Read Broken Online

Authors: Oliver T Spedding

Tags: #armed robbery, #physical child abuse, #psychological child abuse, #sexual child abuse, #love versus indifference

Broken (2 page)

BOOK: Broken
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My father
continued to touch my genitals until I reached the age of three
when I think he began to notice that his behaviour was disturbing
and frightening me. He immediately avoided all physical contact
with me except for the beatings that he subjected me to and which,
I’ve no doubt, was noticed by my mother, although I never heard her
comment on it to my father. This behaviour by my father may have
registered in my subconscious but I took no notice of it and never
mentioned it to my mother.

I went to
kindergarten for three years as my mother worked mornings at the
nearby Post Office but they were obviously uneventful years as I
don’t remember any incidents from that time. My mother told me
later that I was very quiet as a small child and, although never
created any lasting friendships, I was always happy and content. I
was friendly and tolerant and seemed to be very considerate towards
the other children, letting them play with my toys and never being
greedy or selfish.

At primary
school I made friends easily and my marks were good. I loved
learning and constantly searched for understanding. Although many
of my classmates were more gifted than I was I never felt
threatened about my academic achievements and never envied other’s
successes. The only dampener in my life was my father and to a
lesser extent, my mother.

Ever since I
could remember, my father had been a heavy drinker both at the mine
pub after work and at home in the evenings and over weekends. This
inebriation often led to outbursts of anger and violence being
directed at me and my mother for no reason that I could understand.
My mother tried to explain to me that my father was struggling to
pay his expenses on the meagre pay that he received and was
gradually falling deeper and deeper into debt.

During my
early years at primary school
the severe
beatings by my father for my indiscretions became more frequent but
he always used some article such as a hairbrush or a belt to strike
me with and never used his naked hand. I began to develop a deep
hatred for my father as well as a desperate feeling of helplessness
as I often failed to understand what I had done to anger him so. I
also began to feel frightened by the fact that my mother never
interfered when my father beat me. The support that I desperately
needed and expected from her was never there.

I remember one particular
incident when I was about eight years old and my father beat me so
badly that I was forbidden to go to school or even leave the house
for a week in case someone queried the welts on my arms and legs
and my swollen left eye.

My mother had baked a dish of
spaghetti bolognaise for our supper and I had offered to carry the
meal from the kitchen to the dining room. My mother had been
hesitant about allowing me to take on this responsibility.


Are you sure
that you can carry the dish?” she asked. “It’s very
hot.”


Yes.” I
said. “I’ll hold it with a dish cloth.”

My mother
folded a dish cloth and handed it to me, watching closely as I used
it to pick up the scorching hot plate. As I turned towards the
dining room I could sense my mother watching me anxiously. I felt
very confident as I walked towards the dining room. I so wanted to
be part of the family and doing little things like this made me
feel wanted.

As I entered
the dining room the dish cloth slipped under my grip and my fingers
touched the piping hot dish. The sudden pain made me jerk my hands
away and I dropped the whole meal onto the floor. The plate
shattered and hot spaghetti bolognaise and pieces of china sprayed
out across the floor.

My father
stood up from where he’d been sitting at the table waiting for his
meal and ran towards me. Thinking that he was coming to help me I
looked up at him apologetically as I held my aching fingers close
to my chest.


You bloody
little fool!” my father screamed at me. “You’ve ruined our bloody
supper!”

I stared at
my father in shock. He raised his right hand and punched me hard in
my left eye. I fell backwards, hitting the back of my head against
the wall and slid to the floor. As I lay dazed I saw my father
remove the thick leather belt from his trousers, fold it in two,
and raise it above his shoulder.


I’ll show
you what happens when you waste our food!” my father yelled at me
and brought the leather belt down across my left arm viciously. I
screamed in agony.


Please stop,
daddy!” I wailed. “I’m sorry! Please don’t hit me! The cloth
slipped and I burnt my fingers!”

My father ignored my pleas and
began to beat me fiercely on my thighs.


You’ve
ruined our supper, you stupid little bitch!” he shouted as he
continued to hit my legs and arms with the belt. “You’ve wasted our
whole supper!”

I tried to pull my legs in under
my body to protect them and my father began to hit me across my
upper arms. The pain was so unbearable that I almost fainted.
Vaguely I noticed my mother watching me from the doorway.


Please,
mommy!” I screamed. “Tell daddy to stop!”

My mother turned and walked
away.

By now, my
father was so out of breath that he had to stop hitting me. He
stepped back and his foot landed in the food lying on the floor. He
slipped and he almost fell. This enraged him further and he began
hitting me once again with the leather belt but his arm was too
tired and he quickly stopped. He turned and began kicking the food
on the floor, splattering it over the furniture and the walls of
the room. He turned back to face me.


You fucking
stupid little bitch!” he shouted. “No food for you at all, tonight!
Get up and go to your room!”

I staggered to my feet, my legs
and arms covered with aching red welts. The pain was agonizing and
as I lurched towards the doorway my father kicked me viciously on
my upper left thigh. I staggered and hit my head against the door
jamb, almost knocking myself out.

As I left the room I glanced
fearfully back at my father expecting to be kicked again or hit on
the back with the belt. He stood glaring at me though, and in my
dazed condition I noticed a large bulge with a wet patch on it in
the front of his trousers.

I stumbled to my bedroom and
fell onto my bed, crying desperately.


Cook another
dish of spaghetti, Alice!” I heard my father shout to my mother.
“But only make enough for the two of us! That stupid little bitch
gets nothing tonight! And tomorrow she can spend the whole day here
cleaning up the mess that she made!”

