The Son of the Wind
I knew he was a coward and that he had been afraid of me since I was a baby. He knew I would grow up and one day be able to kick him out the house because he was not a good guy at all: gambling, alcohol, street fighting, despicable friends, incautious sex in disregard of his marital status and, of course, he was hooked on drugs. Sure my mom did a very good job on finding such a prospect. That's why he started beating me from my earliest days. Since I was two, he tried to show me that he was bigger and stronger. He filled my head with fear by insulting me, and by making my small body all bruised. That's why he took my piggybank when I was five. That's why he showed me how close can one's head be to walls and kitchen floor when I was six. That's why he hit the hell out of me whenever he wanted to, in front of anybody. He was teaching me: I can inflict damage upon you, I govern your life, all you think you own belongs to me. I'm the boss. I'm your boss. And I learnt well. I became a coward, too. His voice made me shiver, and whenever he was around and played the awful music or watched the TV shows he loves, I would get stubborn headaches. Now I know that it was his presence what caused me those. I'd cry whenever he scolded me or outcried my name. I used to do whatever he asked me to, without complaints, just as sheep follow their shepherd.
Fortunately, the dark cloud was not above me every day. I had really good times when he was not around, playing with friends. School days were always great; and going out with my mom and two sisters, only, was fun, too. However, I always sought an answer to why I had been doomed in such a way. Was I a bad father in a previous life? Or simply: Was I an unlucky boy? My dreams of being an adult and leaving the house were so recurrent. First, inviting my mom to escape with me. Later, I pictured myself leaving the house on my own because the chains that bound her to him seemed to be thicker than mine. I so badly wanted to be free that I would have given whatever the devil had asked for in exchange, I was a little Faustus waiting to be heard, willing to make the deal.
The dark cloud seemed to chase my mom everywhere, yet she found shelter from it: a Protestant church. This dainty woman who had an unbelievable inner strength ended up just as some believer. She tried hard to keep me from reading anything different from the Bible whose myths I'd find very amusing, as a child. 'You should listen to Christian music only. You need to be close to The Lord'. She used to tell me. I became the devil, a bale of sins, in her own words, the very day I told her I would rather not visit the Lord's house again. From that moment on I had to stand an invariable litany from sunup to sunset. Things like: “Aren't you afraid of hell? What about the Day of Reckoning?” But, let's drop it here. I don't wanna bore you.
It was a sunny and calm morning, the TV was on, my two sisters were messing around, and I was really pissed. I was simply not in the mood to reply to stupid questions. I was just mad at everyone, a very common feeling in my adolescent life. My mom asked me something about high school. What the hell did she care? I recalled that she used to tell me almost every day 'Why don't you drop out of school and get a job?' We had had an argument a week earlier because I caught her searching my wallet. I found that very invasive. Maybe that triggered the battle that took place in our household a couple of minutes later that morning. However, I pretended I was not listening to what she was saying and just kept on doing my own business. Her brave husband was around and as soon as he learnt about this, he stomped from his bed towards the living room in order to give a new lesson to his good pupil. This 1.70 cms tall truck driver loved gobbling huge batches of food while he watched the news or read the paper. His credit card was always eager to pay for miraculous sold-on-TV shit that makes you lose weight. This guy also loved bad movies and always wore trainers and a cap. His eyes fixed on me and he finally said: 'Your mother's talking to you! What's wrong with you?' I ignored him as well and turned my back on him. Immediately, his one-hundred-and-ten-kilo body walked over to me, his quick harsh hands seized me by the shoulders, turned me towards him and violently pushed my feeble 1.65 cms tall body against the wall. And as usual he shouted: 'What's the matter with you, motherfucker?' My frightened eyes were fixed on his and my mind went blank, the usual: no reply was uttered. His left hand pushed my right shoulder against the wall. 'You think you are muy macho?' He shouted on. Still, no word came out of my mouth. I always felt curious about the reason why the same person who buys you candies, takes you on nice trips and brings you presents on Christmas Eve can become an executor just in a snap. It must be a sort of Mr. Hyde effect or something, I suppose. He could have spoken Brick Top's words for all he cared: "Feed him to the pigs!" Instead, he discharged his right fist on my chest twice. 'You have to respect me! I'm your father!' He continued. 'You're not my goddamn father' I thought. And for the first time, I gave him a dirty look and said with rage: 'I'm a man, I'm a man!' trying to let out all the hatred, pain and desire to kill him that had accompanied me for years. After that, the bastard took me by the throat and squeezed on it really hard, my face turned all red and sweaty. I could feel his heavy breathing on my face and his raging eyes piercing my flesh. I desperately tried to get his hands off me but, as I said, I had been a feeble boy up to that day. While gasping for air I heard a voice saying, 'Leave him alone'. Finally, he released me and walked away. I glanced at the open door leading to the patio. The women of the house had been begging for mercy and weeping along as they helplessly witnessed the scene.
The guy kept saying profanities as he reached inside the old wooden box near the kitchen for a tool, big enough to break one of my limbs, just to execute his recent threat: 'You won't leave this house because I won't allow you to. You have to obey me. Imma break one of your legs, motherfucker, so you can't run!' Just like in that Stephen King movie I saw when little and got shocked by the performance of the chubby lady. I tried to catch my breath back and quickly made it to my bedroom. Still pissed, more than scared, I managed to put some of my belongings in my backpack and rushed through the door, jumped over the barbwire fence and started to run. I know I should have faced him. I should have fought him and cracked his goddamn head wide open so the vultures could have come and eaten the dirt inside his rotten skull. But I did not. I just wanted to escape. I just wanted to delete every picture of my childhood in which he appeared, in which I was surrounded by all the beating, the shouting, the profanities, the shame, the unfair scolding, the rage, the fear, the wet blankets, the maddening insomnia, the brain-blowing aches and the hatred he always caused me without experiencing any guilt.
And I ran. First, to the corner. Then, across the street. Finally, to the woods. I can't remember the galloping pulse or the heavy breathing and the copious sweating of my body, but I can picture my short legs in motion, and his running after me. I ran through a sinuous trail amongst trees. I jumped over bushes and rocks when they emerged out of nowhere. I ran when I stopped hearing his pace behind me and when I was afraid of falling on the ground, breathless, in the next two seconds. Again, my mind went blank, my eyes were fixed on the endless path that would take me just somewhere else.
My skinny legs were performing the fastest running ever. I kept saying to myself: 'Don't look back lest you get caught, as in a biblical ordeal'. So I ran on. I thought of the Son of the Wind for a second. That legendary man who earned the title of Best Athlete of the XXth Century. My legs halted all of a sudden. I raised my eyes from the path and looked into the blue arch: no clouds, no birds, just white warm light and around me there were only green plants and trees. A feeling of joy, liberty and fresh wind were embracing me at that moment. I stood there for a while knowing I would never untread that path. Then, I looked back: no body was around. I noticed there was no money in my pockets. I walked out of the woods and saw a different neighbourhood in front of me, and a new road. This time I decided to walk.
