Life with the black demon. Sandra Pasic

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ next day mum and dad went somewhere. My sister and I were left alone in the flat with our brother. Father said that they would be back soon, and that we were supposed to keep our house and brother safe and keep the fire burning.

      Having this freedom to ourselves, my sister and I went out on the balcony and called the names of the other children outside. When the children noticed us, we hid ourselves. Our brother was sleeping in the crib. While we were playing like that, we completely forgot the task our father had given us. When I remembered my obligation to keep the fire burning, I went to stoke the fire, terrified of what would happen if he noticed. The fire was out. At that instant I felt chills down my spine, and knew immediately that there would be consequences.

      - O my God, what should I do now? Father’s going to beat me when he comes back.

      I was frightened and shaking, and my sister looked worried. We both cried. Even though we were just little children, the idea came to us to start another fire. I took a lot of paper from a cardboard box used for storing the firewood which was next to the stove. I lit the paper in the stove on fire, and I threw a used match stick in the cardboard box, not noticing that it was not completely burnt. A big flame appeared immediately. We panicked. I was not afraid of the fire but of the consequences that followed for what I had done. I had to find a solution. We took the cardboard box with fire inside of it and dragged it across the hallway, so that we could throw it out onto the balcony. My sister found spare keys on a shelf in the hallway, she quickly unlocked the door of our flat and went to our next-door neighbours for help. The neighbours managed to put out the fire. Traces of ash remained in the hallway, and also, naturally, the smell of smoke.

      After about thirty minutes, father and mother returned home. Neighbour R.V. was with us and tried to explain in the simplest way what had happened, but without much success. Seeing his anger and her own defeat, she stopped explaining, simply said goodbye, turned around and left.

      I knew what was coming. He immediately started yelling at me and my sister and through all that shouting and swearing, he started beating us. He hit me first as hard as he could, he lifted me and threw me on the couch. I bit my tongue and blood ran out of my mouth. He turned and started beating my sister. My sister was weak and skinny, a gentle little girl.

      Our mother tried to calm him down in every way imaginable to make him stop beating us. Somehow, she succeeded. Father calmed down. They told us to go outside and play with the other kids. My sister and I didn’t really like playing with the kids from the neighbourhood because they mostly made fun of us or were afraid to hang out with us, knowing what kind of father we had. On top of all that, they used to laugh at me because I stuttered a lot. I could hardly produce two sentences together without stuttering or getting stuck on some words. I don’t know why, but I felt rejected during that period. Awful feeling.

      I was very jealous of the other children who had wonderful parents, and especially wonderful fathers. It pained me when I saw fathers hugging their children because we didn’t have that. The three of us, my sister, my brother and I were unhappy kids.

      The next day, mother made lunch, a soup of some sorts. We were all sitting at the kitchen table, while my father was swearing and yelling. Although I got hungry playing with other kids, I immediately lost my appetite. Who could eat in such a situation, listening to all that noise and being under such stress? He was terribly moody and angry because the soup didn’t have any meat in it.

      He stood up, lifted the lid from the bowl of soup, spat into it, and said:

      - Motherf…ers, now you can eat!

      I immediately got the urge to vomit, but we had to eat. There were three scoops left on my plate, which I really couldn’t finish. It bothered him, and my mother signalled me with her look to force myself to eat, just so he wouldn’t beat us. The lunch was finally over. We helped our mother clear the table. His mood swings were so frequent, unreasonable, and unpredictable. He gave us money to go buy ice cream at the ‘Trova’ patisserie, which was located near our building. They had the best ice cream in town. We came back, played a little more just outside the building.

      Night fell. By the grace of God, father was calm.

      We all went to sleep. We all slept in one room. Mum and dad slept on the bed, and we slept on the mattresses on the floor. My sister and brother had been asleep for a long time, but I couldn’t sleep at all. Even though we couldn’t fall asleep sometimes, we were never allowed to show it. We simply pretended to be asleep.

      At one point I heard a faint noise. The bed was creaking and mum’s moaning. Something was happening. The fact was, my father and mother were having a sexual intercourse, but I didn’t know what that meant at the time. All I knew was that I wasn’t supposed to speak, even breathe, lest they would discover that I wasn’t sleeping and that I could hear them. It came to an end, finally.

      In the morning, it was as if nothing had happened. We set off, with dad and mum, to our uncle who lived about two miles from us. We went there so that mum and dad could plant a garden at their place. I enjoyed it, because I loved spending time with my nieces. My parents decided I should stay with them for a few days. I was very happy. We played a lot and I felt freedom there.

      Those three days passed quickly. I came home to my parents. That day my father and mother bought me some new clothes and a school bag.

      I started the first grade of a primary school in 1996. The school was located in a park in Bihac, and it was called “KULEN-VAKUF - ORASAC.” I was excited about starting school. I was an excellent student, even though I stuttered a great deal.

      A lot of kids imitated the way I spoke and made fun of me, which was difficult for me. They would even run away from me and say:

      - “Stutter girl” is coming.

      Like in any other school, naturally, there were some bad marks from time to time. I got bad marks in maths mostly: adding and subtracting. Every time I got a negative mark, my mother would do some exercises with me. She wouldn’t let me go out until I did my maths assignment. Kids were always playing outside the building: playing hide-and-seek, with marbles, or skipping of a rubber band. I loved playing it the most. My knees were constantly injured and in scabs, because I often fell on my knees, mostly when riding the bike.

      During that period, everything I did was controlled and limited. When I was told to come inside, I had to stop playing immediately and obediently go into the flat. That was hard for me, because when I played with other kids who didn’t tease me, I was very happy. I didn’t have to listen to quarrels, insults, and I wasn’t beaten.

      One day, my father came home wounded. I saw the wound on his leg, an open wound, blood everywhere. A medic came in every day to treat his wound. My father had severe shrapnel pain. Later I found out how my father sustained injuries. He was sitting with some drunk people in a room and he detonated a bomb. He received shrapnel in his leg, which created pressure later on, but also pain. One night he was in so much pain and said he felt something moving in his leg, and that he felt like ants were walking over him. He ordered me to take eyebrow tweezers and take out the shrapnel that appeared right on the surface of the skin. I never did something like that, of course; I was scared, which is why I refused and said I didn’t dare to. He got so angry and shouted:

      - Take it out right now. What are you afraid of? Take it out now!

      I gathered my strength and took the tweezers and with my hand, trembling, managed to pull the metal out of his leg. When I saw that I had succeeded, I was pleased with myself. From that moment on, I wanted to be a nurse. My father praised me and said that I did a great job, that I was his son, not his daughter, that I was brave like him and that I should never be afraid of anyone, because СКАЧАТЬ