A Mother's Love

by Marian Unn

  Chapter 8

  “Jobel!” I cried, as the little boy climbed across the arm of the chair. “Sorry!” he laughed, purposely falling off its side, a broad smile on his little face. “Grandma! Grandma!” he shouted, his big eyes shining. They were the stars on a cloudless night. The candle held before one goes to bed.

  They were my new light.

  “Grandma! Grandma!” he shouted again, rolling and laughing about, truly a light in this place of darkness.

  “What is it?” I asked. Laughing at me, he ran around the room dancing and falling, so very childlike and free. “Grandma! Grandma!” he once again cried.

  “Yes, dear?” I smiled as he laughed again, so innocent and filled with love.

  When I look into his eyes, I see a tiny Merek, but he smiles oh so much more! There is so little to frown about in his blessed life. He never goes hungry, always has time for play, and both his parents are alive and together. Though I cannot say both are well.

  When I first met Jobel’s mother, Felicia, I immediately saw that Merek’s initial description of her was no exaggeration. She was incredibly beautiful, but very young, and very frail. When she had Jobel she was even younger than I! Her small and weak body made it a hard birth; she barely survived it. I worry about her health, and fear her next child will be her death.

  “Grandma! Grandma what are you doing?” his little voice brought me back to him.

  “I was just thinking a bit.” I smiled at the wild and curious little creature before me, his eyes sparkling like starlight. I could not help but gaze into his bright eyes every time I saw him. He really is so much like Merek was! However, as such, I feared for him; and wondered if he would someday befall the same fate. Would that light in his eyes someday dull? Would that brilliant blue (for he possessed his mother’s eyes) one day cringe, twisting into a deep-dark-black? What am I to do with this child? How am I to keep him so pure and innocent as he is now?

  “Hey, Grandma,” he said quieter, with more seriousness in his voice than previously. “I’ve been thinking about something, too.” Tilting my head, I responded with my eyes opened wide, as is necessary to show your interest and attentiveness when speaking with a child of his age.

  “Yes, dear?” I said again.

  Puffing his rosy cheeks out he shook his head, “Papa,” he began, balling his hands into tiny fists. “Papa says you go to a bad place!”

  Astonished by his words, I fluttered my eyelashes dumbly, “Why, whatever do you mean?”

  “I-I don’t know!” he said weakly, playing with his tiny fingers. “Papa just says you are! I don’t believe him! But, Papa wouldn’t lie…right, Grandma? But Grandma is not a bad person so she wouldn’t go to a bad place either, right? So, I don’t know who is lying and who is not? I don’t-” the tears welled up in his eyes.

  “Now, Jobel,” I whispered gently, his head digging into my knee, his tears of frustration staining my gown. “Jobel your father and I have matters we strongly disagree on. Some things that I find to be good he sees as bad, and some things I see as bad he sometimes sees as good. Our opinions are merely different you see. There is no need for distress.”

  Wiping his eyes he began again; tear stains still fresh on his cheeks, “But Grandma if you and Papa don’t think the same thing, than which is wrong? Papa can’t be wrong, and Grandma can’t be wrong. But you both have different opine-opeeno- opinin-”

  “Opinions.”

  “Yeah that!” he nodded vigorously, delighted that I had helped him figure out that darn old word. “If those things aren’t the same, but you’re both right…Oh no! I’m confused again! If Papa thinks something is bad that Grandma thinks is good, and Grandma thinks something is bad that Papa thinks is good, then who’s right? Bad things can’t sometimes be good and good things can’t be bad, can they? That doesn’t make sense! But if Grandma says it’s all ok, then I’m ok! But I’m still confused!” He kicked his feet, a child’s way of expressing that he is still in deep thought.

  Sighing at this child’s logic, I shook my head astounded. He was not even ten and yet he could so easily see the error in my words. What a witty child, just like his father. I can only pray that wit of his does not lead him to follow the same path.

  Brushing my hand over his soft little head I nodded, “You are right, dear one, that is confusing. You are the one who is right. Bad cannot be good. There is good and there is evil, and they are not the same. However, it can often become confusing for people to distinguish between the two of them.”

  “Even adults?” he asked with gaping mouth and widened eyes. “Yes, especially for adults.”

  “Woah!” he stared off profoundly, “But Grandma, how do I know which is which? Which is good and bad? How can I tell the difference if even you and Papa get all mixed up over it?” He continued to kick his legs as his thoughts continued to grow, his big eyes questioning me for answers.

