Death Cry They are listening...

Chapter 3

Nicholas and David sit with the index fingers of their right hands underlining the sentence that is being read by the teacher. All the students are engrossed in the story that is being read out to them by their teacher. Her mellifluous voice floats past their seats, lulling them into a calm and transfixed state. Nicholas tries to keep pace with the teacher, but his mind begins to wander. Images of the frog to whose body he tied a stone kept flashing through his mind. The frog had struggled in his hands but he was well-versed with this technique of play. While David, his identical twin, may have gotten squirmish by even the thought of holding a frog, Nicholas rather enjoyed crushing the slippery body with one hand while his other hand busily worked on tying the thread with the stone around it. It had been a lot of fun; what had been more fun to watch was the frog trying to swim and failing to do so because of the weight that pulled it down. David and Nicholas were born just a minute apart, with David emerging from his mother first, and then Nicholas following him out. Right from the moment they were born, they had proved to be considerably different. Though they were identical to look at, it was their eyes that gave them away. While Nicholas' eyes always twinkled mischievously, David's eyes were the softest that their mother had ever seen. Susan Clark, their mother could tell them apart instantly just by looking into their eyes. But for most other people including their father, it was very difficult to do so. As a result David often got punished for Nicholas' unceasing antics. Though, how their teachers' could mistake them so was beyond Mrs. Clark's comprehension. "Anybody should be able to tell David's peaceful demeanor from that of Nicholas." What she did not know was that Nicholas was as shrewd a boy, as he was naughty. He had learned to imitate his brother's calm face, slow gait and steady was of speaking to such an extent that if Mrs. Clark had ever seen him at his act, even she would have been baffled. But Nicholas was smart enough to keep these skills hidden from his mother. And he did this with the confidence that poor, sweet, gentle David would never ever tell on him. Now, as the teacher's voice filed the spaces of the room, managing to engross every other student but Nicholas, Nicholas was busy planning his next trick. David through the corner of his eye had seen the almost imperceptible tic in Nicholas' leg. He could sense his brother's restlessness and with the instinct of a twin knew that Nicholas was going to be up to some mischief soon. Nicholas' bag, unlike the bag of the other students of Grade-5 which were used to carry mostly books apart from the few trinkets which found their way inside, was a treasure trove of trouble. It had been designed by Nicholas exclusively for his own special needs and the mechanics of his unique mind. Ambidextrous by birth, Nicholas used both his hands equally proficiently. His bag was also made such that it could be accessed by both his hands even when it traveled on his back. From scissors, to glue, to threads and pins and toothpicks, to rat-traps of various sizes, a pellet-gun, to darts coated with citrus juice (to increase the sting as it pierced the victim's hide), to pepper powder, to little plastic boxes filled with fire-ants, scorpions and other such creatures and various other such destructive paraphernalia, the bag held many items of torture and sadism within its modest leather folds. Nicholas knew where each thing was kept and could write pages on each of their 'uses', as he was known to call his antics. Over the years this bag had become his second skin, one whose presence he was aware of even in his sleep. So much so, that if ever anyone tried to touch it, his vocal chords would reach such dizzying heights of rebellion that the perpetrator of the crime would have to drop the bag and run, if he wished to save his ear-drums. Now, as he sat in class, his wicked mind beginning its workings, he slyly reached into one of its pockets. As David watched his brother's left hand make its way towards the bag, he began to mentally prepare himself for the scene of the day. He may not have known what exactly what his brother as up to but he was well aware of what would follow the action, that his brother had begun. He knew how immediately after the damage was done, and there was always damage done, Nicholas's hands would dart back in place, and his face would assume a look of such innocence that sometimes even David wondered if he had just been imagining things. More often than not, by some quirk of fate, David with his somber eyes, would be held responsible for the act and called the little devil pretending to be an angel. And all the while, through the fog of punishment that came his way, David's head would be filled with the small sound of the mean laughter that he knew was playing behind Nicholas' calm skin. Mr. Clark had been quite like Nicholas. An alcoholic by night, Mr. Clark spent his days hunting animals illegally and selling their hide for money. Most of this money he spent of buying more booze and wasting himself away. He was seldom home and hence when he disappeared into thin air one day, with no signs or even clues about what could've happened to him, Mrs. Clark felt it was good riddance. She had always known him to be the meanest man alive. She knew he killed animals not for the money but more for the pleasure of seeing them writhe in pain before his eyes. She saw the same pleasure sitting on his brow when he would return home drunk and hit her with his leather belt. This leather belt had been one of the first animals that he had killed and hence was symbolic of this act of cruelty that seemed to have a common perpetrator. With each bruise that covered her back, his joy seemed to grow; and with his joy, his energy. So, the whippings would get harder and more in number as the night moved on into its darkest. Mrs. Clark could have fought back if she wanted, for she was not a small woman. All it would've taken would've been a spark of rage in her that emerged from theses nightly acts of outrage upon her physical and emotional self-respect. But unfortunately her mind was weak and passive. Mrs. Clark had been brought up by her mother in such a way that she hated and feared men. A victim of child abuse by her uncle, for her, every touch, or for that matter every look from a man was something to be scared of. Her marriage had been an act of convenience just entered into to silence the nagging fingers of society. A child had been begotten by nights of one-sided