A Mother's Love

by Marian Unn

  Chapter 18

  You would think that this room would feel large to me, having been in a room less than a quarter of this size for a month, and another one not much bigger than the last for two months. However, it feels oh so much more suffocating than those two small rooms. Those two little rooms which brought me so much joy and so many, better-left-unanswered, questions.

  The little faces of all those children flashed before my eyes. “Oh, how I miss them so,” I whispered to myself. Who knows what has become of them? For all I know, Merek could have…I shook my head in defiance of such a thought. No, as cold as he is, even Merek would have mercy on children. Would he not?

  When the answer came to me, I nearly burst forth in tears.

  No. No, he would not. Grasping my chest, I bowed my head. No, he would indeed not, not now. The proof is his own child. So lost and empty. So wounded and beaten. No father--no, no person who has any heart--could do that to a boy so young, much less to his own son.

  As if my thoughts had called out to him, the door opened, and a little boy peered through it. Stepping in slowly, his figure stood erect, but his head bowed low. Bangs hid his dark blue eyes, the same eyes that once shined ever so brightly.

  “Grandmother," he said, sitting down next to me. He stared off as he often had these past few months. However, there was a different color to him now, and he spoke, though with little emotion.

  “Grandmother, I have done something very bad. That book you showed me, one of those ‘Rules of God’ as you said, I-I have broken one.” His stuttering voice did not match his emotionless eyes.

  “Jobel,” I spoke quietly, reaching for his shoulder, but he slapped it away growling lowly at me.

  “Y-You don’t understand,” his little hands shook, “there was blood, red and…” I hugged him close. “Do not speak anymore, please, my child, please do not speak anymore.”

  He smiled, “But it’s okay, Papa said it was. He said that it is okay because I didn’t mean to. He said it was because I had to. He said people have to die sometimes. He said it is necessary to-”

  “No!” I squeezed him tighter in my arms. “No, that is not true! You do not have to do that! You do not have to kill! You do not have to do such horrible things!”

  “But how am I to survive?” His dark blue eyes bore into me, begging for an answer. “You can’t, you can’t survive without doing that! I-I know that and I’ve gotta do it. I’ve gotta do what Papa says! I gotta!”

  “J-Jobel,” was all I could stutter. My little grandson, he was not even ten! Not even old enough to be an apprentice boy! He is practically just learning to walk, just learning to speak, and he has killed a man?! How? How can he do something so awful when he is only a boy! H-How did he even survive? Where did he learn the act of murder?!

  “Jobel, what are you doing here?” Merek marched through the door. He looked to my tear stained face and his shaking little boy, and with not a hint of emotion he raised his head high and cast his eyes down to us. Looking at us as if we were mud that had soiled his new boots, he grunted, “What is this?” He walked to us with low and heavy steps, his jaw set tight as he began to speak. “A king does not shake nor run to someone when he needs help,” he glowered “Have I not told you this a thousand times?”

  “Y-Yes, your Highness,” Jobel mumbled, standing in salute to his father.

  Suddenly his hand swung, striking his son ferociously. Jobel flew across the room.

  “Jobel!” I reached for him. Merek held up his hand to stop me. He kept his other hand raised as he stared down at his son.

  Biting his lips, Jobel stood, trying his best to cease his quivering. With blood running down his cheek, the result of the brutish slap his father had administered to him, Jobel saluted him once more. When Merek saw he was at attention, his eyes met his son’s, widening to reveal ever more their deep consuming darkness. Entranced by his father’s gaze, Jobel’s eyes hardened. It was as if he was trying to mimic the coldness that hung in them.

  “A king does not stutter,” Merek spoke bitterly. “You would also do well in the future to do one of three things when an attack comes at you. Your first choice is to avoid the attack all together, but in some situations such as punishment, you were right in not evading it. However, as a king you should learn to reduce damage to yourself, so as a second choice, you should move with the hand in order to cause less damage. People do not admire scars. They are ugly, and any great warrior should be trained enough not to receive such unnecessary damage. Kings especially need to keep a public image. Injuries cause questions. Also, when looking for a possible suitor they are unappealing. Understand?”

  “Yes, Sir!” He bowed.

