Previously…
She stared into the empty suburban afternoon
for a long while, and then turned around and went and sat down at her kitchen
table, the smell of burnt roast hanging thickly in the air. She sat quietly and
stared unseeingly at the pattern on the plastic table cloth. She couldn’t take
this tension anymore. She’d had enough. This far and no further.
She waited.
Beulah came into the kitchen and got herself
a yogurt from the fridge. She left without giving her mother a second glance.
Clara waited.
‘What about Joshua?’ said a voice in her
head.
‘He can cope,’ she answered. ‘I can’t. Not
anymore.’
A little ray of sunshine came out and moved
across the table until it touched her hand. She jerked her hand away as if
she’d been burned and watched it move past her.
And now...
She waited.
The front door opened.
Her left eye twitched.
“I’m home.”
‘Zippedy-fucking-doo-dah,’ she thought. ‘The
lord and master returns’.
Her face was frozen from being
expressionless for so long. Her cheek muscles felt like marble – solid, like
her emotions.
She waited, listening to him take off his
coat and hang it up carefully on its little loop. She listened to his steel
toe-capped jail-boots clamp down the hall passage and into the kitchen. She
didn’t raise her head. She knew he had his eternal newspaper rolled up in his
left hand.
“What’s for supper?” he said, sitting down
and bending over to untie his shoelaces. She had a sudden vision of stabbing
the bread knife into his rounded shoulders and watching in glee as he died a
horrible, choking, bloody death.
She waited.
“I said, what’s for supper?”
She wondered if he had any idea how rude and
aggressive he sounded…always demanding things, ordering people about. King
Dung.
“Something’s burned,” he said, sniffing the
air.
Still she remained silent. He looked at her
for the first time since coming home.
“What’s going on here?” he asked with a
quizzical eye. She looked up at him.
“Something wrong? Burn the supper?”
She neither spoke, nor nodded, nor gave any
indication that she had heard him. She just stared straight into his eyes.
Samuel was taken aback. He cocked his head to one side like a pigeon and gave
her a long searching look. Something was not right here. He sat back in his
chair and surveyed the situation. His eyes flicked from the stove, to her purse
on the table, and then to her face.
“Going out?”
No reply. For a moment he wondered if she’d
had a stroke, but her eyes said otherwise. Curiouser and curiouser.
“Hmph,” he said, feeling decidedly
uncomfortable now.
Then came Beulah – her of the immaculate
timing – waltzing in and completely ignoring her father.
“When is supper? It’s already six o’ clock.”
“It seems your mother has burnt the supper.”
“Oh,” said Beulah.
Samuel looked back at Clara with a
calculating eye. He’d seen that look before. He’d seen it when prisoners were
pushed beyond their limits and were just about to blow. She looked like she was
just about to blow. He backed off a bit to give her some room.
“Alright. I’ll go up and get changed, then
I’ll get some fish and chips.”
“I’ll lay the table,” said Beulah, doing her
bit to defuse the situation. She was fearless when it came to confronting her
father, but her mother’s attitude right now was giving her the heebie jeebies.
Clara nearly laughed out loud. She didn’t
think Beulah even knew where the cutlery drawer was.
“Maaa, can I come down now?” called Joshua
from the top of the landing.
“Did I call you?” she shouted back. Beulah
and Samuel jumped at the sound of her voice.
“No,” answered Joshua.
Pause.
“Okay,” he said.
Silence.
Samuel couldn’t stand the suspense any
longer.
“What’s the matter with you?”
Clara felt her face getting stiffer and
stiffer. Perhaps she was turning into a corpse. She wondered how much longer
she could keep this up.
“Are you sick?”
“No.”
“Then what’s the matter with you?”
“You.”
“What?”
“You. You are ‘what’s the matter with me’.”
“You’re crazy.”
“That’s nice – call me crazy in front of
your daughter. Nice parenting. Anything else you’d like to call me?”
“If you’re looking for a fight…”
“What then?”
Silence.
“I only meant…never mind. I’ll go get some
fish and chips. You relax. You look like you need a rest.”
“Thanks,” she said without too much
sarcasm. ‘So now he’s nice? This is what it takes? I have to be at my wits
end?’ she thought.
“And don’t you go anywhere young lady,” he
said to Beulah. “I want to have a word with you.”
“Maaa.” Joshua had sneaked down the stairs
and was now standing in the doorway where he could hear what was going on. He
knew he shouldn’t be there, but some invisible force seemed to drag him into
the kitchen.
