NOBODY KNOWS…

By

Granville Johnson

Part 4

Upstairs in the ‘guest room’, Rook heard the joyful clamour and snuggled deeper into Quail’s bear-like warmth, snoring loudly at her back. She knew he was the same height as Sevin just heavier, and more powerfully built. The size difference, reinforced by Quail’s total devotion to her and compared to Sevin’s distracted moodiness, made her fell so safe and protected. “Nothing will hurt me, or come between us,” purred Rook, feeling Quail squeeze her breast in his sleep. “Mmmm… it’s going to be a lovely day, she thought, carefully moving her bruised baby toe and feeling the relief of the slight discomfort. “Mmmm… she murmured, responding to a soft yet insistent stroking of her inner thigh. “You faker! You’re not asleep. Mmmm…”

Downstairs, Sevin, slowly and happily disengaged himself from the warm loving embrace of his children. ”Alright folks, we have a deal. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving and ‘breaky’s-a-waitin’. Last one to the table helps dad clean-up after.”

Breakfast went well, as usual. The kids were excited about having their mom at home again. Though she had only been away for two days, her childfree shopping weekend in the city (with her lover) was a Mother’s Day Present. Still it was forty-eight hours past a lifetime in the minds and hearts of her young family. For the children, the gift was their mom having a well-deserved break with the promise of lots of quality time upon her return.

For Sevin, the discussion of the terms, conditions and circumstances of the ‘gift’ were somewhat different.

“What would you like for Mother’s Day? You know this weekend ‘s the big day.”

“I’m going to the city for the Mother’s Day weekend. I need some time away from you and the kids. I’m leaving Thursday after work and returning on Saturday night, probably late.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

”I have already made reservations at the Four Star.”

“So you will be home for Sunday… all day; the kids are expecting to celebrate Mother’s Day with their mother.“

“I’ll be here.”

“Quail’s meeting you or driving you?”

“We’re driving.”

“Is Kate aware of this plan?”

“Not your concern.”

“What… about Kate, his wife… your friend…remember her? How about his children? Is it none of their concern as well? Or are two families including two spouses and six kids suppose to roll over and play ignorant while you two shits stroll off to OZ on a hot date to get stupid drunk and fuck each other silly. Then come back here to pretend that all is well, where we are expected to welcome you both with open arms and supportive interest in the very betrayal that is destroying all we hold dear?!”

“You owe me.”

“Right… How could I ever forget.”

“This is our time and we are taking it. If you can’t support it, you know what you can do.”

“I’m NOT leaving my children.”

“Right… that’s OUR children or haven’t you noticed.”

“I’ve noticed that our families; we… were friends, welcomed into the First Nations culture, experiencing the sweat lodge with our buddy the local chief. Of course that was just a ruse so he could see you damn near naked on a regular basis and you could finally mount (pun intended) your revenge…!”

“This is not, in any way, about you.”

“One abortion was not enough… You were just warming up! Is there another murder-of-the-unborn in our near future?”

“Shut… Up!”

“What was I thinking…? He has cock-coaled every friend he has ever had…I’ve just been waiting my turn in line…”

“Like you haven’t tried to fuck every woman that comes near us or our family… my friends… other professionals… You are the epicenter of your sick universe… so full of yourself. You really think you’re the cock of the walk. But you are so small… so very fucked up… you’re pathetic!

“Yes… I am pathetic. We all are. Kate, the kids and I are just parking orbits between your lust fests…”

“Fuck… you!”

“Nevermore bitch… Nevermore…!

“If you were anywhere near a decent excuse for a normal human being instead of a pervert: jerking-off in the staff toilet… lusting after young girls… children… none of this would be happening. But you’re are soooo… SICK!

“I was sexually abused… Raped and abused for years…”

“You’re a FUCKING PERVERT! Oh poor little baby had a hard time shoved up his ass as a child. Had to suck a bit cock to get by, did we? Now you’re stuck in a heat rut, like a fucking full-rut Moose humping a tree… SO get over it! Get help…! DO something…like put a bullet through what passes for your brain…”

“End my misery?”

“Anything at all…! Just quit your fucking whining…!”

“Happy Mother’s Day…to you too.”

Sevin had held up well during her absence. Trained thoroughly by his mother, in the ways of child and home care, single parenting suited him.

“…Sevin, you will never have to depend upon any woman to feed or take care of you. No son of mine will ever be a woman’s plaything. That is, if you can control the urges of that thing between your legs. Ah me, well there is really not much that I can do to help you there. Not that your dad would be much help in that department, either, even if he were alive today. Control of his urges was certainly not his strong suit. You could bet against him every time and win, every time. We do try to do the best we can with what the Good Lord has given us.”

“Mom…?”

“So pay attention while I show you how to bake this chocolate cake. Baby, could you get the flour and measure two cups for me? That’s my boy…”

“…am I going to be a husband or wife, some day when I grow up and get married?”

