THEME: KNOCK YOURSELF OUT
TITLE: BEFORE THE LAST AMEN
Written by Peace Moalosi
One night, towards the end of July, a young boy named Joseph grabbed a knife and repeatedly stabbed both his father and mother, and sat next to their dead bodies ‘til the next morning.
This is the story of how we got there:
Joseph was about 10 months old when his birth mother abandoned him. She left him for the dead in a deserted trashcan, or so the ladies working at the orphanage always whispered. Rumor had it that he was found two days later. And from that moment on, it was like his whole world was coated in black.
Throughout his entire young life, Joseph kept to himself and barely said a word because not everyone can express their pain for the world to see, to understand. Joseph remained so mute that he could no longer recognise his own voice. What was the reason for speaking, crying or screaming if is no ear listening? You only ask for help if you believe there’s help to ask for.
Living in an awful orphanage that always lingered pain and hunger, Joseph always kept to himself. He didn’t bother playing with other kids or making any friends. What was the point? He also didn’t say anything to anyone even when the first predicament befell him.
All Joseph could remember was The Father’s disturbing loud moans as he pleasured himself. He could also remember the fear and disbelief he felt when he forced himself on him. Terrified. Yes, that’s the right word to describe exactly how he felt. The old man was supposed to protect him, feed him and close that void. But he didn’t.
The next year brought an end to Joseph’s torment as he fortunately got adopted by Tim and Maria Tulane. The couple was good to him. They gave him so much love that he didn’t know what to do with it all. He had never been given love, so he didn’t know how to receive it. The couple fed him, clothed him and even enrolled him into a good private school. Joseph thought his silent prayers had been answered and he finally got to that light at the end of the tunnel.
But that feeling of happiness and being content, too, was short-lived. Just as his life was. Maria got pregnant and nine months later, had a bouncing baby girl whom she doted on more than she did Joseph. As did Tim. They never dreamed they would have children, but a miracle happened and she had Betty.
And then the second, maybe third predicament befell him. By that time, Joseph was going on thirteen and Betty was a year old, still crawling. Tim was with Joseph and his little sister, Betty, playing on the lush green grass at the back of their house, when he had to go to the bathroom. So he went inside to relieve himself while Tim stayed back with Betty.
Joseph had just washed his hands and was about to leave when he slipped because of the water he’d splashed on the tile. He yelled out for his father because he’d hurt his wrist. Sprained it. Tim came running to him, asking him what had happened and then started massaging his wrist.
Moments later, they heard a car screeching outside. Tim immediately rushed out to the front and upon seeing what had happened, a sudden weakness settled over him, crippling his legs. He slumped on the ground, feeling numb, and his hands dropped weakly to his sides as he looked on at his daughter.
Betty was lying lifeless under the car in a pool of blood. Her head had gone under Maria’s car tyre and splattered on the pavement. Maria was on her knees on the pavement, crying and screaming. It was a heart-wrenching scream, reverberating from somewhere within her. Her chest heaved as she continuously let out the most inhumane, vicious, sobs.
Joseph just stood there, frozen, looking at the gruesome scene. He suddenly felt nauseated. Vomit rose in his throat but he fought it back, leaving a putrid taste in his mouth. The neighbours and passers-by came to see what had happened and what the commotion was about. They gasped and covered their mouths. Some cried and unlike Joseph, some did puke. Within a few minutes, the ambulance and the police arrived.
The Tulanes’ front gate had a latch but if you moved it just right, it would open. That’s most probably how Betty got out of the yard and ended up squashed under Maria’s car. Tim was supposed to fix the gate, but he always postponed whenever he had to do it.
They told Joseph that Betty had died… And from that moment onwards, everything changed, and it felt like he was back at the damned orphanage.
That day at the dinner table, Maria was a complete mess. She took Betty’s death the hardest and the guilt that she’d run her over didn’t help. Her eyes were red and swollen when she spoke to Joseph.
