Loe raamatut: «Life with the black demon», lehekülg 2

I had a strong need for my mother, her attention, her love, her embrace. Father didn’t like seeing our mum hugging us. Feeling close to my mom, I relaxed and took food and snacks from the table that were there for the guests only. Father just smiled. I didn’t recognise his emotions.

I thought he was looking at me with love because I was eating. But no! His face was burning red. He could not hide his anger. When the guests left, something my father was waiting eagerly, he pulled the army belt out of his trousers and started beating me, and saying:

- You fucking bitch. This will teach you not to take food of the table when there are guests.

I promised that I would never take anything of the table in the presence of guests. My father was extremely upset and my mother was preparing our bed for sleeping. I remember there was always plastic film beneath me so that I wouldn’t wet my bed.

Not a single night went by without me wetting it. I also remember when I was a bit older, I would unconsciously, in my sleep, wet the bed every time I was frightened. And when the morning came, both dad and mom would criticise me. They would ask for how long I was going to wet the bed. “You’re already a big girl, aren’t you ashamed?” I was ashamed, but I couldn’t control it. Often, my sister didn’t want to sleep next me, she’d cry and say:

- I don’t want to sleep next to her, she’ll pee all over me. I was very sad. I just couldn’t understand why I kept doing that, and why I couldn’t control it. I didn’t know the reason, and no one was there to help me.

I spent my childhood with only two girls who were willing to play with me. They were Sanela and Alma (I am still in touch with them, we talk with each other occasionally, although each of us has a family and their own personal obligations these days. More than 20 years have passed since our hanging out and our goofing around).

I know I was a mischievous girl. My mother told me that I was very hyperactive, and that I often quarrelled with other children.

One day I found out that we would have to move to another place soon, that we had been evicted because someone had bought the flat we lived in. I was sad, because I spent some beautiful moments there. I don’t mean with the parents, but with the kids I liked. Just before leaving, I met a wonderful family who moved into the same building. There were two twin sisters in the family: Jasmina and Aldina. Their father was killed during the war and they were a martyr’s family. Sometimes I envied them and was jealous because they lived without a father, only with their mother. At the time, I thought almost every father was like mine. Yet from the stories they told me I realised that they had a wonderful father, whom dear God chose to take for himself. My father was alive, but I was miserable because of it.

Few nights before we moved out, some man and my father were sitting in the living room, drinking. My father was very drunk. There were various weapons, rifles, bullets, bombs and other firearms in front of them. He played with a bomb ring, saying he would kill us all. It was a game for him. Until then, I had never felt greater fear and panic. Mother was terrified, and that man told him not to play with such things, because it was life-threatening. Naturally, my father always hated when someone told him what to do or what not to do, so he got even angrier and cursed. He went out on the balcony and fired his rifle, and threw a bomb from the balcony in the middle of the night. The neighbourhood was terrified and fearful. The police did not come, not even to warn him for harassing the neighbourhood. When that hell was over, we were all still alive, thank God.

The day of our moving also came. Terrible feeling. It was very difficult feeling for me. What I regretted the most was what I was leaving behind. Although, in 1997, I was a little girl, barely nine years old, I had a crush. He was a little black-haired boy who, naturally, didn’t even notice me. Father and mother were packing our stuff in the flat, and we helped them with that. He took down everything that could possibly be removed from the flat. The flat we moved out of was left in very poor condition.

I thought the new address would be some new turning point in life, maybe a happy start or a change for the better. Unfortunately, our hell continued. We moved to the address ‘Ceravacka hills no. 12’, to a huge house with two floors, plus an attic belonging to a Serb. We lived on the first floor, actually, the ground floor. The Ogresevic family also lived in that house. They had three children, two boys and a little girl. On the one hand, I was happy because they were kids of my age. We often played behind the house with mud and cans that we found in the rubbish or secretly took from the house.

I always thought that I had a normal life and that everything that happened to me, the beatings and turmoil was normal and that everyone lived like that. It was something natural for me, because I didn’t know of a different kind of life. It was only then that I realised that I was wrong, because these children, my neighbours, received tenderness, love and attention from their parents every day, even without beatings, and I realised it was them who were truly happy. It was then that I realised that there are good and bad fathers. We, my sister, brother and I were not hungry. My father provided us with food, sometimes even bought toys, but I was not happy. I didn’t want toys, I didn’t want anything, just love and attention like the other kids had. Every time I saw a happy couple walking down the street, or children being hugged by their parents, who cuddled and looked after them, jealousy awoke in me. Mum was not allowed to kiss or hug us, her own children, in his presence, because his reaction would be violent. She would hug us when my father was not there.

One day, dad got a call to report for serving a prison sentence. They were preparing us for this news for days. Our father told us that he was drunk in a tavern and that a man, also a drunk, had insulted him. My father had a gun in his pocket. He said he pulled the trigger and fired a bullet, wounding the man. Earlier, my mother told me that my father had spent nine years in prison. He was also in the Correctional Facility in Zenica.

Mum’s sister lived in the USA. My parents planned for us to go there with her husband. We even received a letter of guarantee which we were supposed to go to Zagreb with. At the time, it was not difficult to go abroad. There was no end to my happiness. How ecstatic I was at that moment.

I thought to myself:

- My God, thank you for a new chance.

As always, my happiness was short-lived. Mother and father told us that it wasn’t possible for us to go to the US anymore, even though they prepared everything. They didn’t give a more detailed explanation. I was disappointed and very sad because I dreamed about the magical USA.

Father turned himself to the police the next day. He was taken to the nearest prison in Bihac in Luka. He was gone. There was peace and positive energy present in the house. I wasn’t even aware he was not there.

