Broken (7 page)

“
Now sit down
onto my willy very slowly.” my father said, his voice still thick
with lust. “It may hurt a little in the beginning but soon you’ll
begin to love it.”

I felt my
father’s thick penis begin to force its way into my anus. The pain
became excruciating and I screamed in protest. My father moved his
left hand up and over my mouth stifling my shriek. I moaned in
agony as the thick piece of flesh forced its way deep into my body.
I heard my father gasp and draw in his breath sharply and at the
same time I felt him shudder as a hot substance burst within me. I
fainted.

When I
regained consciousness I was still sitting on my father’s lap. The
pain in my anus was like a raging fire even though my father’s
penis was no longer in me. I began to cry hysterically. My father
covered my mouth with his hand, almost suffocating me. As I began
to lose consciousness again my father realised what was happening
and removed his hand. I dragged air into my lungs in huge
gasps.

My father
lifted me off his lap and placed me on the towel next to him. He
climbed out of the car and turned towards me. The awful pain in my
anus made me dizzy and I almost collapsed. I lifted myself up
slightly using the backrest of the seat in front of me. I looked
down. The towel that I’d been sitting on was stained with
blood.

“
Use the
towel to wipe up the blood.” my father said. “And don’t get any of
the blood on the seat of the car.”

I held onto the backrest and
carefully wiped my anus, almost fainting again at the pain that
lanced through me. I whimpered in agony as I tried to ease the pain
by opening my legs slightly. I glanced at my father who stood at
the door of the car watching me impassively. I noticed that his
penis was no longer rigid and hung limply between his legs. He
reached into the car and lifted me out. I cried out as more pain
pierced my lower body. I fainted again.

This time,
when I regained consciousness I found myself being carried into the
bathroom by my father. My mother stood next to the bath staring at
the floor. My father placed me in the warm water. I screamed as the
pain flared up again.

I couldn’t
sit in the water so I stood up holding onto the edge of the bath
while my mother carefully washed the injured parts with the warm
water. Once the bleeding had stopped she dried the area and patted
some powder onto it. I turned carefully to look at my mother but
she avoided eye-contact by staring down at the floor.

Eventually I was able to step
carefully out of the bloody bathwater. My mother dried my legs. My
father left the room and returned with an aspirin and a glass of
water.

“
Take this.”
he said. “It’ll ease the pain.”

I swallowed the tablet and my
mother helped me walk slowly to my bedroom. The whole of my lower
body felt as if it was on fire. I put on my pyjamas and carefully
climbed into bed. I sank back onto the pillow exhausted. My mother
left the room. My father glared at me.

“
You will
stay at home until you can walk properly again.” he said. “Then you
can go back to school. Just remember that if you say one word about
what you and I are doing, you’re as good as dead!”

My father switched off the
overhead light and walked out of my bedroom, closing the door
behind him.

I lay in the
darkness wishing that I could die. The pain was still hard to bear.
Why, oh why was this happening to me? What had I done to deserve
this? And why didn’t my mother do anything to stop it? I felt so
frightened and angry. Angry at myself for being so helpless and
frightened because I didn’t understand what was happening. Why did
my father have to do this to me? I knew that he enjoyed hurting me,
but why this way?

It was four days before I could
walk properly again. Fortunately my injuries healed without any
complications, something that I could see was a huge relief to both
my parents. I spent the four days trying desperately to understand
what was being done to me. I tried to speak to my mother but as
soon as I began to make any kind of conversation she would
hurriedly leave the room. During those four days I never saw my
father once.

My hatred and distrust for both
of my parents became the dominant emotion in my life. I hated my
father for what he was doing to me and I hated my mother for not
doing anything to prevent the abuse that I was being subjected
to.

The other
emotion that I constantly expressed was anger. This anger was
mainly directed at myself because of my helplessness. Somehow I
expected myself to be able to prevent the abuse that I was
suffering even though this was unreasonable. My father was a great
deal stronger than me physically. He was also far more experienced
and knowledgeable about what he was doing. His power and
intelligence far exceeded mine. I was constantly confused and
fearful, never knowing whether what was being done to me was right
or wrong and having nobody to turn to for guidance. Loneliness hung
over me like an oppressive cloud.

I also directed my anger and
frustration at other people, especially my fellow pupils and this
only served to exacerbate the situation and isolate me even
more.

I believed
that my father had not tried to molest me again after the first
incident only because he feared that he might aggravate the
physical damage that he had inflicted on me and that this might
attract the attention of the medical authorities. My injuries
healed and as a result I began to grow more and more fearful that
the next attack was imminent. The beatings and burning of my ears
and other parts of my body continued and every Sunday I expected my
father to take me to the garage after lunch and molest me again.
The trepidation of this happening became too much for me to bear
and I realised that if I wanted to preserve my sanity I had to run
away from home. I began to plan my flight to safety.

As both my
parents worked all day
, the opportunity
to run away posed no difficulty. I didn’t give any consideration to
where I was going to go or what I was going to do to live; all I
wanted to do was get away from the horror that I was presently
enduring. On the day that I decided to leave I came straight home
from school and packed some clothes, a small towel, my facecloth,
my toothbrush and a bar of soap in a large plastic carrier bag,
took five Rand out of the biscuit tin in the kitchen where my
mother kept her household money and left the house. I walked north
towards the city centre.

I crossed the
busy central business district just as the office workers were
leaving to go home. I walked quickly towards the metropolitan area
of Hillbrow, dodging the masses of people hurrying to their
destinations. By the time I reached Hillbrow the crowds of
pedestrians had thinned considerably. As I walked I realised that I
was still wearing my school uniform which made me look rather
conspicuous. I shrugged my shoulders and began looking for a shop
to buy some food.

