Killing
A Novel By Victor Fortezza -- Contributing Author

WARNING: Killing takes place in a very real world where people are flawed and may contain material of a harsh nature. While the Cynic Online Magazine does not feel that the novel promotes racism, the novel acknowledges that racism exists in the real world and therefore acknowlegedges the possibility in its characters. If you are offended by content of this nature, please navigate to another feature within the magazine.

18

Entering the kitchen, he fought the temptation to have a beer. He'd already allowed himself his daily allotment at lunch. He feared, should he succumb this once, that he would establish a pattern that would have him regain the weight he'd lost. He opened a diet soda instead, and grimaced at how unsatisfying it was, at the after-taste of the artificial sweetener.

The front door opened abruptly. He braced himself, anticipating a tirade. Deanna approached, looked him in the eye, and said: "Are you out of your mind?"

Seated, he leaned back and crossed his legs, determined to remain calm. "I mus' be," he said softly. "I'm still married to you."

She didn't flinch. "You're encouraging your daughter to go through with this pregnancy? What kind of father are you?"

"She wants'a have the baby."

"And I'm supposed to believe you haven't influenced her at all?"

"She's strawng enough to decide fer 'erself."

"She's nineteen years old! Do you realize what this's gonna do to her life? How stupid can you be?"

"'scuse me fuh not bein' as smaht as the cahlidge guy who dumped yer ass."

Her body jerked in an obvious, failed effort at restraint. "Is that why you're encouraging her - to get back at me?"

"No!" Was it? he wondered, suddenly unsure. He hated that everybody was smarter than he. "Dis may come as a big saprise to you, but the thought'a what you'd think neva even crossed my mind. I only wanna do what's right."

"Oh, sure."

"We'ah not reahly married no maw. Ya maw like a tenant now."

"She's still my daughter, and she is not having this baby."

He got to his feet. She stood her ground before him.

"Who died an' made you God? She'll do what she wants."

"She doesn't know what it means. She's naive. She's too young."

"You wa only a yeah olda den her when we had Junya."

"But we were married, moron. And still I regret it. I'll regret it the rest of my life."

He got in her face. "Hah deah ya say dat - hah deah ya? You should be ashamed. Nothin' ya coulda eva done woulda been betta den bringin' dose kids inta dis world." He backed awf a bit. "An' who's stoppin' ya from wawkin' out an' doin' whateva the hell it is ya wanna do? Nobody heah. Ya got haff ya life ahead'a ya. Do somethin' wit' it. Stop blamin' us fuh everything ya ain't got. Stop whinin' like a gutless little twat." He whined mockingly.

"It's too late for me, but I'm not gonna let it happen to Jo Jo."

"Too late? Wheah we livin' - Iran? What a sahry igscuse. Don' worry 'bout Jo Jo. She's got haht, somethin' you lawst someplace, an' I bet I know wheah. Ya kill me, ya reahly do. Some rich, lyin' sfacheem plays ya fer a chump an' ya fall apaht like a high school kid. I bet he's been t'rough t'ree maw bimbos since you. Couttn't ya see what he was reahly like behin' the limo an' the fancy suits? Or d'ya do it jus' to get back at me fuh lettin' Junya join up?"

Her eyes contracted, settled on him like a laser. "You do want her to have it to spite me."

"Wrawng. I want 'er to have it 'cause it's the right thing to do."

"So you did talk her into it?"

"No! Stop twistin' aroun' everything I say. She knows right from wrawng. Thank God she learned it befaw you fuhgot it or who knows hah she mighta turned out. Maybe it's you who'a tryin' to get back at me by tellin' 'er to get rid'a the baby. What happened to a woman's right to choose? It only works the otha way?"

"I only care about Jo Jo. I don't giva a damn about you."

Enflamed by emotion, he repelled the verbal blow rather easily. "Den get out. Ya been freeloadin' lawng enough."

"Freeloading? Who kept house for you for twenty years? Who gave you all the ideas that tripled the value of this place? You owe me?"