“Boy you do ask some questions. Before you get married, there is no rush, you’ll have to take care of yourself. When and if you do get married, you’ll be a husband like any man. Someday though, Lord willing, you might have to be mother and father to your children.”

“Like you Mom?”

“Yes son, like me.”

“You mean my wife might die, like dad did?”

“She might die, or leave you. You might even have to leave her.”

“And take my children with me?’

“Yes son, NEVER leave your children. A good father is always there for his children. He puts his children first in all things.”

“Was dad a good father, mom?”

“Yes Sevin, he was a good man and would have been a good father, if given a chance. He didn’t mean to … die and leave us. Our Lord had other plans for him.”

“I know. Mom… I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Mom?”

“What baby?”

“Can I lick the bowl?”

“Sure. Want to stir awhile first?”

“Sure… like this?”

“Yes son. Just like that.”

As a homemaker and nurturing parent, Sevin became a very liberated male. His skills and enthusiasm for woman’s work in the home graced him with a sense of confident freedom.

Control of the ”urges of that thing between his legs”, on the other hand, had always been a problem for him. Over the years Sevin’s pathos, dominated by a deep and un-abiding sense of being driven, haunted him. His reality as a perpetual victim, was to be used for, or because of that “thing between his legs”. His terror, seldom acknowledged, was always connected to: the heat, the dreams, the need, and the dread of feeling that way again. His palpable despair of somehow being ‘unlovable,’ fulfilled his prophesy of one whom was unworthy of being cared about, or wanted for anything, by anyone.

Sevin’s rape and rage, having begun so long ago, still lived on as a Cancer in the depths of his soul. The ‘tumor’ was his unconscious master, and controlled his every thought, word, and deed, every second of his life. Sevin was ‘damaged goods’, therefore, devoid of inherent worth.

Still as an adolescent, he sometimes dreamed of discovering a cure for the malignancy. In his dream he would awake from a deathly high fever and coma, to discover that miraculously, he had been cured of the incurable. At ounce transformed, by the process, into a magnificent pure white mythic Pegasus. He would then spread his huge powerful wings to leap into the sky, joyously free of all human concerns. At long last, relishing the ecstasy of flight and never looking back. He would sing the song of freedom, as he soared into the glorious unknown.

Sunrise… Reborn!

Sevin and his children paused in their meal to watch a ‘glowing’ Rook and Quail regally descend the staircase into the kitchen. Caught in his bittersweet reverie, Sevin glared.

He had yet to realize, that within the love/hate reality of his relationship with this couple, was the seed of the ‘miracle’: the healing path to his freedom…waiting to be born. It would be a long hard labour.

“Mom!”

“Hi mom.”

“Mom did you bring us anything from the city?”

Sevin became intensely interested with the remaining porridge at the bottom of his bowl. He began to calmly separate the puffy wrinkled grape-like raisins from the slimy nearly cold, oat flakes. Absently he noted that his skin suddenly felt like the cereal, almost uncomfortably cold and prickly yet numb. He felt nothing past its tingling surface.

“Good morning, my beautiful children. Your mom really missed you while we were away. We have a surprise for each of you after breakfast.” Rook replied as she gave them all a big hug, and awarding Quail a loving air kiss as he nonchalantly slouched by the back hall that lead to the rear porch door off the kitchen.

“Mom… is Quail your husband now?”

Deep beneath the carefully calculated veneer, where all his fears held court, Quail was scared shitless. He had dreaded this show down all weekend. After this morning’s circus, he just wasn’t sure what Sevin would do. Though if Sevin were to move or even twitch… a threat, Quail was eagerly ready, willing and able to destroy this blustering black bag of Nigger shit!

“Stupid shit! You think you’re so cool, so smart, thought Quail. I had a wonderful time banging your old lady last night. Damn her pussy’s sweet. And you should have seen her suck my schlong this morning; gotta mouth like a fuckin’ vacuum cleaner. Did ya hear us? Bet ya did… didn’t you? Bet you were outside the door listening. Did you get an ear full, while you jerked off. That’s all your good for… JERKIN’ OFF! Fuckin’ PERVERT! You fuckin’ NIGGER! That whitey pussy’s mine now, and there’s not a fuckin thing you can do about. You dumb FUCK!”

Quail’s thoughts tumbled, helter-skelter through the power-drunk self-loathing mind of one steeped in years of childhood hatred and abuse. The cry of the powerless, the wail of the neglected… Quail’s call was not one of love. His expression never wavered. He exuded confident charm. Yet his eyes darted quickly, like fear-struck weasels, around and around the room under hooded lids, never alighting, seeing everything, yet never meeting Sevin’s intense gaze which seemed to pass through him.

“I am so very sorry, Inez, Onele’, Kudo; children it would seem that your father lied,” thought Sevin. “Goblins are real.”

The End