THE MOST BEAUTIFUL KIND OF PAIN

The Most Beautiful Kind of Pain

Maybe if I cleared everything out of the room, he wouldn’t have anything to throw around this time. This thought went through my head as I watched my son, Arnold, move from one side of the room to the other while kicking his ball. He had just started walking some months ago and that day still topped as the happiest recent day of my life. At the age of one, when other kids were walking and he wasn’t, I had become very worried but he never disappointed me. He just needed more time. Every time I saw him take a step, I felt like my life turned meaningful again. He was the light in the darkness that my marriage to Emeka threw me into. Arnold was now a year and three months and like any toddler, he was always on the move. I put away the suspiciously wrapped brown box that was delivered to our apartment earlier today. It had Emeka’s name on it and I didn’t want it to be the first thing he saw. These days, whenever we got one of those strange packages usually wrapped in brown paper, he got extra angry and mean after opening it. I have no idea what was inside but I didn’t want it to be the first thing he did because it would be if I left it lying in plain sight.

I had thought the birth of our son would put an end to his anger and his tendency to take it on me and maybe bring joy into our family and it had, for a long time, it had. He did not beat or manhandle me for the duration of my pregnancy and a whole year after Arnold was born. But last five months, the first box wrapped in brown paper was delivered and he started again. It was like he never stopped. As usually, after the hitting when I would lie down crying and shivering in my bed, I would talk myself into staying with him as he was my husband and Arnold needed his father in his life and I didn’t want to be one of those women who couldn’t stay married and I didn’t want to be like my mother who left her family and I didn’t want to prove Emeka’s mother right. Because I have signed up for forever with him no matter what. I would say all these to myself. I would add on strings of conjunctions as I held court with myself and my demons.

But not anymore. I refused to take any more of his beating after the blow he gave me last two days. He had gone as far as to hit me over the head with the ceramic sculpture of a raging bull charging at something my uncle had given me as a wedding present just before he died. I had cherished that artefact, cleaned it every day only to have it broken on my head. I could still feel the huge lump from the blow. I have had enough. I was going to bite the nail and do what my cousin has been asking me to do since the first day I went to her house with a black eye. I have decided to divorce Emeka. Evidence of his infidelity was also lying around. He wasn’t trying to hide anymore. The other day, I caught a glimpse of him scrolling through the timeline of a girl called Beckywasa. I looked her up myself. I could tell immediately she was his mistress because she not only has different kinds of tattoos on her body including a very mean looking shark on her left arm, she also had a silver necklace with a pear tree pendant, the same design Emeka had given me. it was either he got two of the same nature or he took back what he gave me without my notice because I haven’t noticed it missing. But then, I wasn’t looking for it. Anyway, a bar selfie with Emeka was the crowning evidence I needed.

Arnold was soon ready for bed so I took him to his bed. He was such a beautiful boy. Today turned out to be a normal day. A very good feat to achieve in my house.

The next morning, after making breakfast and putting Arnold in his playpen, I tried to write again but as usual, I could not write more than one page of anything reasonable or creative. Again, I thought to myself that it was time to give up this foolish dream of being a writer. Emeka soon left for the job interview he had inside the town. He told me he was sure this would be the real deal. I hoped for his sake it was true.

I spent my day privately practising how I was going to tell Emeka that I wanted a divorce. It wasn’t an easy subject to open. Arnold and I watched a little cooking show where kids were baking. He was enraptured by the mess taking place in the TV kitchen as the kids aged ten and under tried to recreate what they believe to be a chocolate cake. After the show was over, he started demanding I give him some cake and because I did not have the energy and concentration to talk him out of it, I took him to the bakery not far from our apartment and got him a big slice of chocolate cake. That should keep him occupied long enough for me to get Emeka’s food ready.

Less than three hours later as I just finished putting Arnold to bed and was about to start clearing the kitchen, someone walked inside the apartment. I went into the living room to see who it was and saw Emeka stumbling into the house. I could tell at a glance he was drunk. He was singing a song about how all women were bitches who didn’t know their places. I knew that meant he did not get the job. It was too early in the day to be drinking but that has never stopped my husband.

“Welcome. How was your day? How was the interview?” I asked him as I went back to the kitchen. I was anxious to know the outcome.

“Take a guess. That stupid bitch decided that I didn’t deserve the job because I didn’t have a good reference from my last job and I was a little drunk.” He spat these words out.

He went to the cabinet and brought out a bottle of his usual.

I was not surprised that he had gone to the interview drunk. It was a typical Emeka behaviour. It was like he was doing everything within his power to remain angry at the world. Everything wrong was anyone’s fault but his own and that gave him the right to be angry. What kind of reference was he expecting from the company that he had embezzled money from? As usual, I did not say those things to him.

“I am very sorry about that, my dear. You should have waited to drink after the interview. That would have been better,” I said to him.