  Here I was, back in this position. I knew that what I would say now would impact how he would live his life from now on. It would influence how he grew, who he would become. I knew I could not make the same mistake. What was I to say? What could I say in response to such a question? To such a question that even I do not fully know the answer to. But I cannot just leave his question unanswered; that may set an even worse example.

  Oh God, what am I to do?

  “Well Grandma? How can we know?”

  “We know-” I breathed, thinking intensely, picking my words carefully and ordering them precisely before I spoke, “Right and wrong are very similar things simply because they are so different. Well, that is still confusing, I know. Let me say this in a different way then. As humans, we find difficulty in discerning the difference between the two because humans are inclined towards evil. This is due to something called concupiscence, which we, mankind, received a long time ago.” Though it is not a good answer for a child, perhaps by exposing him to it I can guide him to seek out his own answer, a better one than my own.

  “How long ago, Grandma?” he leaned in closer. I smiled at his ignorance. “Very, very, very long ago. It was received by the first humans ever.”

  “Wow that is a long time ago! Who were the first humans?”

  “Adam and Eve,” I replied, saddened by his lack of knowledge in such matters. By his age Merek new all the major events in the Bible and could retell the stories better than any other child. Yet here is my grandson who has never even heard of God. What a sad world he was born into.

  What a sad world my son has created.

  “How’d they get concup-consup-cosupce-” his mouth played with the word, unable to grasp it.

  “Concupiscence,” I told him.

  “Yeah that! How did they get it?”

  “Well, do you know how there are rules and laws?” He nodded to me, his eyes brightening, transfixed on mine. Attentive and breathless, he listened in awe with careful ears, his toes curling, at the edge of his seat. “Well, Adam and Eve had rules as well. Duties, is a better word for them. You see, they lived in a great garden, and they had the duties to take care of the garden and the animals, as well as each other. They only had one rule; and this rule was never to be broken. But they broke that rule. A great evil was done by breaking this rule, and so a great evil fell on Adam and Eve, and on all of their descendents. Descendents are like children, and since they were the first humans, all humans are their children. And so in breaking this rule they allowed sin to come into the world and started concupiscence, the inclination towards evil.”

  “What is sin?” he asked in the most innocent of ways. I shook my head at the question. This child! Oh this poor child! If only I could take him with me to that place, if only I could!

  “Sin is evil, it is death. It is the opposite of good. It is bad and can never be good.”

  “But if those people made us get it and it’s bad, does that mean we are bad, Grandma?” he looked at me and then down at his little hands. “Am I bad?”

  “Heavens no! You are good my child! All people a
re good! It is our actions that have the ability to be bad. There are many bad actions taken by people throughout the world, these bad actions are the great evil! These actions are the sin! Not you nor I, or even your father!” My heart jolted at this, the memories of Merek’s cruel words and murderous actions coming back to me. “No, not even your father is evil” He has done more evil than I have ever seen or heard of, but I will not yet tell Jobel that.

  “How do we know an action is a sin?”

  Although it was similar to his previous question, the answer for this one seemed so much harder to find. “Well, it is something written on our hearts, we simply know. And when we need help, there are laws. These laws were written down ages ago. They guide us to truth and help us to both identify and avoid sin.”

  “What are they!” he asked, flustered.

  “Oh, my dear one-” I held my breath in pain of his ignorance. Shaking my head to myself, I knew what I had to do. “If I show you, will you promise not to tell?”

  “Yeah, but why? Shouldn’t everyone know how to not do bad things?” he tried to whisper but failed.

  “Yes, yes they should, but as I said before, the good is sometimes mistaken for the bad. This is also one of those things your father and I tend to disagree on, and your father being who he is, does not take lightly to things that go against his way of thinking. You know this well. So you must keep this a secret. Alright?” As he nodded vigorously to me, I smiled gently at the boy.

  Combing through the bookshelf, I pulled an encyclopedia from it. Opening the book, I laid it flat on the table. As I did this, the letters on the spine popped up. Pressing first on the “D,” I followed by turning the first “E” to the right, and then lastly I pulled up the “O.” With that, a click came from the book. The gears creaked, releasing a mechanism inside the encyclopedia that revealed a compartment hidden in its spine. Lifting the tiny latch on the cover of the compartment, I opened it and removed a tattered little book.