“I’m not hungry anymore,” said Beulah and
turned to go but Samuel beat her to it. He grabbed her by the upper arm –
digging his fingers into her soft flesh.
“Ouch, you’re hurting me,” cried Beulah.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“Fuck you!”
“Maaaaaaa,” called Joshua.
“EEEEIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII”
screamed Clara…on and on until the walls rang with the sound – until she was
heard for hundreds of meters in all directions. The family froze to the floor.
“What is the matter with you?” her
voice shrieked an octave higher than normal. “Are you animals?” Three
pairs of very wide eyes watched her with unwavering interest. She was shaking
like a leaf. Her legs trembled so she could hardly stand upright.
“If you two don’t stop fighting I am
leaving…and I’m taking Joshua with me. I’m serious Samuel. I will divorce you
and take the kids away, one way or the other. I’ve had enough of this. You’re a
fucking Nazi, the way you shout and tell everyone what to do. We’re not fucking
savages. We’re civilized human beings and you’re not God-all-fucking-mighty.”
She was so glad that she didn’t have a knife
in her hands because she was sure she would have stabbed the bastard.
Not knowing what else to do or say, and not
wanting to stay in the kitchen, she took Joshua’s hand and led him up to his
room, slamming the door behind them. Joshua watched her quietly. He seemed
strangely unperturbed by it all. Clara took a deep breath and tried to pull
herself together. She gave him a sad, reassuring little smile that nearly
turned into tears.
“Come on. Let’s get you ready for bed.
“You don’t have to do that. I can do it
myself. Anyway, I’m still hungry.”
“I’ll bring you something to eat later. When
things have quieted down.”
Clara was still suspicious about Joshua’s
calm and casual air. It suited her while she was rattling around in her cage
like a demented kettle, but she knew his calm was a temporary thing. She was
pretty sure he was going to suffer some debilitating trauma from the incident.
Things like that don’t just go away. But at the moment she needed him to lean
on. Joshua seemed to understand this and reluctantly let himself be fussed
over.
Finally he was tucked up in bed and she sat
next to him…trying to think of a way to explain what had just happened. Joshua
could see she was worried about him, and in a moment of cussedness he decided
to play on her weak state.
“I don’t want to go to school.”
“You have to.” She stroked a stray hair from
his forehead.
“Why?”
“Because the government says so.”
“Daddy says they’re a bunch of idiots.”
“Sweetie I know…”
“I don’t want to go. It makes me sick.”
“Sweetheart I know but…”
“…and please don’t stroke me. I’m not a
teddy bear.”
“Why-ever not?” she asked, quite taken
aback.
“Because I don’t like it, and I’m too old
for that kind of thing. I’m grown up now. My body belongs to me and you can’t
just touch it whenever you like.”
“But I’m showing my love for you.”
“No you’re not. You just need to stroke
something. I’m not your pet. If you loved me you’d leave me alone. Please
respect my ‘no’.”
‘Dear God what are they teaching them at
school nowadays?’ she thought. Then she said aloud, “But that’s just for others
surely. I’m your mother. I gave birth to you. I brought you up, looked after
you. If anyone has the right to stroke you, it’s me.”
“No you don’t. Not if I don’t want you to.”
“Then you don’t love me anymore,” she said,
self-piteously.
“And you don’t love me. If you did you would
respect my feelings.”
“Where are you learning this stuff?” she
asked, amazed.
“In self-awareness class.”
“And they teach you to break your mother’s
heart?”
“They teach us to recognize abuse.”
“Abuse? This is abuse? Now a mother’s love
is abuse? Shouting is abuse, sure. Calling people names...that’s abuse.
Hitting....do I ever hit you? Well, do I?” She watched his little face tremble
as he tried to remember what his teacher had told him, trying to defend himself
from her barrage of words.
“Oh God I am so sorry.” She burst out when
she realized what she was doing. “I’m so sorry my baby.” She hugged him tightly
to her, trying to make up for her cruelty. Wracked with guilt, the tears spilt
from her eyes.
Joshua waited patiently until she had
stopped blubbering; then he said.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m alright. I’m so sorry.
I....things....”
How do you tell a twelve-year-old boy what’s
happening inside you? Mind you, he seemed more capable of understanding her
than she did.
“I’m in a bad place at the moment. Things
are....” She paused. “You can stay home from school tomorrow if you let me
stroke you.”