He stared, incredulous. "Ya jus' like my fatha now. Awl dese yeahs I been so skeahed I was gonna turn out like him. I was afraid it was in my blood, dat I wouttn't be able to help it. Now, alluva sudden, it's you who'a like 'im. You don' keah 'bout nothin' no maw, not even if ya daughta kills 'er own baby."

"She's not killing anything. I want her to save her own life."

"It won' kill 'er to have the baby. She's young an' strawng an' fulla love, like you wa when the kids wa bawn an' growin' up. Look what happened to ya. Yi'd let yer own daughta do somethin' horrable, take a shawtcut, jus' to make 'er life a little easier."

"A little easier? Leave it to a man...."

"Ya don' even say she should put it up fer adopshin aw in an awphanidge."

"What kind of life would it have?"

"Betta den no life at awl. At least it'd have a shot. Tell me it ain't killin', ga'head."

"It ain't," she said, mocking his vernacular. "And even if it was - you killed for your country, to preserve our way of life."

"Hah kin ya kimpeah it to dat? Dis's ah own flesh an' blood, not the V.C.. I don' undastan' hah ya thinkin'."

"Thinking was never your strong suit."

He looked away, fighting the urge to strike her, neck bulging in the effort.

"You'd let your daughter suffer to protect a seed? I thought you were more of a man than that."

He plopped back into the chair, suddenly lifeless. "An' yaw the one who goes to church. Why?"

"Good question. It's further behind the times than you are."

He hung his head. "So now we'ah down to killin' ah own, not just ah enemies, to make the world a betta place. The devil mus' be smilin'. We'ah playin' right inta his han's. Now he's got women killin' too, ten times maw den we eva did, 'cept fuh maybe Stalin an' Hitler. It's like we drop an atom bomb on ahselfs every yeah - on ahselfs!"

"How many children did you and your buddies kill in Vietnam?"

He lifted his head, nostrils flaring. "Yeah, but I neva did it on purpiss like you wanna." Or had he? he wondered, pained. At times it had been his duty to fire on villages, and he'd known women and children would be there. Was he right to tell himself that this was just the nature of war? He feared the day of his judgement. He did not want his daughter to fear hers.

"It just galls you that we're catching up, doesn't it? You have to invent end of the world scenarios to cope with it. For years it was the privilege of men to get rid of whatever stood in their way. Now that women have it, you're appalled. It's so typical."

"Ya sapposta be betta den us, not worse. At least ya ain't like the twats on TV who tawk in circles, who ain't got the pits to tawk plain. Wheah's it gonna stop, though? If a paw kid goes inta a staw wit' a gun an' kills the owna, who's in 'is way, is dat okay too?"

"What?" she scoffed. "Leave it to you to come up with something moronic like that."

He regretted having said it. The arguement had sounded so logical and compelling coming from Benny, who was capable of defending his points. He cursed his lack of education and eloquence, his inability to argue persuasively for that which he believed.

"The seed of ah gran'kid ain't livin'?" he said softly. "Ya reahly believe dat, aw ya jus' closin' ya mind up? Ain't the seed somethin' like God? We keahn't see 'im, but a lotta people still believe He's out deah. I keahn't make believe the baby's not deah."

"Don't you pretend that what you did in Vietnam doesn't bother you? Why else would you have those nightmares?"

"Ya want Jo Jo to have nightmeahs too?"

"Her life will be one if she has that baby. She'll eventually get over the abortion. Millions of women do, and their lives are better for it. It's not that big a deal. She'll have other children when she's ready, and she'll forget it. But she'd never get over having a baby now."

"Shaw 'bout dat?"

"Yes."

He did not know how anyone could be so confident about such a mystery. "Maybe I do preten' about 'nam. Maybe I reahly do feel guilty deep inside, but I shouttn't. I feel maw guilty 'bout leavin' befaw it was ova den anything else. Anyway, dat was waw."

"So is this."

