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An Excerpt from Chapter Eleven

The warning the monster had given me right before he burned the letters, the one about my being finished if I were to try something against him, made me shiver, for I had been thinking about killing him every day since the wedding. Every time I was thinking about how to get out of my misery I always came to only one particular solution—there was no other way out for me but to kill him. Killing the monster was becoming an obsession, a thirst. I wanted to make him pay for all the harm he had done and was still doing to me. These thoughts of revenge scared me, but they were now persistent and they were interrupting my more pleasant and practical thinking. I wanted to end my pain and suffering once and for all and if I ended up in jail, it could not be any worse than what I was already suffering. I was not even thinking about Canche or my education anymore.

This thinking followed a pattern: first, I started with gentle thoughts, imagining ways of escaping when he was away from the house. Then my thoughts would turn to the monster’s dying a somewhat natural death when he was out. I was hoping that his drinking might kill him. I pictured him drunk, falling from his horse and breaking his neck. At other times, I imagined his stepping on a poisonous snake, being bitten and subsequently dying a most horrible, painful death. Many times I imagined his getting into a fight and being killed by someone at the bar:
That would be a good thing to happen; then I wouldn’t have to kill him, or maybe some black magic might do the job: If I wish hard enough I might be able to make him disappear from this earth. I just have to think hard on this and he will just vanish into air.

But the thought that came to my mind most often was the one of my killing him. This idea was eating into my brain and dominating almost all of my waking thoughts: I have to find the gun; I have to find the gun. Where does he hide the gun? Sometimes I thought that the devil was giving me power. I saw Satan’s face in front of me, talking to me. I started to wonder if I were still functioning properly or becoming insane.

Ah, yes, maybe I can find some loroco roots, boil them and poison him.

One of my classmates in elementary school once told me that the roots of the loroco plant, when boiled and drunk, would kill. I hated the monster with every ounce of my energy and every time I thought about what he had done and was doing to me the desire to make him totally disappear from this world consumed me.

I also detested this thing, this tumour, growing inside me, this product from this horrible man. I had a nauseous feeling, not only from the sickness of my pregnancy but also from the attachment the monster was showing toward his unborn child. Quite often he got close to me, professing his love, lowering himself to the floor to touch and rub my stomach. There was such joy in his eyes. With his hands on my belly he would tell me how happy he was about his becoming a father. I wanted to vomit and I surprised myself how well I was able to contain my anger and total revulsion.

For a long time his behaviour confused and overwhelmed me, but now his cruelty was only impelling my resolve to kill him. It was making me strong, or so I thought. At times my thoughts, feelings and desires frightened me. I felt guilty, very guilty and even became afraid of myself. I felt as if there were two powers inside me fighting against each other. One power was telling me that God would punish me for disobeying his commandment: THOU SHALL NOT KILL. When I prayed a crucifix appeared in front of my eyes. I actually saw the image of Jesus on the cross talking to me, with his lips moving, telling me that what I was thinking was totally wrong. But there was another power appearing in front of me, speaking to me, “Seek revenge! Kill him! You must—you must kill him! Don’t let him get away with what he did to you! He does not deserve to live!”

I did not know how I was going to kill the monster and I knew that it would be difficult. I was only sure of my first step—I had to keep trying to earn his trust. I had to re–double my efforts to become the amorous and obedient wife. It did not matter to me what I would have to do, what indignities I would have to suffer or what price I would have to pay. I was going to earn his trust.

Over the next few days in Las Agujitas I became even more romantic and ardent in showing my love. I was giving him very deep, loving kisses, and spontaneous hugs. Oh, how this made me sick. The criminal always told me how much he wanted me to love him. Well, I surprised myself by not finding it difficult to act this part, for all I had to do was to think about my suffering. I felt so weird, dirty and guilty—even evil; but, at the same time, I felt good. My plan, so I thought, was working; I was gaining power; I could feel the power growing in me.

On the first weekend of July we went to town. My stomach was just starting to show and the morning sickness had now disappeared. I still did not talk very much with his mother, brothers and sisters when we went to their house in San Pedro Pinula, only a few insignificant sentences.
His mother made a comment, “Your stomach is starting to show and you should be wearing maternity clothes.”

Before I could answer his mother, the criminal interjected, “I want everyone to see her stomach, to know that she is pregnant. She doesn’t need maternity clothes.” He was still acting as if he had done something superhuman by getting me pregnant.

