Geographies of Home by Loida Maritza Perez

Author:Loida Maritza Perez
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group

CHAPTER 23

A torrent of cold water woke Rebecca. A hand reached out and slapped her. Confused, she tried to adjust her eyes to the dim light of the black-and-white television.

“Couldn’t you turn off the goddamn thing before you went to sleep?”

Pasión stood beside the bed, his face in shadow, his tall figure daunting as an apparition. Rebecca glanced at the TV whose programs had long since gone off air, leaving behind a flickering screen and an electric hum. Beside her, Esperanza and Rubén—clothes drenched, teeth chattering, eyes wide with fear—cowered in the bed. Their younger sister whimpered.

“And haven’t I told you to keep your children quiet in my presence?” Pasión roared, lifting the empty ten-gallon can at his feet and hurling it at them.

Rebecca leapt from bed like a wildcat. “My children? My children? How many times have I begged you to wear a rubber? But no! You want me giving birth in this house like some kind of bitch!”

Pasión seized her by her hair. He hauled her across the room and slammed her face against a wall. Blood spurted from her nose, splattering the wall and trickling onto the floor. He twisted her arm behind her back. Her hands clenched into ineffectual fists. He forced one of them to unfurl and systematically bent its fingers until their bones were heard to snap. Rebecca shrieked. Her shock was so intense that it postponed her pain as she struggled to break free. Further incited by her helplessness, Pasión swung her around to face him. A malicious smile settled on his lips as he jammed a fist into her mouth.

“I didn’t hear you,” he taunted, yanking her tongue out as far as it would go. “What did you say?”

Rebecca choked on her tongue and on her husband’s hand. Rubén darted up behind them to pummel his father with tiny fists. Pasión released Rebecca and effortlessly flung him back onto the bed. Rubén crumpled beside his sisters. His expression conveyed that he would kill his father if he could.

“I shit on the mother who gave birth to you,” Pasión cursed, turning on his wife as if she were responsible for their son’s hatred.

Blood and bile trickled from Rebecca’s mouth. Her tongue clumsily formed words.

“Maricón! Next time you come into this house you’ll find me and the children gone!”

Pasión lunged at her as if to silence her once and for all. Then, repulsed by her appearance, he released her and turned to go.

“You’ll never leave,” he yelled from the hallway. “Who’s going to be interested in your stinking, flaking cunt?”

Moments later the sounds of objects crashing down the stairs and of the front door slamming ascended to the bedroom. Rebecca employed her one able hand to gather her sobbing children near.

“Ya, ya,” she crooned. “Ya, ya.”

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