Eventually I
managed to gain control of myself. I lay on my bed shivering with
shock. I had tried to be part of the family and now I’d alienated
myself even more. I hadn’t purposely dropped the dish. The cloth
had slipped. Why couldn’t my father understand that all children
make mistakes? That’s how they learn. And why hadn’t my mother
tried to stop my father? I felt betrayed and my anger and hatred
for both my parents seethed within me.

The following morning my father
walked into my bedroom.


You’re not
going to school or even out of this house until those bruises and
welts have healed.” he shouted at me. “You will spend the whole day
here cleaning the dining room and the rest of the house. If I come
home and I find even the smallest speck of dust anywhere in the
house I’ll thrash you so badly that you’ll end up in hospital! You
stupid little bitch!”

Because of my
father
’s financial problems my mother was
forced to work at the Post Office full time which meant that I
returned from school each afternoon to an empty house. My parents
expected me to make my own lunch and then do a number of chores
about the house such as cleaning the bathroom, doing some simple
ironing and washing the dishes from the previous evening’s meal.
Later I was also expected to prepare the food for the evening
meals.

My years
at
primary school were particularly
uneventful as far as sex was concerned. I mixed naturally with the
other children, both boys and girls although, quite naturally, I
preferred the company of my girl friends. Although the subject of
sex was sometimes brought up it was always mentioned with ignorance
and innocence and mixed with a great deal of giggling and blushing.
Some of the girls claimed to know all about the topic but quickly
backed down when challenged to elaborate on what they knew and
where the information had come from.

It was only in my last year at
primary school that I became aware of sex and the strange effect
that it had on me. Also, boys somehow became more interesting and
some were even quite attractive to me. The giggling and blushing
that had previously accompanied talk of sex amongst the girls
disappeared and curiosity took their place. Some of my girl friends
began developing relationships with boys that they were attracted
to and spent hours talking to them and even surreptitiously holding
hands.

By this time
I had developed the physical features that would determine my
appearance as an adult. When I entered my final year at primary
school I was slightly taller than both my parents
, had inherited my mother’s red-brown hair and eyebrows and
my father’s blue eyes. Like both my parents my mouth was
thin-lipped and wide but unlike my parents I had a prominent chin
that my father said indicated stubbornness and
arrogance.

I had also
adopted my father’s anger although mine stemmed from my own
helplessness at the physical abuse that I suffered and later from
the sexual abuse that I was forced to endure. I had begun to hate
myself for not doing anything about the abuse that I experienced
and yet I knew deep down that there was actually very little that I
could do to prevent it.

My body was
also beginning to change and two small breasts with enlarged
nipples slowly began to form although they were far too small to
require the wearing of a bra. I had also sprouted a small mass of
black pubic hair and
hair in my armpits.
A noticeable gracefulness began to transform my body, something
that excited me, even though I didn’t quite understand
why.

I found
myself particularly attracted to a boy named Garth Gilmore but to
my consternation he remained completely oblivious to my
being
, just as he was to all the other
girls. Compared to the other boys, Garth was noticeably withdrawn
and often quite aggressive towards the other boys and girls. He was
quick to take offence and looked upon us girls with
disdain.

Garth was slightly taller than
me with thick black hair that hung down in a fringe over his
forehead, dark brown eyebrows and dark green eyes. His nose was
large and flat, his chin noticeably strong and his fleshy lips
seldom smiled. At the time that I became acutely aware of him, I
noticed that he suffered quite seriously from acne on his face. He
was well-built but slightly overweight, with a thick neck and heavy
sloping shoulders. According to the other boys at the school he was
immensely strong physically. He never spoke about himself and all
that I knew about him was that, like me, he was an only child and
that he lived with his parents in one of the small grey mining
houses at the edge of the buffer zone between Johannesburg and
Soweto.

***


Thank you,
Cindy.” my lawyer said with an encouraging smile. “I want you to
step down from the witness box for a while as I need to recall
Doctor Thomas at this point.”

As I returned
to my seat next to Garth,
James Foster
turned to Judge Bester.


Your
Honour.” he said. “I would like to recall Doctor
Thomas.”

The judge nodded.

Doctor Thomas settled into the
witness stand and nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose with
his forefinger.


Doctor
Thomas,” my attorney said, “in your earlier evidence you listed the
main causes of child sexual abuse as being depression, financial
difficulties, lack of emotional support and a dearth of sexual
gratification. But, how does a child sexual abuser go about
achieving his sexual desires?”


Child sexual
abusers, unlike physical and psychological child abusers, have to
create opportunity.” Doctor Thomas said. “Obviously they cannot
inflict their will on their victims openly, so a surreptitious
opportunity has to be crafted. In most cases this is a difficult
barrier to overcome and can often foil the perpetrator’s
intentions. However, the male’s sexual drive can be extremely
demanding and abusers will go to great lengths to create a suitable
opportunity.”


And once the
opportunity has been created?”


The child
sexual abuser then works on gaining his victim’s confidence.” the
doctor explained. “This is done by assuring the victim that what is
happening is quite natural and normal but also by introducing
intimidation and threats to strengthen their behaviour. Flattery
can also be a deciding factor.

"
Secrecy is obviously also
important and this is also achieved by intimidation and threats and
sometimes by companionship.

"
Blame can be very effectively
used. Telling the victim that what is happening to her is her own
fault because if she wasn’t “so sexy” this wouldn’t be happening,
is a common ruse.”

BOOK: Broken
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