animal passion, into which Mrs. Clark entered as a duty, her ears dead to the ecstatic sounds of her husband and her eyes shut tightly to the images of violent union that played out in front of her. When the child turned out to be a girl, Mr. Clark insisted that they try again for another. The girl child met her end at the hands of her father soon after her birth. One day in a drunken fit of rage, as Mr. Clark entered their tiny house looking for some object that he could release his anger upon, the baby lay there crying. Mrs. Clark had just entered the bathroom. She would never forgive herself for the rest of her life for choosing that particular moment to relieve herself. For when she came out of the bathroom, surprised by how the baby had stopped crying all of a sudden, the sight of the tiny body lying dead against the wall in a pool of blood, its tiny head smashed to a pulp, met her eyes. Her husband was at the dining table pouring himself another drink. Mrs. Clark had not known how to react at that instant, to the pain that filled her body and mind that was soon being taken over by anger. She rushed towards her husband, carrying the tiny bundle in her arms, her face and hands covered by blood, but Mr. Clark was quick to react. Standing up from his chair, he began to take his belt out from his waist. His face was growing into a deep purple and bloating up like that of a male frog which was trying to scare away its rivals. Mrs. Clark's anger disappeared and she was filled with the familiar pangs of fear. Rushing out of the door she began digging in the earth outside her house with her bare hands. When the hole in the earth became big enough for the child she carried in her hands, she unceremoniously deposited it into the hole and covered it back up in haste. When she entered the house again, her body was covered with earth and blood. Without so much as looking at her husband she rushed back into the bathroom and emerged from it a woman who along with the dirt on her body had washed away the memory of her first born. Soon, to Mrs. Clark's incomparable joy she was pregnant again and this time to her relief it was twins and both boys. The beatings had begun soon after their marriage and had continued non-stop with brief periods of compassion from Mr. Clark, from time to time. Promises of getting better were made by him at these times of softness and soon they would be broken. Mrs. Clark had long given up any hope of her husband changing for the better. Her body and mind had become like steel after years of this torture and after the several cycles of hope and despair that she had seen. Now she only waited patiently for it to end. And after years of this, she knew that soon, it would end, that her husband would tire and be satisfied all at once. And she chose to just lie there waiting for that instant. It would continue each time until the moment when his heart would reach such orgasmic ecstasy from his act of sadism, that he would fall down asleep on the floor, tired and weary. When one day her husband just seemed to disappear into nothingness, Mrs. Clark was both relieved and joyful. Her neighbors had found it strange that the woman had not even conducted a simple search for her husband. But Mrs. Clark couldn't care less what her neighbors thought. Her fear was that if she did complain about her husband's disappearance, somebody would actually find him and bring him back. She was contented just living with her neighbors' accusing stares. Mrs. Clark always knew that Nicholas had taken after his father while David was more like her. She did not know if the boy had turned out so wild because of the lack of a father-figure, or because he had been born of a father so vile. But she had an inkling that the mean streak that she often saw in him had been directly inherited from his father. Constantly torn between the responsibilities of a single disciplining parent and a loving and nurturing mother to the two boys, Mrs. Clark often ended up giving Nicholas a longer leash than necessary. And today, as Nicholas sat in class, slowly pulling out his box of scorpions, while his face assumed an expression of intense concentration, he was well aware of his mother's softness. His adroit fingers crept around the box and with it a few rubber bands that lay in a pouch nearby. Bringing them to the front where they were well-covered by his desk, he slowly removed one scorpion from the box and twisting the rubber-band around it such that it formed a kind of catapult, and taking aim from under his seat at the teacher's table, he waited for the right instant. David had seen what his brother was up to. His heart began to race in fright, and his eyes blinked ceaselessly and uncontrollably. His hands began twitching uncomfortably, but he couldn't bring himself to stop Nicholas. Helpless and statue-like he watched his brother inviting trouble yet again into his life. The teacher had been engrossed in her reading. She knew that if her students were quiet, it usually meant they were listening. Also, she loved the sound of her own voice swimming around her, she was lost in the way her tongue curled around each letter and gracefully spat them out at its audience. Nicholas knew the time was right. As the teacher reached a crescendo, using his right hand he deftly plucked one of scorpion's legs out for added effect and catapulted it towards the teacher's desk. The scorpion landed on her dress, right between her ball of her shoulder and the hollow of her armpits. As soon at it had perched itself comfortably on the teacher's body, the scorpion in an act of vengeance for its broken leg and for the uncomfortable flight that it had been forced to take, lifted its sting and pierced it determinedly into the lady's arm. Then it dropped off to the ground, where it twitched in pain for a few seconds before its body took on the stillness of death. The teacher's shriek was loud enough to shake David out of his daze. Her face had grown red and her eyes blazed with anger that seemed to be directed at David through the film of tears that filled them. David's eyes remained wide and afraid like an animal that had been tricked into a trap. After the teacher had brushed aside the creature that had miraculously appeared on her dress and now lay on the floor dead with the pointed toe of her high-heeled shoe, she stomped towards David and led him out of the room, enraged. The chatter of students filled the room as details about the attack were discussed with much enthusiasm and shock. Only one student sat quiet and subdued, his head still buried in his book, a small and imperceptible smile playing on his lips.