“I was not drunk. I just had a little something to calm my nerves. It could have been water for all that she knew.” He shouted as he sat down.

‘’It wasn’t water and water doesn’t leave you intoxicated, Emeka,” I said, fed up with him playing the victim. He was wrong.

He slammed his fist on the table with a force that scared me to the bones. He glared at me and said with suppressed fury, “I knew it wasn’t water. Don’t talk smart to me, Nancy!”

“I am sorry honey. She was wrong to do what she did,” I said in a hurry as I took steps away from him.

“Don’t patronize me,” he said as he stood up from his seat with so much force that the seat upturned. “You know, my sister told me that you are the reason for my bad luck. My mother told me the same thing but I did not believe her. I am starting to think they are right. I mean, come to think of it, things started going south for me when we got married, when you came into my life.” He stalked me around the table as he talked. “I mean, my mother died, I lost my job and because of you, I cannot get a reasonable job and they all started with you!”

“That's crazy talk. You are doing your best. We are just unlucky. Things will get better,” I pleaded as I moved away from him, knowing what was to come.

“Crazy talk? Now she is calling me crazy. You know, when my mother saw you, she said you were too pretty, like a mermaid or those evil spirits that look very pretty so they could tempt men to their doom. You are one of those right?”

“I am not one of anything. I am your wife!” I screamed as tears started pouring down my face.

“No, you can’t call yourself my wife. You are an evil spirit sent to bring about my doom. Well, today, I will beat that evil out of you once and for all if it’s the last thing I do,” he vowed as he made a dash for me.

I ran towards the kitchen door that led to the living room but before I could get to the door, he pulled me back by my hair. I screamed and grabbed his hands to reduce the pain on my scalp. He held me down on the kitchen floor like a dirty rag and proceeded to kick the life out of me. I felt the punches and blows land all over my body. All I could do was curve myself into a protective ball to protect my face and stomach and hoped to high heavens that my son would not be woken by all the commotion. I heard rustling and struggle seconds before I felt the impact of his belt on my arm. He has never used anything but his hands and fists on me. There was only that one time with the bull but that was because I was standing out of reach. Today must be my graduation day. I swallowed the scream that rose from my stomach and started pleading with him again.

“Emeka, please stop. I am sorry. I am very sorry.” That did not stop the raining blows.

“Oh, you will be sorry. By the time I am done with you, you will be more than sorry,” he sneered as he punctuated each word with a strike on my skin.

Again, I started thinking about Arnold. He was a very light sleeper and he has learnt to climb out of his baby cot whenever he woke up and no one was around. Arnold’s presence hadn’t stopped Emeka from beating me and I didn’t want my son to witness what a monster his father was.

As if on cue, I heard Arnold weeping as he walked into the kitchen rubbing his hand over his sleepy eyes. He was very protective of me. The last time Emeka, beat me, Arnold had tried to pull his father away from me and when he couldn’t and the beating didn’t stop, he had sat down by my side and cried.

My son tried to pull his father away from me by tugging at his trousers. Emeka stopped beating me long enough to take a look at his son. I raised my head thinking that was the end of it but when I looked at Emeka’s face, I felt the cold fingers of fear trace down my spine to enter my stomach where it made a camp. I started screaming for help because I knew our lives were in danger, in mortal danger. Before my very own eyes, Emeka kicked Arnold half across the kitchen floor like a football. A cry like that of a banshee going to a war rose from my throat as I rushed to my son. I picked him from the floor and looked him over as I sobbed my heart out. He was still breathing but I could tell he was in pain.

“Don’t touch him Emeka. Don’t touch my son. What kind of a monster are you? How could you do that to your son?” I wailed on top of my voice.

“The kind of monster that you made when you brought your evil self into my life,” he replied as he advanced.

He dragged me up by my hair again and ripped Arnold away from me and started making his way to the living room. He threw Arnold on the couch where he landed and threw me on the floor. Then he came at me again and pulled me up by my arm, his nails digging into my flesh. He used his other hand to grab my face and turned my head to look at my crying son on the couch.

“That boy is of the devil,” he said to me. “He is from where you came from and he is not my son. He doesn’t even look like me. He is either from the devil or you cheated on me.” He turned his head and looked at me like he now understood everything. “Did you cheat on me, Nancy? Did you find another man with a good job to give you a son?” he shook me hard as he talked that my teeth rattled.

“No, Emeka. He is your son. Our son,” I assured him.

“Oh, he is no son of mine,” he whispered in a shaky voice. He pushed me away from him. I landed on the reading table in the room that had a mirror.

He came over there and lifted my head up so I could look at myself in the mirror. He placed his face close to mine and whispered into my ears, “look at yourself Nancy. Can you see you are making me do this?”

