Page 93 of Scarred King
My heart goes out to her and I wonder how to comfort the woman who never tried to comfort me. “Mom, let’s sit down together and think logically how to solve this.” I sip my coffee and she takes the plate out of the microwave, sets it in front of me and gives me a fork wrapped in a paper napkin. I guess that old habits never change, even when you’ve been thrown out of a luxury apartment and into a slum.
“I've already thought of everything.” She sits upright across from me and adds half a teaspoon of sugar to her coffee. “I can’t think of any solution.” She places her trembling hand over her mouth.
“Don’t you have any idea where dad is?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “If I did, I could send them to him.” She is silent for a moment and closes her eyes in pain. “Elena, I would do it. I would turn him in without hesitation.”
“I can understand that,” I reply dryly. “I never understood what you saw in him. He wasn’t much of a father.”
“With all his faults, he still loves you,” she says and lowers her head. “I think that he never wanted children, and when you came along, he thought he could continue living the life of a wild bachelor.”
“Forget him now,” I say angrily when I realize that I have no feelings for the man who calls himself my father. “Tell me everything from the beginning.”
She takes a sip of coffee and starts talking. She tells me about the day they called from the bank, the repossessions, the embarrassment, being shamed in front of the neighbors. About the day he disappeared from rehab without even leaving a note. About moving to this apartment, her new job. And then she falls silent.
“Keep going,” I encourage her, and her eyes fill with tears.
“I thought that I reached the lowest point of humanity when I had to move here,” she sniffs, “but then I found out that there was an even lower place to fall.” She takes another napkin and wipes her eyes. “A few days ago, I came home from work. A few minutes later, I heard a knock on the door. I thought it was one of the neighbors coming to welcome me,” she laughs bitterly. “As soon as I touched the door handle, three young men burst in. They were wearing shorts and filthy jerseys, they were all covered in tattoos.” She grimaces in disgust. “Without saying a word, they started breaking things and I started screaming.” She groans and continues, “They said that if I don’t tell them where Henry is they will burn the house down with me inside. I screamed like a madwoman, begged them to believe that I don’t know anything but they continued to shatter everything they saw.” She drinks some coffee and suddenly she looks twenty years older. “In the end one of the men asked his friends to stop. I thought they believed me and that they would leave me alone, but he pushed me up against a wall, held a knife to my neck and said that my husband’s debt had passed to me and that I have until Friday to pay it. I thought it was a few hundred dollars.” She rubs her neck and smiles wearily. “When I heard the amount, I think I fainted. They slapped me a few times and I had to agree to pay. Elena, I thought they were going to murder me.” She bursts into tears. “And none of the neighbors came to check why I was screaming like a madwoman.”
Tears fill my eyes. “What did you do after that?” I ask and lean forward, putting my hand over hers.
“I went to the police,” she shrugs. “I thought they would be shocked, I thought they would send patrol cars out here until they catch the criminals. But do you know what they did?” She closes her eyes. “They showed me some books with pictures of criminals. They all looked the same to me,” she sobs. “You know my memory was never very good.” I nod sadly. “When I couldn’t identify any of them, the policemen sent me home and told me to call if they come again. They don’t have enough manpower to guard one woman.” She shakes her head in exhaustion. “Maybe after they murder me someone will remember that it was important enough.”
“Nobody will murder you.” I stand up and go over to stand behind her. I lean down and hug her tightly, finding the inner strength to show my love for her. She looks so broken and miserable, I yearn to comfort her. “Mom, I’m here now and we’ll find a solution.” I say confidently, wishing that I felt it as well. “Let’s go to sleep.” I put my plate and our cups in the sink, and we go upstairs arm in arm to the only bedroom in the house. She lies down and I lie down next to her and cover us both with a blanket. My phone is downstairs on the dresser and it doesn’t stop ringing. I ignore it and close my eyes, trying to be strong for the person who should have been strong for me but failed.
35
“Elena, I have to go to work.” My mother shakes me gently and I open my eyes heavily. “I’ll be back in the afternoon.” She powders her nose in front of the mirror and I watch her quietly and yawn. She’s wearing a blue pencil skirt with a white blouse and high-heeled shoes. Her hair is pulled back neatly. Even in the midst of our biggest nightmare, she is still standing up straight, not allowing anything to bend her over. “Well,” she turns to me, scolding, “are you going to waste your entire day in bed?”
“Oh, Mom,” I groan and smile. “You’ll never change.”
“Why should I change?” she asks with an offended expression, and I laugh and sit up.
“You’re perfect,” I say as I go to the bathroom.
“Don’t go outside,” she calls through the door. “I’m locking you in, but there are keys in the dresser.”
“Fine,” I shout back and when I hear the front door close I put on some jeans and a T-shirt and go downstairs to the kitchen. I make myself a cup of coffee and turn on my laptop. My phone is ringing. I walk over to the dresser, see Liam’s number and silence it.
“Stinking karma,” I shake my head in despair. This is my punishment for choosing his corrupted world. For thinking that achieving my dreams, makes all means of getting there legitimate. How many women like my mother have had visits from his men? How much blood has been spilled upon his orders? Drugs, prostitution, alcohol, gambling… it’s all the same shit and that shit is now lying at my front door.
I surf the web, looking for ways to get large amounts of money. I reach some online gambling sites. Out of the question. I find poll-taking, writing letters of recommendation and other ridiculous offers that might get me a few hundred dollars after hours of hard work. My phone rings again and I turn it off angrily. I need my brain to stay sharp, the only thing that will help it stay focused is my schoolwork. I go into my email and see that Johanna has come through for me. She sent me summaries of all the classes I missed yesterday as well as a task-list. I clear my head of every annoying thought and settle for several hours of pure joy. The door lock rattles, and I stand up nervously. “Elena, I’m back,” I hear my mother’s voice and help her carry the bags of groceries. “Did you eat?” she asks and glances at the sink.
“I didn’t have time, I was busy.”
“You're awful,” she says angrily and starts putting the groceries away. “You must take care of your body. I don’t look this way at fifty because of plastic surgery, its thanks to good nutrition.” She starts preparing lunch.
I turn off my computer and watch her. “Mom, we need to sit down and think about what we should do.”
“What can we do?” she asks, without expecting an answer. “The bank refused to give me a loan, I had a yard sale and made one thousand dollars, and I got an advance on my salary. Now I have the enormous sum of two thousand dollars.” She chops vegetables and rubs her neck. “So how much do we still need?” she laughs bitterly.
“We’ll talk to them when they come back.” I’m biting my nails, and she puts down her knife, walks over to me furiously, smacks my hand, and goes back to the chopping board.
“Biting your nails…” she grumbles. “Nobody will believe that I raised you.”
I put my hand down. “Did you hear what I said? We’ll talk to them when they come back, and explain that if they kill us, there’ll be nobody to pay them back. It would be better for them if they leave us alone and let us pay in installments.”
She puts the knife down on the chopping board and turns to me with a smile. “I knew my smart daughter would have a good idea.” She comes over and kisses me on top of my head. Suddenly she looks at me as if she’s seeing me for the first time. “You don’t have your braid,” she says in a trembling voice. “You never go anywhere without your hair in that damned braid.”