On this particular weekend at his mother’s house I had nothing else on my mind except to carry out my intentions. It appeared that he trusted me a little more and this would open up better opportunities to carry out a plan, once I had thought of one. He saw that I was not trying to run away, that I was more comfortable around his family, and that I was showing him how much I loved him. He was now telling me some things about his life and plans he had never told me before, although he was still tormenting me about Canche without compassion whenever he saw me in a pensive mood. When he came close to my stomach to hear his baby I pretended to be very happy about being the mother of his child, and I was sure that I was fooling him. He was bragging to everybody in San Pedro Pinula about his future fatherhood while I was wishing and praying that this thing in my womb would die at birth.

My imagination was running rampant and it was impossible to think about anything else but exterminating him. This bothered me and I was feeling that I was not any better than he. I shook my head, trying to shake out the evil thoughts. This did not work. In fact, my murderous thinking was now becoming less abstract.

First, kill him with his gun or dagger and then find a solution to this growth in my womb. Why should I waste any opportunity to destroy him since he has already destroyed me? Why should I feel guilty?

One Saturday morning at his mother’s house I swore that I was going to eliminate the evil monster that very day. I had just endured a particularly horrible night of interrogation and mental torture. Now I was sure I had the will and courage to carry out my plan. I just had to find the way and the opportunity to do it. I had been trying to pay particular attention to the places where he kept his weapons, the machetes, and the dagger, but I did not know where he kept his revolver. This gun had disappeared for a while and suddenly appeared as soon as we were at his mother’s house. That was a mystery to me because I was watching almost every one of his actions and I cannot remember seeing him hiding or retrieving the gun.

Is the gun even his? Does he leave it at his mother’s house before we travel to Las Agujitas? Where is the gun? Where does he hide it? I need it!

I was living in a constant state of confusion about many things when I was with the monster, a confusion that he probably had deliberately fashioned himself to keep me off-balance, and the mystery of the gun was one of these situations. During my captivity I could not find answers for many of his other strange ways and activities.

On the next day, Sunday morning, after another complete night of mental torture, the monster noticed that my eyes were very swollen and he started questioning me, “I know you’ve been crying. Was it for your faggot boyfriend again? Do you think about him all the time? I feel so sorry for you, you poor thing. It doesn’t matter if you love someone else, you’re still mine and you’ll always be mine, etc, etc.”

He was not totally wrong about my crying, but he was wrong about the cause. I had been crying because of the deep pain I was feeling when I thought about my destroyed future, my miserable life with him, and my disgusting pregnancy. I had been also crying about my father’s lack of action for not having saved me from this horrible man. But I was particularly crying that night for myself; for faking love to the man who had destroyed my life; for having felt compassion at one time for the worthless criminal; for the rage inside me—a roaring rage running through my arteries, contaminating my whole body and changing me into a different person, a person I could no longer recognize—a person who wanted to kill.

After the monster had tormented me for a while about my crying, he left the house early, right after breakfast. I was very tired from having had to stay up and be tortured all night, but as soon as the horrible creature had left, the re-occurring thoughts of sorrow and anger I had the night before raced back into my head. This time, however, they were mixed with resolve to finally do something against the criminal. I had the desire for revenge, a desire so strong it left me dry. I felt like I was in the middle of a hot desert without a drop of water to drink. Now I was concentrating only on one thought: I HAVE TO KILL HIM. It’s either I kill him or he will eventually kill me, if I don’t become crazy first. He said that he would have already killed me if it weren’t for my carrying his baby. There’s no other solution. Now…it’s just a matter of when and how. I have to find a way.

I do not know how many times I glanced at the wall where the machetes were hanging and each time I wanted to grab one of them. I was so weary and numb; I was tired and confused.

Suddenly, I heard a voice, then another voice, and another. This made me alert. The voices were all saying the same thing, sometimes separately, sometimes in unison, “Don’t be stupid. Take advantage of the opportunity.”

I looked up and saw that the voices were coming from the wall—all of the machetes on the wall were talking to me. My hands started to sweat, my heartbeat became faster and my breathing was shallow, sounding more like a puffing noise of a train locomotive than my normal breathing. I tried to substitute other thoughts but it was becoming more and more difficult. I turned my head to look somewhere else—at the roof, at the floor, but the machetes would not shut up.

“Here I am…kill him with me.”
“No, no, don’t listen to him, kill him with me.”
I put my hands to my ears, but the voices continued, on and on.
“I’m the best, kill him with me…with me…with me!”

I was about to run to the wall to grab one of the machetes, if only to make it shut up, when the monster unexpectedly came home and ordered me to pack up and get ready to return to Las Agujitas. The voices stopped and so did my desperation to seek an immediate solution to my problems, but it did not break my resolve to do away with the monster.

I’m sure that there will be other opportunities.

Evil, when we are in its power is not felt as evil but as necessity, or even a duty.
–Simone Well–

Posted on Friday, April 18th, 2008 at 11:05 pm under Book Reviews. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed and leave a response, or trackback from your own site.