The Lion's Den

• Fiction

								
The Lion’s Den

As the afternoon faded into evening, we could hear his footsteps approaching our hut. The thought of having him back home and facing him each day always sent a dark cloud to my heart. Father entered the kitchen hut, empty-handed, but expecting a nicely cooked meal. “Maswerasei nhai Shumba?" mother welcomed him respectfully with her feeble knees bending like a typical African woman.

To my utter surprise, father just kept his crooked lips shut- no reply- he just walked towards the other side of the hut and sat at his usual spot facing the fireplace. Mother was not shocked for she knew all the swingy behaviors of her husband even on 'blank' days.

"My husband, it is not proper to show Duchess that kind of behavior, she will grow to be a disrespectful and rebellious girl. I think it would be nice if we displayed our best part no matter the fights and the circumstances. Shumba! Are you listening to me? Please listen and…"

Mother could not finish her usual 'guiding sayings' as she was already on our cow dung plastered floor. I bet that moment she had a terrible headache because I believe from the sound of the clap, the slap was terrible. I could feel the pain all over my body myself. 

With multiplied anger and fury, mother got up after a minute of silence. She jumped onto father's chest and started biting his head BOOM, the fight I had already anticipated began. Who knew the fight would result in a feisty blood bath? Both thought it's just a simple fight which usually ends with mother fleeing away at last fleeing. Who knew that the earth was going to quench her never-quenchable thirst for blood because of just a silly fight?
It was not the first fight though; mother and father used to fight a lot without stopping but this one seemed like a 'big' fight. I could even smell it! 

The two powerfully pushed and pulled each other. My mother was a Samson Lady-she had this mysterious power of two men.

Upon seeing that his wife was about to drag him down, father growled like a hungry lion and pushed mother so hard that she fell onto the fireplace. I stood on the other side of the hut watching the painful fight. I could not move. I guess that moment the devil had sent some multiplied demons into the two!

 Fear had already gripped me with her fierce claws. My globular eyes were now reddening each passing moment. I could not let out a scream. I wanted to but I knew I would automatically get a slap, harder than the one mother had undeservingly received. The sun was going down; it was getting darker bit by bit. The screams that my mother posed made me feel impartial pain. I could see my mother trying to get up from the fireplace. She was struggling because her leg or hip was either anesthetized or numbed. Though it was getting darker, I could see father trotting towards a weak mother holding a blunt vegetable knife. At first, I thought he was going to save mother's buttocks which were already burnt up! Mysteriously, mother regained her strength and crawled towards me. I was on the far east end of the hut. Mother wasn't screaming anymore; she was just painfully groaning. With her now hoarse voice, she shouted, "Go to Ambuya's house!" I was frightened to obey her now but the next moment I saw father moving towards mother, I had to rush out of the hut! 

Before I could get out, I fell! I checked on my back, father had tripped me with his long leg. I could not move. He grabbed me by my foot. I was very weak and scared at the same moment. That day I was wearing an old dress which my mother had made for me with such poor, cheap material. The dress was aged and tattered. I could not defend myself and neither mother could, she was in pain. Father kicked my face, and I became even more powerless. Mother could not do anything to save her daughter, she was just lying helplessly on the floor groaning like a dying goat. I felt so numb and weak.

Upon realization that I have been sedated by these traumatic events, father started tearing up my old dress. In a flash of a second, I was already naked, with only torn white underwear with which my mother had worked for so long and hard at a certain popular farm in the next village. I could feel my father's rough, cracked right hand holding my thigh and the left four-fingered hand dragging my only single underwear down. I could not move!

Angels from above dwelt on my mother and strengthened her. She tried to move towards us. I did not see what happened next, but I just heard the groaning of my mother intensifying, I guessed she had been kicked so hard. Father's kick was even more painful than that of a dying horse.

Father's grip was hurting me, I prayed and begged for him to loosen his hand a bit. My silent prayer was answered, father loosened his grip from my thigh, and I thanked the heavens for such grace. In a moment, he started gently caressing me down between my legs. I already knew what father was going to do now so my happiness quickly vanished away. My eyes were already a bit closed for I knew the pain that was coming; it was not the first time though. I could hazily see my father unpinning his shirt buttons with such a huge satanic grin on his face. In a moment he was Adam-no clothes on!

I could feel my arms and legs cracking. Suddenly I felt a warmer finger penetrating me, I could feel pain and I could not see whether it was a cooking stick or a finger because my vision had been blocked by the fountain of tears that was cupped in my eyes. Mugabe's 2008 presidential election campaign poster which was stuck on the walls of our hut stood witness as father penetrated me in front of my mother for the third time. 

I think my pain was better than my mother's! I think she felt the pain that pierced her heart: I can imagine the pain of seeing such an evil act happening to her daughter. I do not remember when and how the act was done and how I sustained my father's weight on me. I had already blackened out!

With the will, zeal, passion, and vigor to help her only daughter, mother got up and dragged my father from his back. Mother was kicked again, and two more strong punches were placed on her face painfully. She was already bleeding. Her back was already burnt. Her limbs were weak, if not broken. I could see from the looks on her face that she was crying bitterly inside but no matter the pain, she kept crawling again towards father who was now pressing me harder. This is the day I realized that mothers would fight for their kids regardless of the circumstances and situations they are in.

Father's groans of pleasure intensified, and my heart smiled a bit; not because of the painful pleasure, but because I knew when father groaned, with his eyes closed, he would be about to get off me. In a moment he was off my body.

With such an evil face, he grabbed the blunt vegetable knife he had brought from his hunting. He started advancing towards mother. I was just lying helplessly on the other side of the hut watching and shocked at the horrific scenes the gods had placed before me. With his huge hand, father gripped mother's neck, and without hesitation, dipped the blunt vegetable knife into mother's throat. Mother didn't scream, farewell tears just streamed down her puffy cheeks as she fell onto the dying flames on the fireplace. Blood oozed and gushed out from her throat like a dam wall opened after 50 years.

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