“If you hadn’t called out to your father, Betty would still be alive,” she shouted and threw a plate of food in Joseph’s direction. “She’d still be here with us. You should’ve been the one who died. It’s all your fault! You killed her!”
Joseph ducked – cowered – and the plate smashed against the wall. He was sobbing, really hard.
And then she added, “From today onwards, we will only clothe you and feed you. But don’t think we’ll ever love you, Joseph. You are our shame, disgrace and flaw. I curse the day we decided to take you in.”
She wiped off her tears and never cried again. She didn’t even cry at Betty’s funeral, which Joseph had to sneak into to attend. But none of it was really his fault. They just crucified and put the blame on him because they were too gutless to admit and accept what they’d done.
From that moment on, they never talked to him unless they were hurling insults. The first time Tim hit Joseph was because he was talking to some girl while taking out the trash. The second was because he’d slept in until 9am on a Sunday. Everything snowballed from there. Sometimes they wouldn’t dish for him or allow him to bathe. It got to a point where they didn’t give a damn about his existence entirely.
That went on to the next four years. And living at the orphanage seemed like paradise compared to living in that house.
One day when Joseph was tired of the life of slavery and abuse, he thought the only way to escape was to search for his birth mother. So he did.
Joseph hated his birth mother. Actually, it was deeper than that. Loathe? Yes, that’s the word. He loathed her for birthing him and then leaving. He loathed her because of the promises of motherhood she made and wasn’t there to keep. He spent his entire childhood wondering why she’d do that. Was he so unlovable? Or did she simply not want him like everyone else?
Despite his feelings of hatred, he still searched for her because he thought she would save him. She would also give him answers to his questions.
And find her, he did. It didn’t take much sweat to find her. But she was nothing like he could have imagined. If she was a drug addict or some prostitute who slept with men for money, he would have understood, because then, how could she love him when she didn’t love herself? Or maybe if she was sick, he would have understood the idea of her not being able to take care of him because she would not be able to take care of herself.
But she was neither of those things. No, his birth mother was a beautiful, successful woman who lived in the suburbs. She was married and living her best life. How?! How could she have gone to live her best life when all he ever wanted was to see her suffer more than he did?! What about those nights when The Father had his way with him?! And what about all those nights when he had to go to bed hungry with blisters and wounds caused by Tim’s belt on his back? He had a strong urge to confront her but what was he to say?
Feeling dejected and defeated, Joseph returned to his hell hole. He found Maria waiting for him by the door when he got back home that evening.
“You’re past your curfew,” she said, her leg bouncing impatiently.
Joseph looked at his wristwatch, then back at her.
“It’s past seven. My curfew is eight.”
He pushed past her and walked into the house. He went to the kitchen to get some water. Maria followed behind him.
“I hear you’ve been snooping around, asking about your mother.” Joseph didn’t reply and she added, “So tell me, are we not good enough for you that you’ve started asking about your real mother? The one who abandoned you, might I add.”
At seventeen, Joseph was very fit and tall. The woman was no match for him, and Tim wasn’t around so he said, “Of course, you’re not good enough. You’re a terrible mother who killed her own child and put the blame on another, so take your little insecurities and shove them where the sun doesn’t shine.”
“What did you just say to my wife?” Tim roared, suddenly appearing in the kitchen.
Joseph’s whole body tensed when he heard his voice, and he mumbled a prayer. He prayed to God to finally end him right then. He couldn’t take anymore beatings. This couldn’t be what he was born for, he thought. This wasn’t what life is supposed to be.
“You stupid idiot!”
Tim grabbed the hem of Joseph’s shirt and slammed him against the wall. The first strike was excruciatingly painful. He hit him with so much force he could feel his skin burning. The second strike was worse that the first because he hit on the same spot. The third and forth strikes were fuelled by nothing more than utter hate.
Joseph couldn’t fight a man as big as Tim, so he tried to curl himself into a ball to lessen the pain. But Tim straightened him and gripped his throat tightly. He blocked his throat so tight that not even one molecule of air passed through to his lungs. Tears threatened to escape his eyes as Joseph tried to fight Tim in vain.
