I would have done things differently.
That Mira/Mirena character? Weak in ways I wouldn’t have been. When she cried and told the movie Vlad not to let her son be taken away? That’s what I mean. I wouldn’t have simply looked on after my son as he went off to fight for a country that had never done anything good for our country, our culture, our very way of life. I would have refused to let go of him until Vlad had fought them off or at least negotiated his freedom. Something.
Don’t just stand there and cry, you weak little excuse for a mother! Do something! That’s how I felt when I watched that.
And when they made that snide comment about Vlad’s not keeping his woman happy, I spit on them and said that I wasn’t his woman, that I was my own woman and that he kept me plenty happy, and started to say that what we were not happy about was sending our son off to fight, to be our sacrifice to them, as though they were gods or something. Presumptuous motherless pig-dogs.
“You tell them!” I whispered, rasping at him, though it was about them, the anger in my eyes pleading for him to do something rather than simply take this.
“Ok, I will—but you have to calm down.” And he gave me a pointed look. “I think what my wife is trying to say is that we are not very happy about having to sacrifice our son to your war cause, as much as I was once sacrificed to it myself.” He took a deep breath, to collect himself. “We don’t want him to go through what I went through.”
Our cultural identity is to be sending our sons, our children we’ve borne into this world out of love for them and for our husbands, off to fight for a war machine that does us no good?! Some kind of eater-gods for our sons to be sacrificed to? Is that what they are? Oh, and they act like they’re doing us some kind of mercy, not invading, raping, and killing us, or at least taking us over and showing us some leniency as we were the first ones here? It was technically our land and our home, and they come in thinking putting their culture into ours is such a gift? Hmph.
I would never want to associate myself with such a culture. War-like and cruel and lacking the humanity and passion that characterizes our own. Our own. I think on that and wonder why my husband would choose to pander to a people (if you can call them that) that messed him up in ways not even a priest’s confessional could completely cure.
And now they want to do that to my son?! They should have that done to them, have their children sacrificed in front of them on an altar, their wives raped in front of them, all to show them how cruel they are to us. I wish we had some kind of animals, some kind of beasts, guardian monsters if you will, to go off and fight for us against them that nature somehow gave us, then they could recede back into the forest they came from and we could thank them with some gesture we do. Not scarecrows, not beasted men, but some kind of natural guardian creations that would help us when we needed it most, when we could no longer take care of ourselves on our own, when we could no longer guard ourselves against such a threat.
We called on the other country that we thought was our resource, but they didn’t answer, stating that their connection to us was tenuous at best, and that I was to blame for defying my parents in the first place by marrying such a war-monger himself since his reputation as a bloodthirsty and crazed war sacrifice preceded him into every room. I hated that for him. I hated that they didn’t understand that those pig-dogs had made him into that, that he was the gentle and loving and passionate intellectual man he’d always been, even before he went away. They made it look like it was some choice of his to become this thing they imagined him to be. Why doesn’t someone label them and cut them in such a way?