He shook his head sorrowfully. "You don' know hah wrawng you ah. An' ya tell me I ain't thinkin' right. Dis's jus' an inkinvenience. I keahn't believe ya bought inta awl dat femmy crap. I thought ya wa strawnga den dat. Okay, ya wan' 'er to get rid'a the baby - say it. Don' tell me it's fuh the good'a awl women aw dat I hate women 'cause I'm against it. Nobody loves Jo Jo maw den me, an' you know it. Abawshin's a selfish thing, dat's awl it is."

"Alright - I selfishly want what's best for my daughter. Does that make you feel better? Can she have the abortion now?"

She stood over him as if daring him to respond. He did not.

"I know what it's like to have a baby at a young age."

"Hah come ya neva complained 'til now? You wa happy 'til las' yeah. Aw wa ya jus' pretendin'?"

"I was blind."

"An' ya think dis's gonna open Jo Jo's eyes?"

"Yes. It'll keep her options open. She'll be able to pick what's best for her and not be beholden to any man like the loser who got her pregnant."

"She keahn't do dat if she has the baby?"

"I refuse to let her take that risk."

"She's gonna do what she wants, not what you want."

"You mean what you want - over my dead body."

"Don' tempt me, 'cause ya reahly got it comin'. If ya reahly keahed about ya kids an' not yaself ya wouttn't'a been runnin' aroun' like a bootahn. Junya was gettin' shot at an' you wa out suckin'.... I keahn't believe it. Do us awl a favah an' get lawst. Be mis'rable someplace else. Ya make us awl sick."

She snatched the soda can from the table and slammed it against his forehead before he had a chance to react, to ward off the blow. Cola flew everywhere. He rocked backward and forward, stunned, blood trickling from his brow. At the return of his senses he leapt at Deanna's throat, bending her back over the stove.

"Stop!" Jo Jo screamed, rushing forward, pulling at her father maniacally. "Stop!"

Dante backed away as if he didn't know where he was. Deanna staggered to her room, gasping, coughing. Jo Jo gazed at her father, jaw quivering, and fled. He stood alone, unable to believe what had occurred. He'd been choking his wife right before his daughter's eyes. Not even his father had ever taken his bitterness that far. He shuddered at the thought of what might have happened had Jo Jo not arrived.

He now regretted not having thrown Deanna out months ago. How odd it seemed that he would have expected his daughter, had she sought an abortion, to leave the house, to suffer banishment nobly, while he hadn't exacted a penalty on his wife, who had betrayed him. He feared that he would lose resolve should Jo Jo change her mind and accede to her mother's wishes. However, he suspected Jo Jo would enact the penalty on herself. Why hadn't Deanna? To torment him? Would she now, after this violent exchange, leave? Had she finally found the courage to break free, to stand on her own? Why, if this were pricisely what he wished, was it so frightening? What would he do if he lost both his wife and his daughter?

Head throbbing, he tapped at Jo Jo's door and entered. She was curled up to her pillow, her back to him. Her sweater had rolled up, revealing the ripples of her lower spine. The only light in the room was that of the fish tank. How Dante envied those creatures at present. They were swimming about carefree, oblivious to human suffering, in no danger of being swallowed by a larger entity.

"Go 'way, Daddy," she said without turning.

"Hah d'ya know it was me an' not ya motha?" he said, sitting at the edge of the mattress, ice pack to his forehead.

She tittered lifelessly. "Go away. I hate you both now."

"Keahn't blame ya, mommy, but I'll neva stop lovin' you. I kin amagine what mus' be goin' t'rough ya head right now. I don' know hah much ya heard, but it don' reahly matta, 'cause it was awl bad. I hope the nightmeah between me an' ya motha's fine'ly ova now. No way she'll stay afta dis. But dat ain't even impawtint. The mos' impawtint thing is you. A man works hahd awl 'is life to make 'is wife an' kids happy, an' dat's gettin' away from me right now."

"How can I ever be happy after this - how can I? I wanna kill myself."