I stopped at
a small takeaway and bought a packet of potato crisps and a Coke. I
sat and ate the food on the pavement curb. Nobody took any notice
of me. I hadn’t given any thought as to where I was going or where
I would spend the night until I noticed a narrow alleyway between
two tall office buildings on the opposite side of the
street.

It was now
almost dark and the street lights burnt softly above me. I crossed
the street and peered into the dark interior of the alleyway. The
ground was littered with broken cardboard boxes. A large black cat
stared at me with wide yellow eyes before darting past me and
disappearing into one of the curb-side drains.

I walked into
the dark interior of the alley nervously but, apart from the broken
boxes, there was nothing. Putting down my plastic bag I pulled
aside one of the larger boxes and flattened it on the ground by
standing on it and stomping it with the soles of my shoes. I placed
the flattened box on the ground next to the back wall and, using my
bag of possessions as a pillow, lay down. I was quite surprised at
how comfortable my “mattress” was. I lay back and stared up at the
dim stars in the black sky above me. Eventually I fell
asleep.

The roar of a mechanised street
sweeper woke me the next morning. I stood up and walked to the
entrance to the alleyway. Although the street lights were still
burning the eastern sky was already a very pale grey. I retrieved
my belongings and crossed the street to the takeaway which was
already open for business. I bought a pie and a Coke and as I stood
eating my meal the shop owner glanced at me.

“
What you
doing here so early in the morning?” he asked in a heavily accented
Portuguese accent. “Have you run away from home?”

The sudden
realisation that what I was doing was quite futile and pointless
and that it would just be a matter of time before my parents called
the police and they came looking for me, convinced me to tell the
man the truth. In my school uniform it wouldn’t take the
authorities long to find me.

I nodded.

“
Yes. I’ve
run away from home but I don’t know where to go or what to do.” I
said miserably.

“
It’s very
dangerous for a small boy like you to be out alone in the city.”
the shop owner said. “It would be better if you went home before
you are robbed or killed.”

“
But I don’t
want to go home.” I said.

Just then taxi cab stopped at
the curb in front of the takeaway.

“
Ah! Here is
my friend Duarte.” the man said. “He’s a taxi driver. I’ll ask him
to take you home.”

“
But I don’t
want to go home!” I protested.

“
You must.”
the man said. “If you don’t let Duarte take you home I will have to
call the police.”

By this time
the taxi driver had climbed out of his vehicle and walked to where
I was standing.

“
Duarte.” the
takeaway owner said. “This little boy has run away from home and it
is too dangerous for him to be alone in the city. Please take him
back to his home.”

The taxi owner looked down at me
and smiled. I felt my shoulders sag in resignation.

“
Where do you
live?” he asked.

“
In the
Southern Suburbs.” I said. “Near the buffer zone between Jo’burg
and Soweto.”

The taxi owner put his hand on
my shoulder gently.

“
Come on.” he
said. “I’ll take you home. Things can’t be that bad at home that
you have to run away.”

I allowed the
man to guide me to his car. He opened the passenger’s door and I
climbed in. I felt very depressed. My plan to run away had failed
and now I would have to face the consequences.

The taxi
driver climbed into the driver
’s seat and
started the car. He drove away from the curb, giving a brief wave
to the shop owner.

Fortunately
the taxi driver didn’t ask me why I had run away from home. I
directed him to our house.

“
Okay, you’re
safely home.” the man said. “Now go inside and make peace with your
parents. Good luck.”

I climbed out of the taxi with a
terrible feeling of foreboding. I knew that I was about to get a
terrible beating or even a horrible burning behind the ears. I was
so frightened that I almost got back into the car. I stood in
abject fear, my muscles refusing to move.

“
Don’t be
afraid.” the man said. “Your parents will probably be very relieved
that you are safely back home. Be brave and face them. I’m sure
that they won’t hurt you.”

I took a deep
breath, thanked the man for his help, and, carrying my bag of
possessions, walked slowly towards the house.

To my
surprise the front door of the house was unlocked. I pushed it open
and walked in. A sickly smell that I couldn
’t identify filled the air. I closed the front door and
walked into the lounge.

My mother sat in one of the
lounge chairs close to the doorway, her head resting against the
back of the chair and her dark brown eyes staring at me vacantly. A
thin rivulet of dried blood ran from the small black hole in the
centre of her forehead down the bridge of her nose before sliding
off to the right, across her wrinkled left cheek, over her thin jaw
line and down the side of her neck before disappearing into the red
mass of coagulated blood that has soaked into her blue dress.

I glanced
quickly around the room. My father sat in another chair directly
opposite my mother, his head also resting against its back. His
pale blue sightless eyes stared blankly at me. A small black hole
with a smattering of black spots around it marred the smooth skin
of his right temple and a thin trail of almost black dried blood
ran down the side of his face, down his neck and into the collar of
his white shirt. His right hand lay on his lap the fingers still
wrapped around the butt of his Smith & Wesson M39 double action
automatic handgun.

In the silence I could hear the
distant sound of the traffic travelling along the busy highway
between Johannes burg and Soweto.

As I stared
at my dead parents I felt a sense of deep relief flood over me. I
felt no sorrow at all at their deaths. The hatred and anger for my
parents that I had nurtured within me during the years of abuse was
still there and always would be, but I was acutely aware that the
nightmare that I had endured for the whole of my life so far, was
over.