“You should’ve been the one who died. It’s all your freaking fault!” he seethed as he choked him.
Maria just smiled looking directly into Joseph’s frightened eyes, so she didn’t notice as his hand groped for a lethal-looking knife on the kitchen counter. He held it firmly and plunged it in his father’s abdomen, claiming his life. He heard it slice his flesh. He saw the pain and fear in his eyes.
Tim’s grip around Joseph’s loosened.
Maria gasped and fell back on her bottom, then covered her mouth with her palm in shock, and stopped the scream that was threatening to escape her mouth. She cried as she watched Joseph remove the knife and plunge it again for the second time. Tim fell to his knees, groaning, and a red-coloured substance gurgled out of his mouth and oozed from his wounds before he fell on his back on the ceramic tile with a soft thud.
Maria let out a piercing scream and scrambled to her feet, trembling with fear. She tried to run but she wasn’t quick enough. Joseph took a few quick hate-filled steps towards her and grabbed her arm before plunging the same bloodied knife in her womb three times.
Joseph then sat down with his legs crossed and placed the knife beside him. He sat there the whole night, replaying the events that just transpired. But he wasn’t crying or scared. He was just feeling numb, and numb, he knew, was far worse. But the deed had been done, his spirit was broken and most importantly, his whole life was ruined. But that didn’t matter because his life had been ruined from the moment he was born.
He sat there, in complete silence, cursing his existence. When morning came, he called the police and told them what he’d done.
Sitting with cuffs on his hands and feet in an interrogation room, Joseph tapped his fingers on the desk in front of him in a rhythm. That is, until a man who seemed to be in his mid-thirties entered the room and sat across him.
“Hello, Joseph,” the man greeted before sitting down. Joseph just stared at him. “My name is Aaron and I am a psychiatrist.”
“I know.”
“The police told me about what you did. Why did you kill them?”
“I was defending myself. Nothing more. Nothing personal,” he said as a matter of fact.
“Jo, listen to me-”
“It’s Joseph.”
“Okay, Joseph… you’re sick. You have delusions that aren’t real.”
“No,” Joseph replied.
“That’s the truth,” Aaron pressed. “I came here to help you. Tell me, what is the exact reason you killed them?”
Joseph sighed deeply and removed his shirt. There were large wounds and scars on his body and that seemed like they were caused by burns and slash from a sharp knife.
“You see these scars? These wounds? They were inflicted by Tim and Maria.” He closed his eyes for a fleeting moment before speaking again, “I thought I would not experience pain again after they adopted me. But all they did was hurt me more. That night they tried to inflict more wounds on me, so I killed them.”
“And you didn’t complain from the first time they hurt you?” Aaron asked.
“Yes, I didn’t. They threatened me. They said that I will be the one that will suffer more, not them,” Joseph replied.
“Did you try talking to anyone about this? Did you try to ask for help?”
“Yes. But they didn’t believe me. I once called the police for help. And they did nothing, because Tim was part of the police.”
“And you think killing them was the solution?”
“Yes.”
“You know, Joseph, you committed a crime. You killed them.”
“No, that’s not it. I killed them before they killed me.” His voice went an octave higher, “Why can’t you understand?”
“Don’t you at least feel remorseful?” Aaron asked calmly.
“No.”
Three years have passed since that day. Joseph was executed by hanging on his 18th birthday, for killing the couple that killed him every day. Everyone thought that he shot the gun, but he only dodged the bullet.
Throughout his whole life, Joseph had lived a somewhat unfulfilling life. And who was to blame if not the God he was taught to worship? So, in his last moments, he prayed to whichever God would be listening and raised a middle finger right before he said his last Amen.
PUBLISH’D AFRIKA Magazine Facebook Short Story Competition is funded by the National Arts Council, Department of Sport, Arts and Culture and Presidential Employment Stimulus Programme 3
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