The sin eater 3

The father-in-law

I heard my little car sputtering.  Damn damn damn.  With the kids in the car too. I sat there in the rain with the kids crying. The tears where almost as much as the drops on the dirty windscreen. Their ranting voice vibrated in my ears.  It almost killed the music in my head. Almost, but not quite. ‘Mommy I’m hungry. (I’ve just fed you, my sweetheart).  Mommy why aren’t you going home.’ (Can’t you see the car is stuck). Mommy I’m cold. 

FUCK. Now I’m going to have to call the father-in-law.  I collected my thoughts. What’s wrong with my life that I only have HIM to depend on.  I know the answer to that of course is that my abusive husband has managed to kill all my friendships off. I studied this at nursing college. Let’s not go there now. 

I collect my thoughts and call. ‘Please can you come and help me. I’m stuck in the rain about three minutes from where you live ‘I say. He sighs. I can hear his brain clicking over.  He is already thinking of all the crap he can throw in my face. Now he can put the knife in me and twist it till I can’t breathe anymore. 

He arrives with his little car and a tow rope. The minute he climbs out the car he starts pounding me with questions. There’s no answering him so try to keep quiet as my brain screams the answers. The rain is pouring down, the wind swirling around my body. I can see the rain drops avoiding my body because my answers are vibrating so hard in my head. 

‘Where was I going?’ (I was at the doctor because your son kicked my stomach so hard I’ve had a miscarriage). ‘Why do you take the kids with you?’ (Because they my kids and I don’t trust your son near my daughter.) ‘Can’t you see it’s raining?’ (Duh) ‘I was reading the newspaper and now I HAVE TO come do this.’ (Why didn’t you just say no then, if this is too much effort?)  Here it comes now I think. ‘Why must I do this?’ (Because your lazy drunk son is vomiting on my newly washed sheets).

‘You MUST learn to be more independent,’ he barks at me. (I am trying, you stupid old man, but your son keeps drinking my wages).  ‘It’s because of you that my son can’t get ahead in life.’  (Am I throwing the alcohol down his throat?) He has put the knife in my chest with that last comment and now attempts to twist it. I hold my broken rib and what’s left of my precious uterus. I feel the unborn child leave my body. I gulp. God bless all the little children. 

‘It’s your fault he is like this’. He says. There it is. The truth. These people who profess to love me actually think I’m dog shit. Maybe I am.   I know I feel like dog shit today.  

Finally, he attaches the rope to the car. He is dissatisfied because I don’t answer back. I don’t give him a reason. Do I know how to tow he asks. I am still quiet. He knows my father is a mechanic and I can tow a car in my sleep. Just when my last breath of defiance finally leaves my body he turns around and gets into his car and tows me to his house. 

My mother-in-law has the same questions and I have to relive the same reality. I don’t answer her either. She makes soup as I watch the fetus swirl and disappear. If I tell them what has just happened it will be my fault.  I sit down with them at the table. I spoon the soup into my mouth and swallow because I’m their sin eater.  Much later at home my daughter wants to know why her grandparents always so nasty to me. That night I prayed she will forget.