The Monster

 

For the umpteenth time that morning she bent down to retrieve the toy dog from the parquet floor. Each time she felt the weight of the unborn drag at her, pulling her forward, straining the muscles in her back. At one stage she had become tired of the game and left the chewed toy on the floor but her boy had started screaming at the top of his voice. Unable to stand his piercing screams she had given it back to him.

“I wish you were out of that phase,” she muttered, tired. That stupid game. It kept her from catching up with all the housework that had accumulated. There was the laundry waiting, a pile of dirty dishes, the beds were still unmade and lunch, only an hour off, was not to be thought of. Leaving the boy to chew on the ears of Doggy she went to the washing machine in the bathroom. She opened the door and stuffed a pile of vile smelling cotton diapers into it. In the living room the boy gave a happy gurgle, a sure sign that once more Doggy had landed on the floor. Moments later the gurgle turned into a whimper and quickly into full-scale foghorn volume. She sighed and hurried to set the machine in motion.

“It's ok, lovely, momma is coming.” Outside, the howling continued unabated. She hurried back into the living room and picked the hateful toy up. She pressed it into the boy's hands and his knitted, angry brows and overflowing eyes cleared with miraculous swiftness to sunny contentment. She knew she had a few minutes of grace before the toy would be used for ballistic research again. She looked at the clock in the kitchen and then at the mountain of dirty dishes. She should be thinking about lunch, her husband would soon come home. He wasn't an exigent eater but he expected his meals to be ready on the dot. She began running the water from the tap into the sink, shoving dishes around to get the dirt water out. Behind her Doggy slapped wetly on the floor but she couldn't hear it amidst the nervous clattering of the dishes. She glanced again at the clock. A plate slipped from her soapy fingers and hit the rim of the sink. There was a dimmed sound as the plate split in two and disappeared into the sudsy water. Her boy's piercing scream and her own exclamation came in perfect synchrony.

For a moment the need to do several things at the same time paralysed her completely. The slight pulsing in her temple began to grow more intense with every heartbeat. The boy's wailing seemed to pierce her eardrums and scorch her brain. Suddenly jolted into action she dashed across the room, picked the boy up and shook him violently.

“Be quiet! Be quiet, I say!” The boy's head snapped violently back and he gave a howl of pain, quite different from his previous enervating wails. The mother stared with wide open eyes at his twisted mouth, his stiff body, vibrating with the shock of the violence directed against it.

“Oh my God! What have I done!” She began crying under the stress of too many emotions. Clutching the boy against her, she talked soothingly to him, with tears rolling down her own cheeks.

She staggered over to the sofa and curled herself into a small ball, the boy in her lap. Rocking him out of his distress she felt a deep emptiness inside her. He gave a last hiccup and then fell asleep. For a long moment she listened to his breathing, his small body still occasionally shaken by a tiny whimper. Tears still welled from under his eyelids, coursing down the side of his face.

She studied his rosebud mouth, the tiny, perfectly shaped fingers, curled into tight fists, the flush on his velvety cheeks. Finally a deep sigh escaped her.

“Dear God, you have created a monster.” She began crying again in silence, tears rolling down her face and mingling with those of her child.