Emotion surged through him, made his head pound so that he lost sight momentarily. "An' kill the baby, Jo, who ain't done nothin' wrawng? Don' let dis poisin ya, mommy. Young people awways gotta believe de'ah gonna do things betta. I did it betta den my fatha an' yaw gonna do it betta den me. Ya gotta stay strawng. Ya awways gonna have things like dis pop up an' test ya. An' know what? - dey peahss on. Think'a awl the kids in the world who go to bed hungry aw bruised up from onnymahl parents." He almost lost it, recalling the bruise he'd given her. "Think'a awl the crack babies dat'a bein' bawn - den tell me ya got it too tough. Dis's gonna soun' crazy, but ya motha an' me wa ready to kill each otha jus' now 'cause we bote love ya an' want what's best fuh ya."

She spun and looked at him. "Mommy says it'll ruin my life if I have the baby. She says I'll never have time for myself, and that no guy'll ever want me."

"Hah could dey not want an angel like you?" he said, running a hand under her chin, lifting her face toward the sparse light, which seemed to focus on the bruise. "Havin' the baby'll only skeah away the losahs, the guys dat ain't seahrious, who'a prejadiced. The only ones yi'll hafta worry about'a the ones who'll think yer easy 'cause ya had a kid on ya own. Dem ya kick in the bawls."

He was disappointed that the attempt at humor failed completely.

"I'd hafta quit school. I'd have no career."

"Who says? Ya kin go at night."

"But I still wouldn't be able to afford a sitter. Who'd watch the baby? Mom wouldn't, and Gran'ma's too old."

"What about me? I still rememba how. I'm home every night, anyway. I'd want weekends an' holidays awf, though."

She looked into his eyes. "You'd do that for me?"

"Fuh you an' my gran'kid. Why'a you saprised?"

"But what about your own life?"

"My life is you an' ya brotha. I ain't a ballplayah or a doctah aw a politician or a businessman. I'm a good carpintah, but de'ah a dime a dozen. If a croaked tamarra the world wouttn't miss a beat."

"Don't say that."

"It's true, mommy. Ask ya motha." He swallowed bitterness. "An' it ain't nothin' to be ashamed'a. I got a tiny little place in life, but dat's okay. You an' Junya'a the bes' things I'll eva do. I feel responsable fuh what happened too, ya know. If ya motha an' me weren't goin' t'rough dis big mess, maybe ya wouttn't felt like ya hadda turn to ya boyfrien' fer a hug."

"I don't need you to make excuses for me, Daddy."

Now he feared that she was becoming much too serious, that she would ignore fun entirely. "Whateva. Dese things happen. It's only lately dat we been treatin' 'em like de'ah the end'a the world. Everybody's got maw money den eva, an' dey keahn't be bahthid wit' kids. When we had less money, people took gettin' pregnint in stride. By the way, ya know the girl who plays the secretary on dat lawya show ya like so so much?"

She was puzzled by the tangent.

"Her motha had 'er when she was fifteen. She had it rough growin' up, but look at 'er now. I got so mad - the guy who wrote the stawry didn' ask 'er what she thought'a abawshin." Why did he sense the woman was for it, despite the fact that she was a living arguement against it? He supposed it was because life could not be simple, even when something seemed so clear. "Hah many girls'a gettin' 'em thinkin' de'ah kids'll neva amount to nothin'?"

"That's not why they do it. They just don't want to be bothered."

"Jus' look at dis actriss. It shows what ya kin do when ya don' give up."

"But what about her mother? What happened to her?"

"I dunno." How he hated always bein' out-thought. Although the article had not said what had become of the mother, he was irked that he hadn't conjured a lie. "She mus' be proud, don'cha think? The sacrifice she made turned out pretty good."

"You're not just making this up?"

"I ain't dat smaht. I'll show ya the stawry."

"We could give the baby up for adoption."

"Ova...." He caught himself, averse to echoing anything Deanna said or did. "You gotta figya out what ya wanna do."

"You're making it so hard, though - you and Mommy. She had me so upset this morning. I made an idiot of myself in class. She says she knows a lady in her old company who goes to France and brings back those abortion pills."