  “And the last option you could have taken was to not avoid the attack but to prevent it! This is acceptable for a King to do, even if the attack is coming as a punishment. You could have caught my hand and told me how it would deface your image. That would be an acceptable response as well. Remember, however, if you break a law and that law’s punishment is to cut off your own hand, you have an obligation to abide by the law. You are not exempt simply because you are the King. You will be thought a coward and a hypocrite if you do not administer all laws fully, even unto yourself. You must even suffer death if such occasion calls for it. The Queen,” he began, giving me a sharp glance of warning before he continued. It was clear what he was about to say was going to affect me deeply, and again, the proof that my son was gone became evident. He spoke of Jobel’s mother and did not care if I was present. When similar brutal conversations had arisen previously, he would always leave the room, or ask me to go, but he did neither of these things. He simply continued, not caring what pain would befall me at his words.

  “She did her duty. For she broke the law and she died for it. For you must die, if you ever break a law for which punishment is death. However, there is one condition that this is not so. If you have not an heir, you may not administer the punishment until you have made one, and have trained him properly. Is this understood?”

  “Yes,” Jobel said. Emotion had returned to his eyes at the mention of his mother. The trembling returned to his body as his tears began to swell.

  Merek’s hand raised again, and I knew what was coming. Snatching Merek’s arm before he had the chance to harm Jobel once more, I pushed him back and clung as tight as I could to him. He shook me viciously, trying to get at the boy. He pulled and swung his arm until I could hold no more. My grasp slipped; my body flew back. A terrible pain shot through me then. I had been thrown into the arm of the wooden chair.

  “Gah!” I cried out in pain, my one hand reaching for Merek, while the other clung to my aching head.

  His lip trembling, he shouted rapidly at his son, “You are to always, always, always address me with a title of honor! Is that clear? Is that clear?!” he repeated in furious confusion, his anger boiling over he shoved his head back and forth between me and his son.

  Astonished by his father’s loss of control, Jobel could only think to respond with an unsteady salute.

  “Get out!” he pointed a shaking finger to the door. With a puzzled face, Jobel opened his mouth, but Merek roared at him, “I SAID GET OUT!” A red glint lit his eyes as he reached for his son with flaring nostrils. Quivering and confused, Jobel raced out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

  Hunched in the place where his son had stood, Merek’s body shook. He grasped his broad shoulders, the low cry of a broken man escaping him.

  “Merek?” I touched his shoulder.

  What is wrong with him? Has he finally gone mad? Has his insanity finally torn him to pieces? What has caused him so much pain? Was it-

  No.

  No it could not be that. He would never—

  He would never…

  Would he?

  Could this be… Is this— Is this because of me?

  His shuttering breaths echoed through the chambers of my room. His large hands rested on my shoulders, with his chest heaving up and down
, he laughed, as his face moved to form a rare sight. A smile? From him?

  “It seems I have not yet lost my need of you. I must find another means of silencing this ever beating heart that longs for my mother’s love. This childish desire I kindled in myself to keep my will strong and alive during that terrible time,” he laughed lowly. “I must get rid of such useless things and yet I-”

  Lifting his head slowly to me, I held my breath in shock. His eyes, his eyes were brown! For years, they had embraced the sinister appearance of a dark black, in which the spheres were endless voids of utter darkness. For years, they seethed absolute nothingness that kindled a deep fear in anyone who had the unfortunate fate of holding their gaze for too long. But look, look at him!

  “My boy! Oh, my little - no - my big boy! You have returned to me!” I could not manage a smile due to the pain in my heart. My knowledge of all the sins he has committed would not allow me to gift him with the warm smile of a mother. I simply could not find it within me, no matter how hard I searched for it.

  Seeing my thoughts in my wet eyes, he bowed his head. Holding his hand to it for a moment, a shiver ran through his body. The muscles on his back rippled under my fingertips as tremors pulsed through him. Raising his head back to me, it was clear this tremor was to restore himself to his viciously emotionless state. “It seems I will have to take drastic measures to rid myself of you. I find it difficult to comprehend how it is that my frail old mother is my greatest weakness.”

  Stumbling away, I stared up at him as he rose above me. It was as if every vile word spoken of him was manifesting itself at this moment. I used to listen to what people would say. They said he laughed and smiled wickedly as he slaughtered innocents. But I knew he hid all such expressions, that such rumors could not possibly be true because I knew he would never show emotion to them. And if he did, it would not be joy, for he had discarded such a “useless” thing. And I, I could not accept that he would find joy in the killing of innocents. I refused to believe it! However, those rumors echoed in my ears at this moment. That cruel, monstrous man, as the underground world knew him by, that thing was quickly revealing itself to me as he rose to tower above me.