  “That’s amazing!” Jobel laughed, clapping his hands together. “What is it? What is it?” Pressing my fingers to my lips, I motioned him to be quiet.

  “It is a bible.”

  “What is that?”

  “It is truth.”

  “Truth sure is tiny!” He squinted his eyes at the little leather book I held in the palm of my hand.

  “It is not physically truth, but tells us the truths that we are incapable of discerning by ourselves. It teaches us how to live and act. It also gives us the laws of life, helping us to discern between good and evil. But it is not an easy read Jobel, and so the true message of it is often distorted. We must have someone who has certain qualifications and training to interpret it for us. This person is called a priest. That is where I go, Jobel. I go to meet a priest so that he will help me to know truth.”

  Twisting his face he scratched his head, “But that doesn’t sound evil or bad. Truth is good, right Grandma? So why then does Papa think it is bad?”

  Sighing, I placed my hand gently on his shoulder, “Because Papa is confused and believes that something else is the truth, but it is not.”

  “Why don’t you tell him that this is truth?” he asked simply. I laughed at his innocence, his childish naïveté. What a gift it is to be a child!

  “Ha! Ha! It is not that simple Jobel. You see, I have tried to tell him, but your father is a stubborn man and does not like to take orders or listen to anyone, even if they are trying to help him. I tried to teach him this truth when he was your age but he never really grasped its meaning, only the content of it.”

  With big eyes, he looked at me wearily, “I still don’t really understand why truth is so confusing,” he said, scratching his head once more. “I haven’t heard anything like this before, Grandma, and the more you tell me, the more confused I get. It is so confusing!” Folding his arms, he slowed his kicks.

  “Yes, well, I suppose it is. Now, you will not tell Papa, will you? And no one else either?” Jumping from the sofa, he saluted me, then, holding his hand over his heart, he said “I promise to never tell.” He then pretended to lock his mouth and throw away the key.

  “Thank you, Jobel.”

  “Now will you tell me more, Grandma?”

  “Of course.” I went on to tell him of the creation story in more detail, of Adam, Noah, Moses, Abraham, David, and Jesus, of course. For hours he listened quietly to all the information pouring out of me; he soaked it all up like a sponge into his little head. For once, I felt like this was right, like I was making a real difference. I could change the fate of this boy! I could save him! I could! And one day, one day I would take him to church.

  Hundreds of thoughts just as these came over me in the short hours I spent with him, and with each passing moment the thoughts were growing stronger and developing into a future I could almost touch. I believed, I truly believed, I could change his fate. But then, just as all the joyous thoughts were finding their place, I heard his steps.

  Closing the bible quickly, I carefully slid it back into the encyclopedia’s spine and hooked the latch. Snapping the book shut, the lock reset itself. Running to the bookcase, I put the encyclopedia back in its place. Racing back to the sofa, I held Jobel’s hands and smiled. “Remember your promise,” I mouthed as Merek barged into the room.

  “There you are Jobel! I have been searching everywhere for you!” his voice took an almost worried tone, but his facial expression remained placid. “Mother,” he looked at me warily. “What have you been up to here?”

  “It’s a secret!” Jobel blurted, giggling as he did. What a fool I am! Why did I tell it to a child!

  “Is that so” he said, his dagger like eyes looked to his son who simply smiled unaffected by them. They were, after all, all that he ever knew.

  “Let’s go now, Jobel. It is time for your lesson.” Placing his hand on his son’s shoulder, he led him out the door to wherever his studies were to be.

  As he left, I walked towards the beam of the bed and dug my face into its draperies as if to hide myself from him.

  Soon his footsteps once again boomed forth from the hall, a new passion in his pace.

  “Mother,” he seethed with hate, slamming the door behind him. “I know you are not yet tired. Come here.” I did not move from what I considered, for some foolish reason, to be my hiding place. Racing to me in fury, he knelt beside me just as he always had. This time I turned from him, afraid that if I looked to him, he would see through me and discover what I had done. More than that, I was simply afraid to meet his eyes.

  Oh his eyes! His dark eyes did strike fear into my very core, but I did not turn. If I did, he would see my horrified face and learn of my fear. And I dare not let him learn of this. He cannot know! He is my son! And I cannot let my son learn that his own mother has not the courage to face him because she is afraid of him! I cannot let him know this! I cannot!

  I breathed heavily for a moment and regained what I could of my composure.

