Enmeshment

By Immaculate E M

Abandonment, while in the womb, was something I was saved from comprehending. Following my mother's recollection, the inhumane beast unleashed his demonic brutality that night and she had to run to her brother's house for asylum. She clasped onto Maria's saree, drenched in blood oozing from her temple, attempting to salvage the little vitality that survived. Her vile other half had accused her of having an affair with Lazar, the neighbor, who he claimed was the father of the evil in her womb.

“His creation was God's mistake.” She wailed and burst into a sob as she leaned on Maria, who called for help. Sarita, a neighborhood nurse, stitched up the wound and was kind enough to give her something to alleviate the pain.

The cup of coffee brought by Peter tumbled in her shivering hand, just like the incongruent thoughts that bruised the insides of her head, paving the way to searing pain. She could hear angry swearing from a few houses away, vessels clanging on the floor, and the futile attempts of her mother pleading to stop. Her mother, Mary, and her sister, Sophie, were still trapped in that slaughterhouse. She closed her ears tightly and resorted to a picture of mother Mary with her benevolent looks. Peter, who had to be at sea early the next day, stared apathetically at his sibling for a minute and targeted the bed. He had seen, tried, and failed enough. His brother-in-law had forever been a stone wall.

My brother had been playing in the dirt with his cousin when my mother ran into his house for shelter. The innocent soul was quite relieved that there would be no thrashing for being out so late. All seemed still. Maria had habitually prioritized feeding the kids over comforting her sister-in-law.

The looming melancholy was dislodged when the pale, hungry souls of Mary and Sophie came in stealthily. My Mother snuggled in her mother's lap, drenching her saree in tears. Sophie was sent to sleep on the floor in the front hall with her nephews. My brother remembers catching a glimpse of a tear running down her cheek that night before sliding into a universe of oblivion.

Occasional sighs and weeps covered gaps in the screeches of crickets. For Maria, this was not the first time, and it hurt to realize it would not be the last. Glancing out the window into the stars, listening to the drunken slurs slowly fade away while her mind wandered into thoughts she would never have confessed to the Vicar, she fell asleep.

It was around three, time for Peter to leave. Maria found that my mother had been writhing in sleep like she was in a bad dream. She covered her up with the best blanket she had. Peter looked out of the kitchen window straining his stiff neck, struggling for vision. “I think he's asleep, the lights are off”, he said, sipping the black coffee Maria made. Peter left in a hurry, Maria locked the doors and went back to sleep.

Mary was the first to rise, sunlight through the window brightening up the dents in her wrinkles. She gently let go of her daughter, walked out the kitchen door, and looked at herself in the water held in a big blue barrel outside. It had become quiet once again - agony had once again been silenced by peace. She walked alone along the road to uncertainty. The door led her to broken glass pieces and steel plates, the shattered rice, all where they had been the night before. She tiptoed, looking sadly at God's promise delivered through the government - the day's meal, wasted.

Every drunken night after the roguishness he would sleep, wake up and wait in angry silence for his wife. Something felt different. Mary started cleaning. Once the final grain of rice had been picked and thrown away, she moved into the bedroom. Looking up at the fan, a noose startled her. She continued to clear the mess, shaking. A piece of paper seemed to protrude from the underside of the displaced pillow.

A shrill cry startled my mother, spilling the tea she was drinking on the teacups on the table for Mary and Sophie. The cry had instilled fearful hope - her emotions had become as befuddled as their hostess. She knew he had demons of guilt lingering in him and most of his shenanigans were a cover-up. Maybe he hated his life - a mystery to his wife. The thought of his death brought a moment of peace to a mind void of sanity. Or, what if he had hurt my mother or Sophie? Blood gushed into her muscles, she ran as fast as she could, the cumbersome weight in her belly, a mortal reminder that he still reigned over her, being the only force holding her back.

She banged on the kitchen door at the back. Mary was with her head sunken into her knees, clasping her hands around them, in front of the lord, who looked at her with a plain face. She rushed into the bedroom. Her heart sank when she didn't find what was expected, but she couldn't comprehend anything at the moment.

Ma, what happened? Where is Sophie? Her mother looked up, eyes red, and handed her a crumpled piece of paper clenched in her fist. She took it into her quivering hands.

Amma, my dear brother and sisters,

I know that only with shame can I tell you this, we are leaving. Some souls are meant for loving each other, some may not be - he always used to say. I can never expect my sister to forgive me. Please understand that this world gave me no other option. I plead guilty.

-Sophie

By Immaculate E M