  A darkness covered his face. His hair shrouded his black eyes. “Mother.” He spoke with bared teeth, like some rabid animal about to strike. A low growl lined his deep voice. “Do you not find it queer as well? Why is it that you are my weakness? What is so special about you? Why can I not silence this retched voice in my heart that cries out when you are in pain, which tears at my soul when you are gone? Why? Why!” His questions were thrown at me like knives, vicious and lusting for murder.

  Pressing his hand to his forehead, he chuckled lowly once more, but it was different, it was twisted and cracked. Like a mad man, his wide eyes danced over me, observing every move I made, every breath I took. His glimmering teeth looked frightening beneath his twisting lips as he suppressed his laughing, shaking his head repeatedly to himself as he did.

  “Yes, yes! That is perfect!” his wild eyes pressed themselves into me. Deeper and deeper they bore, mad and crazed, and then, as if it had occurred to him that he was losing himself, he frowned. His eyes directed their attention down to his feet. Pacing back and forth, he shook his head, muttering odd things to himself.

  Truly the rumors were true! He is mad! Well, I knew he was mad to do such awful things with no remorse, but to this extent! I never knew man could fall to such a state!

  His composure somewhat regained, he held out a hand to me. His eyes emotionless once more, he replaced the thin line that he so often wore, which was neither a frown nor a smile. Helping me up from the floor, he took my place. Kneeling down, he tilted his head up to me as he pressed my hand to his cheek. “Please do not hate me for what I am so selfishly about to do, Mother. Know that it is for my dream, and you always told me to believe in my dreams. As a child you ensured me that you would support me in them and follow me to the ends of the earth to achieve them. And Mother, I am about to achieve my dream, and I need you to help me to accomplish the final part of it.”

  I, too, had taken a moment to compose myself. Remembering how I once was, how I needed to be in order to face such a clearly deranged man who I must never forget is my very own child, I asked, “Merek, why do you hold the promises of a child? You are no longer a little boy but a man. Act as one. Do not cling to childish fantasies.”

  These words, I feel as though I have spoken them before.

  He frowned, “Oh, but Mother, I thought you would remember how very serious a child I was. Even if you do not remember, then you must at least remember how you would cry out to me every time you saw my face. No matter my age you always say the same thing. ‘Oh, my child! My child! My boy!’ Surely, you recall this? You did it not so long ago.”

  “Merek, stop playing me the fool! I know very well that you are my own, and you know very well that this fact does not change my answer. I object! I refuse to help my son destroy himself!”

  Yes, when he first came back to me, I spoke something similar to him that day. Didn’t I? I suppose this story is repeating itself. However, for some reason, I do not think I will be so lucky in this ending. A shame, since the last ending was so very terrible. Though perhaps this time, I can give a better answer.

  Without him forcing me to do so, I placed my other hand on his opposite cheek. Rubbing it tenderly I held up the head of my son. “Merek, you were not always so serious as you believe yourself to have been. You were kind and joyful. You always smiled and brought happiness wherever you went. This darkness that has emerged within you is something that has grown, grown from something terribly unfortunate, a pain that I am sure even you have recognized. And you know in your heart that this pain is the reason you claim to despise all emotions. Your fear of pain is what causes you to cast yourself off, to build a barrier so that no one, not even me, can break it down to enter your heart’s chambers. All your actions, all you have done, do you think you could fool me? I am your mother, and I can see right through you. You act the way you do because of your fear. So, yes, you are child, a frightened little boy, who is in need of someone to comfort him, to guide him back to the road of light and protect him from all the fear and pain! But, Merek, how can I help you when you have built up this barrier of nothingness? How can I comfort you, love you, care for you, when you hide your pain and suffering by inflicting it upon those around you? By selfishly keeping your mother by your side, your frail old mother, who grows weary watching her son slowly eat away at his own heart and soul. You know I love you. And you will always be my beloved child. But I cannot give you what you desire. I cannot help you destroy yourself. For that is all that will come out of your dream’s fulfillment.”

  Oh, my answer was not that different from my first.

  Without a word, he stood over me. I took the courage I had gathered up inside of me and met his eyes. And though he showed nothing on his face, not fear, or anger, not even sadness, I knew that inside of him they were all twisting together into an impossible knot. And that this confusion within him is why he did not speak.