  “Your hand.” His tone was demanding, hard and cruel. “Why do you mock the past with such repeated meaningless actions?” My hand was again forcibly pressed to his face. He said nothing; neither did I. Both of us were caught in our own silence.

  Still refusing to meet his eyes, I dug my head into the drapes. Like a child who had committed a petty crime, I hid my face.

  “Should I send you away, Mother?” he whispered. My heart pulsed at these words.

  I did not want to lose my family like this! Not again! Not like this! I will not let him rip me away from my happiness! Not again! Not when I had made such progress with my grandson! Not when I had so much more to give to him! Not when I had so much more love to receive! Falling into his trap, I snapped away from the curtain to meet his eyes. I was caught. Pulling himself up from the ground, the dark orbs in his skull reached out for me, suffocating me. I could not find my breath in their grasp. They were like a spell of death, one from which I would surely die, if I sought to stare any longer or deeper into them.

  �
��Why would you say such a thing?” I asked with a shaking voice.

  “Because you cause me great pain.” He tightened his grasp on my wrist. “You say I mock you by my actions and yet all I wish is to commemorate the past. It is you, Mother, who is mocking.”

  As he snatched my other wrist, I did not try to squirm away or cry out, though I felt my heart and mind tearing away. “You mock me,” he continued, his suffocating glare unwavering. “You mock and sting me with your words and your actions, your standoffishness and your fear!” He grasped my wrist tighter, and my composure began to fade as I tried my best to fight back the tears and control my trembling. “The way you fear me brings me a great sorrow. It brings up in me emotions I have tried my best to throw away! All of them but these I have thrown away! Yet you, Mother, you continue to bring me pain! You, the one person I truly have left in this world. Why is it that I find you the source of my continued suffering?!”

  “Merek, I am not the only one you have in this world. What of your wife and Jo-”

  “They are nothing! I feel nothing for them! Nothing at all! That boy is but my successor and that woman’s only purpose is to bear me sons! They serve no other purpose! They live for no other purpose but to serve me!”

  “Merek!” I cried, my own anger surfaced from his words. It shot past my fear and through the barrier I had used to withstand his attacks up to this point. “You should be ashamed to say such words! Humans are not things to be used but people to be loved and cherished! Especially your own wife and child! And I know you feel more for them than you say! Why would you choose that girl if her only purpose was to bear sons? You know she has a weak body. She told me, and most assuredly you, that she was a sickly child and has only become well in recent years. She is a lovely young lady, but there are so many beautiful young ladies out there. You know none can match her tenderness, not even I! And your only child came from your union with her! Your beautiful son, who you named after our beloved Jobel, your son is always smiling as Felicia does. You love him, you love them both. I know you do. You refuse to accept or show it, but in your heart you love them very dearly! I know it! So do not say words you will one day be unable to take back!”

  My chest heaved back and forth. The blood which had rushed to my now red features began to recede. And my anger like a summer wind had come, and before I could even reflect upon what I had said, it was gone from me. The fear raced back stronger than ever as my son, who had turned from me, bowed his head.

  “I cannot possess such things, Mother,” he said coolly.

  “But you are human, Merek, and as a human, you will have such feelings. They are natural and good. We need them to live and make the right decisions to the problems that we will come to face in this life.”

  “You are right, Mother.”

  Astonished at this confession, I nearly fell back, catching myself on the bed post. “Y-You see this to be true?” I asked breathlessly.

  “Yes,” he replied. A smile came to my face. Have I done it? Have I changed him? Can I change the world by him? Have I? But before the joy had even a moment to settle its roots into the soil of my heart, he quickly rushed his words. Without remorse, he spoke them plainly. The smile I had longed for all these years spouted cruel and painful words, which uprooted my little piece of joy as soon as it was planted.

  “You are correct. I have seen what you have said to be true, and so I must either train myself to cope with such weaknesses or destroy them.” Walking towards the door, he did not turn to me. His sharp words sliced through my last tiny bits of hope and threw them into the fire: “Thank you, Mother, for giving me the opportunity to recognize these troublesome faults in my life.”

  *****

  That night, I heard a terrible sobbing coming from down the hall, a horrible, terrible shrill cry, and then silence. An eerie feeling came over me that night.

  From my bedroom window, I could almost hear the coachman’s whip against the horses; their piercing sounds rang through the night. The sobbing faded with the rumbling of their hooves.