she lobbed the candle and slowly walked back upstairs as if to have no real concern for own safety.

Mrs Fairfax woke and was manic. She woke the other servants and ran to wake Mr Rochester. By this stage, Jane's room was engulfed in flames and was the heart of a raging fire that was now the Thornfield bonfire. Mr Rochester rushed to save the other servants. Grace was last servant out and then Mr Rochester went back for Bertha.
Bertha's room was now full of smoke and the door was too hot to touch. Bertha now was aware that she would either burn alive or jump to her death. She decided on the latter. She climbed through the little window and jumping with a loud yelp. She plummeted to ground head first. It was over.

Mr Rochester fled Thornfield. The mansion was reduced to a pile of ruble and taunted memories.



References

Bronte, C. Jane Eyre. (2000). Oxford University Press.
Bronte, C. Jane Eyre. (1991). London: David Campbell Publishers Ltd.