Father had adopted his usual position,head of the table sitting waiting to be served. Mother I know is always firstup in the household, fetching the eggs from the barn and preparing everythingjust so, just how father likes it. We’re not allowed to speak at the breakfasttable so we sit in silence which I find excruciating because I can’t bear thenoise of him eating. His jaw makes a really odd sound as he chews, and he nevereats with his mouth closed so we are all subjected to the pleasure of watchinghim turning over his food. I see mother anxiously flitting here and there inthe kitchen, unable to sit down – she’s waiting to see if there’s anythingwrong with the food she’s plated up which undoubtedly there normally is but Ipray today everything is to his liking.
I consider what Caroline, James, andJuliet make of the situation and deduce that they are my co-conspirators in theloathing for the disgusting pig-like way father munches his breakfast down andthen the ensuing stony silence we find ourselves in. We know better than toutter a single word. Perhaps if I were allowed to eat myself, I could focus onmy food and the noises I make when eating but we’re not allowed to eat untilfather is finished and has granted us permission to begin. So, we have no otheroption than to listen to him slavering and slurping away, that godforsaken jawof his banging in tandem.
He has the same cooked breakfast eachmorning consisting of three rashers of bacon (fat removed); two fried eggs(well done); two sausages and beans. It looks promising this morning, he’salmost finished, and it appears as though everything is to his liking. He onlyhas one egg to polish off then, all being well, we can eat. He starts off withthe yolk, puncturing it with his fork and I watch in horror as a small slitherof yellow liquid escapes from the centre. Mother hasn’t yet noticed the sceneunfolding as she is busy at the sink already clearing away the frying pan andutensils. He doesn’t shout or make a scene straight away … he very carefullylays both knife and fork down and sits back in the chair, arms folded incontemplation. This isn’t good. I know better than to glance over at him, so Istare down at the table. He is being very calculated about how he’s going todeal with her misdemeanour.
Out of the corner of my eye I notice oneof his hands reach for the fried egg then drop it on the floor. The noise stopsmother in her tracks. With no other sound in the kitchen other than the noiseof her washing dishes, when the egg makes contact with the floor the sound isamplified.
“Mary,” he says in a quiet menacingfashion. “Get over here.” I want to stop this right now before he dishes outwhatever punishment he has in store. Every part of my being wants to protectand shield her. I am frozen though, ashamedly frightened for my own skin. Myheart is telling me to protect her, and my head renders my body motionless andspeech mute. I hear the shuffle of her feet as she makes her way towards us,the shuffle of the condemned. Still no shouting but he simply says, “Get on thefloor and eat that excuse for an egg up, no hands.”
This is degrading. I am quite sure she’dhave preferred a telling off or a quick slap, but this was his forte, dreamingup new ideas to break you down and here is the latest, mother on all fourseating like a dog off the floor and making her do it with an audience. I knowhe will be savouring the moment; engrossed in the spectacle so I considerwhether I could risk a glance over. I cast my eyes towards him and see himtotally relaxed, slung back in the chair; raptured with the very edges of thecorners of his mouth upturned in a menacing grimace. He was loving this. Do Idare cast my eyes towards mother? I don’t want to see this, my precious mothereating like a dog off the floor but a small part of me holds a morbidfascination and I look over. I knew straight away this was a mistake. Thisscene I know will be etched in my brain forever. Because she wasn’t allowed touse her hands and the egg hadn’t been chopped up into manageable pieces, shewas floundering and failing; bits of it entering her mouth and bits dotted overher face and body. With the yolk not solidified she had yellow stains on herteeth and face.
I willed him to just put her out of hermisery and call an end to this but in a further shameful act he took his plate,not uttering a word, then proceeded to smash it within an inch of her face onthe floor. This caused mother’s body to buck backwards. He was ready for her.He pushed her back down and told her to lick the remains of the yolk clean offthe plate then tidy up ‘her mess’ afterwards. Dutifully she obliged. I’m sureit was only a couple of minutes, but it seemed to be an eternity before it wasover.
I was aware of father shifting in hisseat, so I quickly reverted my gaze downward to the table. He turned hisattention to the rest of us. “Move it; no breakfast for you here this morning.Go and feed the sheep … NOW!” For once I was more than happy to leave the tablewithout a morsel of food. I knew if I were
