CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Of course I continued to spend a great deal of time with the children; however, it was more difficult to talk with them now. For a month, I felt our conversations becoming more and more uncomfortable. I knew then, just as I know today, that the children understood my troubles. There was, however, an unspoken agreement between us. We never once spoke about Quint or Miss Jessel. But our conversation became like a game. No matter what we talked about or what we studied, every subject seemed dangerously close to the subject we did not want to discuss. One topic we absolutely avoided discussing was death and whether people can come back from death. In the end, the safest subjects seemed to be things about my life before, when I lived with my family. They learned everything about my past. They knew the names of all my relatives, even the names of my dog and cat. Every lesson I got the feeling that the children expected me to break down and directly ask them about their visitors. It seemed that they were prepared for this.

For quite a while things continued this way. And for a long time, I did not see Quint or Miss Jessel. However, this did not help me to feel better. Summer passed and autumn came, and yet I could still feel that they were there, hiding somewhere. In fact, I became more sensitive to their presence. I had said to Mrs Grose before that I would have been willing to put my life in danger in order to protect the children. I had hoped that by seeing the ghosts myself, I was preventing the children from seeing them. However, the situation was now quite the opposite. I knew that the children were still being visited. In fact, there were times during our lessons, when I felt that the visitors, although I could not see them, were in the room with us. At these moments, I wanted more than anything to shout at the children, "Don't lie to me anymore! I know they are here with us now!!" But I could see that this would have been useless. The children would have only had to pretend that they did not understand what I was talking about in order for me to have looked absolutely crazy. Everyday I could feel their power and my weakness. Sometimes, this feeling bothered me so much that I would have to lock myself in a room away from them and practice how I might one day talk directly with them about their behavior. In the end, however, I would always fall into the chair, realizing that such directness would not be proper. I felt ashamed of myself. I would then return to the children and continue to talk about myself as they asked me to do. Sometimes, when I stopped talking I could tell that the ghosts were present, and that the children were listening to them and not to me. What bothered me the most was that I did not know exactly what the children were seeing and hearing.

One other subject that helped to ease our discomfort was whether or not their uncle, the man who hired me, would ever come to live with us.

"Shouldn't we send him a letter?" they would ask.

I allowed them to write to him but I never sent the letters out. First of all, I knew their uncle would not want to receive them. Secondly they were too wonderful to be sent. I still have them today.

Looking back, I do not believe that they truly missed their uncle. Rather, I believe that, somehow, (and I do not know how) they knew the special feelings I had for him. It was a cruel joke. I'm still surprised that I did not begin to dislike the children for this. It is possible that I might have grown tired of them if the situation had not suddenly changed.

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