My son’s scream drew me out of my dazed state to an instant alert mode. I looked around to find Emeka holding Arnold by the collar of his cloth like he was a bad stray dog. I surged to my feet with all my energy. I swayed and would have fallen down if Emeka didn’t open the window of the apartment, the one overlooking the street five floors below.

“I will not have him in my house. Not when he is not my son and he is your son. He will not stay a second longer in my house,” he said as he went to the window dragging Arnold with him.

When it dawned on my mind what Emeka was about to do, I grabbed the nearest solid object I could get my hands on and rushed towards him. It was a candlestick. I hit him in the head with my energy when I got close to him. He did not expect the attack so he was shocked long enough to drop Arnold. I bent down and picked up my son and started running out of the flat. I was almost at the door when I felt the side stool crash into my shoulder. He threw the stool at me with enough force to knock me down. He came over to me and started dragging Arnold out of my hands again. I held on to him with all of my might and with everything I had inside me. He stopped dragging the boy and started kicking me. On the head, in the arm, legs and anywhere he could get his feet on. I knew some of the kicks landed on my son but there was nothing I could do at that point.

Emeka straddled me like a horse and no matter how hard I bucked under him, he wouldn’t get off. He picked my head by my hair and looked at me with wild eyes. “This is what you deserve witch,” he said before he slammed my head into the floor.

Once, twice, thrice, a blow, two, and three….. then I couldn’t hold on to my son. I let my son go.

I couldn’t move any part of my body no matter how hard I tried to will my bones into moving. I watched as Emeka picked up my son and started dragging him to the window again. In the faraway corner of my mind, I heard banging on our door and hoped they would break the door down on time.

But they didn’t, couldn’t! after the burglary last four months, Emeka made sure to make it near impossible for our place to be broken into.

“Oh Jesus, make it stop. He won't do it. He is just bluffing. He is not going to throw his own son out from a five-storey building. The baby will die and so will I.” I repeat this to myself as I watch in total horror as Emeka, my husband of five years and the father of my son, swung him over the window to have him dangling outside with nothing but space between him and death.

I crawled over to him on all fours with pieces of glass embedding themselves in my skin. I prayed to God to strike Emeka dead and rescue my son. I prayed to God to touch his mind and return his sanity so my son would be saved. I prayed to God to strike me dead. I prayed to Him to give me an energy boost so I could save my son. I prayed to Him to give my son wings so he could fly away from the evil that was his father. Again, I prayed to God to strike me dead in case he didn’t hear it the first time.

When I crawled close enough to see his face, Emeka looked at me with eyes that glittered with what I later identified as lunacy, madness, even insanity. He lowered Arnold outside the window while still looking at me. We have knocked everything out of place, broken everything that was breakable and some of the broken pieces were lodged at my back, my legs or my palms but I didn't feel a thing.

Emeka gives me a crazy smile and between the howling of my baby boy, he shouted at me with scorn and accusation. “You did this! It’s your fault!”

He was right. I did it. I could not protect my own life and it was now hanging out of a window for my life was tied to my son's. I pleaded with him on my knees while holding his legs amid the broken glasses to let my son go and take me instead.

Emeka smiled a twisted kind of smile and then he did it

He let go, he let my son go!

His scream of terror left countless scars on the flesh of my skin and the bone of my soul, scars that were bleeding and would never heal. I screamed too as a sudden boost of energy helped me drag myself to the window. My price was seeing the brain of my son, my life, my whole world, splattered on the walkway like a broken bowl filled with potato sauce and strawberry smoothie. And blood, oh, the blood!

I heard a distracting noise in my head, in my heart. And someone was pouring water on my hands into my open and bleeding wounds. Why would anyone do something like this? The noise, I discovered was my wails and the water, my tears.

Suddenly, I started to see the beauty of my crushed and dead son. The colour of the pavement was that of a solidly frozen lake. It was almost like he was lying with his arms and legs wide on a frozen lake while surrounded by a ghastly splash of red paint. He was at peace. He was crying, and then he wasn't. It was so magnificently artistic that it took my breath away. I knew it took my breath away because I couldn’t breathe, I was choking. But I knew what I wanted, what would cure me. I wanted the peace my son had on the frozen lake by the sidewalk. I had to have that peace. I bent my head to an angle and smiled as I got the whole picture. I'M GOING TO GET THAT PEACE.

As I climbed the window, I heard laughter behind me. It was mine. It was still raining tears. I spread out my hands wide and felt the air on my abused and bleeding skin. The air chilled me to the bone, passed there to my soul and my spirit. The chill wrapped around me like a cloak soaked in ice….a befitting cloak to die in.

I stepped off the window and felt such joy, such freedom. This was an orgasm. I felt like a kite. I closed my eyes and smiled, again. This was peace. This was Joy. This was TRUE PUNISHMENT. Such joy. Such darkness. Such oblivion. Such numbness.

Before I hit the ground beside my son, I knew this was the most beautiful kind of pain! I was falling away to a joyful death.