Master
Inspired by "The Cypriot", a painting...
This was written in 1997 for an English assignment. This story attracted no concern from the school , although it was accompanied by two poems about suicide. However, a story, by another girl, with the merest hint of a crush on a female teacher, caused a full-blown scandal. Pretty good for 'creative writing', eh?
Five years you've been married, and
you still can't get things right. It's not too much to expect
peace and quiet, a hot cooked meal and a clean house when he
comes home, is it?? He slaves all day at the office, the building
site, the car yard. He earns all the goddamn money in this house.
He pays for all the goddamn food, all your goddamn clothes, and
make up and crap, all her goddamn toys. Without him you'd be
nowhere. Out on the goddamn streets.
- Think yourself lucky, woman. Goddamn lucky.
(You cower. Try not to aggravate him, but agree with him.)
- I'm sorry. (Strike
1) He wants you to beg for forgiveness.
- You damn well should be. Lazy bitch.
- I'm lazy. I never do anything right. (Strike
2)
- You can't even cook a decent meal. You can stick this healthy
crap. I want real meat and three veg.
- I can't cook ... I'm hopeless ... I'm
sorry. (Strike 3)
- I don't know why the hell I married you. Goddamn useless woman!
You can't even clean the damn house. My goddamn house! I come
home each and every day and find all this crap all over the
place. I slave all day, while you sit round and do nothing.
(Throws bottle - you're out.) All of this stuff I've goddamn paid
for (Hit, miss, hit, miss, once more for effect) and you leave it
lying around. Lazy bitch. (Hit again, bulls eye)
(Pray the noise doesn't wake her up. Hail Mary, St Clare, St
Jude)
Too late. She stumbles out, bleary-eyed. Golden angel curls.
Innocence. Mummy? He turns around. Stops throwing things. There
is silence. (Please don't bring her into this. She's only a baby)
- Go back to bed sweetie.
(Pray she listens to you)
- Hello pumpkin. Daddy's home.
He scoops her up into his arms. She smells the sweet sickliness
of his breath, and pulls away. He sneers.
- Mummy's been very naughty, Pumpkin. (Please don't hurt my baby)
- Leave her out of this. Leave my daughter
alone. (Pray, dear God)
- My goddamn daughter.
He shouts. She starts to cry.
- Damn brat! All I want is peace and quiet.
He slaps her accross the face. She screams. Mummy! Mummy! (You
start to cry, silently)
- Quiet!
He picks up the nearest thing (a vase) and throws it at you.
(Sunglasses won't help this time)
- Don't bleed on my damn carpet, bitch! (But you can't hear.
Never will again) Don't look at me that way. (But you can't see.
Never will again)
She whimpers, unfortunately too close to his ear. He slams her
down.
- Shut up brat! (He hits her again, almost pushing her over.) Go
on, run to Mummy. You always loved her more than me.
He sneers again. She puts her arms around you, and her tears fall
silently on your battered face. (But you can't feel them. Never
will again)
A door slams. A car engine starts. The next-door neighbours
once-again repeat the same old question; "Do you think she's
alright over there?" and reply "She will be,
June."
A new star appears in the sky.
(Silence)
In the middle of the suburbs, half-way through the crucial meat and three vegies, half-way through Anne Fullwood's nightly soliloquy, the neighbours stop, and listen.
Upon coming home and finding his
wife bashed to death, Inala
resident George Cypriot yesterday leapt off the Story Bridge and
fell to his death. Elizabeth Cypriot's cause of death is yet to
be
established. The couple's 2 year old daughter has been placed in
the care of relatives. Police are searching for any witnesses ...
(She wasn't, June, she wasn't.)