Dante fought to control himself, fought the desire to go into his wife's room and finish what he'd started. "Maybe ya should get anotha apinyin, like people do wit' doctahs. Deah's gotta be a couns'lah aw science aw philosiphy teachah ya kin tawk to at school. Ya kin go to a priest, but ya awready know what dey'd say."

"Would you still throw me out if I had one?"

He lowered his head. "Yeah, but I'd neva stop lovin' ya."

"Would you talk to me?"

He shrugged. He was afraid the abortion and banishment would kill him, at least spiritually. Then again, he'd seen comrades do the unspeakable in Vietnam and, after time, resumed talking to them. They weren't his flesh and blood, however.

"It'd prob'bly be hahd. I dunno. A coupla yeahs ago we had a kid at work who did time fuh manslaughta. I could neva get ova hah much we awl liked 'im. I still tawk to kids in the neighbahood who wa deah the night dey killed the black kid. An' a lotta my frien's favah abawshin, but de'ah still my frien's."

"So what're you saying? You're not making this any easier."

"Somethin' like dis could neva be easy. You know dat, aw ya woulda done it by now. Ya wanna live like dose witches ya see on TV, who only keah 'bout demselfs?"

She looked at him coldly.

"I'm sahry, mommy, but dat's the way I feel, an' I ain't ashamed to say it. The way I see it, even a kid bawn inta the wors' fam'ly aw neighbahood in the world's got a shot. He'll neva have one if he ain't allowed to be bawn. An' dis ain't close to bein' the wors' fam'ly in the world, 'though ya could make a good case against dat right now."

"If you threw me out I wouldn't be able to go to college. Is that fair?"

"Who says? Ya could go at night like people do awl the time. It'd take ya longa, dat's awl. Ya kin do anything ya want. Time's on ya side. Ya young an' strawng an' smaht. A'ya gonna be like ya motha an' blame everybody else an' give up? Don' make igscuses. Go out an' work fuh what ya want."

"You're not giving me any choice at all."

"What choice's the baby got?" he said, rising. "Dat's the one who ain't got a choice, not you. Ya betta get useta tough choices. Dat's what life's awl about. Eitha way, ya ain't gonna be a kid no maw afta dis. I think I know hah ya reahly feel deep down inside. Ya motha's makin' a big mistake tellin' ya it's no big deahl. I...."

No, he wouldn't tell her he knew what it was like to kill. Although that had been a despised enemy, there was still a weight to those actions. What did he wish, then - that she not suffer if she went through with it? That wasn't right. He believed one should suffer for sin. This was his daughter, however, whom he hoped would never suffer. He wanted her to walk out of an abortion with a clear conscience, even though he hated women who did so.

"A lotta women kin do it wit'out battin' an eye. Kin you? Dat's what ya gotta figya out. Only you kin decide dat. But if you got one an' came out thinkin' it was no big deahl, I'd...."

He looked away. Although he'd ceased in mid sentence, he knew Jo Jo had interpreted his intent. He'd strayed from counsel to threat, and regretted it. He hoped she would reach a decision soon. He shuddered at the thought of how much developement the fetus would attain while she wavered. He immediately realized that this was faulty reasoning, as the sin, if abortion was, as he believed, sin, would be no less should she abort now or a month from now. He wondered why everyone wasn't as appalled by the act as he. He feared for his daughter's soul.

Blood rushed to his head, causing dizziness. He placed a hand on the desk to steady himself. Nearby, drawn on a blotter, there was a heart in which "Jo Jo 'n Billy" was inscribed. Beside it, nearly faded, was a phone number.

"You better go lie down, Daddy."

He looked at her, forcing a smile to his lips. Her face turned toward the sparse light. Again the bruise was conspicuous, accusing, condemning him.

"The three'a us'a marked up now."

He shuddered as he imagined fingerprints on Deanna's throat.

He hurried to the kitchen, silently repeating the phone number over and over to himself. Reaching the table, he jotted the figure onto a little pad, tore the sheet from it, and went to the living room and consulted the phone book for the corresponding address, which was in the neighborhood.

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