  Finally, after what seemed like hours, he pursed his lips and spoke. “You have helped fugitives and attended banned ceremonies. For years I knew about it, but seeing as you were my mother, I excused you. I broke my own code. The punishment I must receive is incarceration for the period of time I knew of this. That is two years. Surprising how long it took me to figure it out. Well, I had my suspicions the other three years, but it was not until I snuck in myself that I was aware of your crime. And that, Mother, is just what it is, a crime. As such, you are a criminal, as am I. Luckily, I am the King, and the law states that when the King is imprisoned, he is imprisoned in his home. My home is what I own, and I own a country. Sure diplomatic affairs may be difficult, but I will manage. You, however, Mother, have only what I give you, and I give you this room. But I believe that is too light a punishment. For you have two punishments. You must receive one for attending forbidden ceremonie
s and another for helping fugitives.”

  His reference to the Fathers as fugitives appalled me and how he spoke terrified me, but I must not falter. I cannot lose face at this moment!

  “The punishment for helping fugitives can vary depending on court and judge. Usually it can range from simple imprisonment to the removal of limbs.” He dangled a few of my fingers in the air. My jaw shook, but I snapped it shut quickly. As he slid his hand to my neck, I placed my hand carefully on his arm as he touched the veins on my throat. "To torture,” he whispered, “and even…” He drew back. Pulling a knife from his pocket, he twirled it in his hands, and said “to death.” Throwing it between my feet, he turned from me, frozen as I was.

  “I will call a trial for you tomorrow. I believe it will be most favorable for it to be a personal, quiet matter, no need for any public statements.” He calmly took a sip of water from a glass on the table, “That is unless your punishment is the latter.” His eyes moved to me, cool and mercilessly black, they fell to the glass at his lips. Placing it gently back on the table, he walked towards the door.

  “It would be best to wear your finest and most comfortable clothes for the occasion,” he talked as if it were some ball I would be attending. “You do not want to be uncomfortable if the judges choose to have mercy and incarcerate you in less,” he held out the ‘s’ in less, “comfortable quarters than this.”

  When the doors finally shut, I cradled myself, and the tears would not cease to flow down my cheeks. “Oh, God,” I grasped for the place where the golden cross once hung around my neck. It had been burned earlier that week, right in front of my very eyes.

  “Oh, my dear God, please save my soul. Forgive me for my sins and please bless the children, the Fathers, and please, oh, God, please forgive my son whom is so unlike you! Where you die for us, he kills for himself. Where you were God and human, sharing in our feelings of love and pain and embracing your humanity; Merek is only a human, forcing himself to act like some other being, rejecting love and hiding pain. He denies his true self and raises himself above others as if to prove that the loss of his heart has made him above those around him. Oh, God, where you are always right and good, Merek is lost and has done so much wrong. Please forgive him for his crimes. And please forgive me for my inability to change him! For my inability to help your children! For instead of helping them, I always cause them pain through my relationship to my son, who is so hateful of you. I am not like your mother. Where Mary was brave and strong in the face of adversity, I am weak and cowardly! Oh, God! Oh, God, we are but feeble humans existing in a life where we know not what to do, where some turn to you for help and others turn to the devil! I know that whatever happens tomorrow you have allowed it to happen for a reason. I can only pray that you have mercy on my soul, and on my son, who has lost his way in life and can no longer seem to recognize himself. Please. Please, God, help my child. When he passes from this world, let him realize and repent for his evils so that he may come to you.”

  Crossing myself repeatedly I prayed the rosary, losing count of the decades several times, and when I finally had prayed and cried my eyes out till they refused to tear any longer, I slept.

  It was quiet, or at least I thought it must be. For all I could hear was my exhausted breath and the heavy beating heart within my chest.

  How I wish my son would change. How I wish I could change him or at least be there to see him change, but I know that he does not change because it is not God’s will. He has a plan; he has a plan for him and me. I tell myself that he has a plan, and I pray so hard because I believe it to be true. But now, with my fate truly in his hands… I am fearful… I am so very afraid, and yet I know I must be strong. I must be true and loving to my persecutor, even if my persecutor is to be my son! Even then I must still love him. I must be a proper mother. I must love, be patient, and always keep my faith, even though my son seems to have become the living embodiment of the devil himself!

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