With him being gone, spring arrived. I felt as though the sun warmed my skin, and I also felt my mum’s peace in her soul. I asked her why she didn’t leave dad when he treated us like that.

- I can’t my dear. What if he found out? He would kill us once he was out of prison.

My mother explained to me that she had already had one marriage and that she had a son from that marriage, our half-brother N. She told me that she never wanted to leave us at any cost, and that she was forced to leave her first son with her ex-mother-in-law. She would always talk about what people would think and say if she left her children again. She said the grief would be the end of her.

On one occasion I asked her:

- Mom, why doesn’t our brother N. come and live with us?

- How could I do that honey when your father’s not your brother’s real father? Look how he destroys you mentally and physically, how he mistreats you, imagine what he’d do to him.

We often went to our granny’s. I loved going there because granny’s family brims with positive energy. I have the best grandmother and grandfather, and the best uncle. Staying with them, I felt, in a way, secure and loved by everybody.

The bus station in Cazin was about an hour away from their house. We cried while walking there because we couldn’t walk anymore, our legs hurt. Mum carried my brother since he was the youngest, and my sister and I followed her. At one point I sat on a concrete crying, I couldn’t walk, so my mother teased me, mentioning some swamp. She said that if we didn’t listen to her, some Alaga would come and throw us into the swamp.

Of all the visits, as I said before, I loved going to my grandparents the most. We all felt free there. Our half- brother, with whom we played all day, would often come. It was very nice for us. When the time came for him to leave, I would get very sad... Everyone had to go their separate ways. The mother was often in tears and we could see that she grieved for her son. At night she called to him in her dreams and cried in her sleep. My half-brother used to tell me that he was also a little jealous of us, because we grew up with our mother while he had to grow up without her love. I often imagined the three of us playing together and how we were all very happy. Unfortunately, I knew that was not possible, because I knew that my father would never accept it. He would surely beat and harass him, as he has all of us all these years!

At the time, we didn’t have a phone either, so it was very difficult to get in touch with our half-brother. Sometimes I would write a letter for him and leave it to my mother’s family to deliver it to him. And mum would also write a couple of sentences and secretly put some money so my father wouldn’t notice. My brother saw my father and often said that he didn’t like that man at all. He felt fearful just by meeting him once.

On one occasion, my half-brother happened to be with my grandmother in Cazin and I asked him to come with us to Bihac, to spend a few days together with us. However, every time I invited him, he refused. I wondered why he was like that and why he blamed mother for his misfortune. I also asked my mum why she left him before she married my father. She could take the child with her. My mother told me that it was not possible because she could not feed him, nor could her parents accept him as a family member in their own home. She told me that I would understand everything when I’m older and have my own children. There is no difference in the amount of love for your children. She repeated that she could not protect us from our father either, how could she protect him, who is nothing to him. Father does not pity or spare us, so why would he spare him even if there was a possibility to spare him. He often called our mother a whore because she was married once before. He punched her in the nose for having a child from the first marriage. We asked mum about her first marriage. My mother told us that her first husband died very young and that she had become a widow at the age of eighteen.

All that time while my father was in prison, his brother, our uncle, fed us, that is, he bought us food and he gave money to my mother to provide what we needed. I will never forget that. My uncle was a good man, different in every sense from my father, a police officer by profession. I can’t thank him enough, because such a gesture, especially in difficult moments of one’s life, can never be forgotten. He will forever remain in my fondest memory.

Since the father was absent, the mother fasted almost the whole of Ramadan. We wanted to know how to fast, and we wanted to know all about “sehur”, early portion of a day when people get up and start fasting. Ramadan, especially this one, is one of the most beautiful periods of my life.

The days I spent at school made me happy because I loved going there. I finished primary school with excellent marks. My mother would often say that she did not have any problems with me at school and that she didn’t have to make me study, because I fulfilled my obligations responsibly. I especially loved art and painting, which is still something I do nowadays.

Autumn is here. A wonderful autumn morning made us wish for a pleasant rest of the day. Mom woke up first, made breakfast and coffee with milk. When she had prepared everything, she came into the room and kissed us one by one. The morning began with my mother’s smile. We were sitting, eating out breakfast. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Mum got up and went to see who it was. Unfortunately, it was my father who was released from prison on probation. We also got up to welcome our father. Unexpectedly, our father was very calm and talked to us nicely, he even asked us kindly:

- Kids, how are you?

He talked nicely with our mum. He had breakfast with us, which our mother prepared with love and kindness. My God, how happy I was. Father is here, he doesn’t shout, he doesn’t swear and he talks to us in the most normal way. For about a month he was caring and was kind to us. He even found a job for mum, so the two of them talked about it nicely, which made me happy. I thought about how prison changed my father in a positive way and how we would have a father like every other child. Kindness, love and decency towards us lasted for a short time. Honestly, he was kind and humane to everyone, he helped people in need, and he also helped the poor. He was one splendid man, “a golden boy.” This is how some viewed him and for many he was considered a nice man.

Dad’s family was afraid of him, because he was a man who lost his temper easily, some situations made him angry quickly, so he would do something bad without thinking, and then soon he would always regret it.

He said he had given up alcohol and would not drink again. The next day he was not in the house all day, he went out in the morning and came home late in the evening.

We were all sleeping. I was awakened by strange voices and loud music from the living room. I got up to see what was going on. My father was sitting with some man. They were drinking. Mother was by the stove, cooking something. She prepared hors d’oeuvre and some food for my father and his friend. I sat down in the living room where it was cold, so I covered myself with a blanket. I watched them. Suddenly my father started a topic that I listened to carefully. He said that his childhood was difficult, that his father consumed a lot of alcohol, both his father and mother beat him. I often thought this was the rage he inflicted upon us. But how have we deserved it, and why was he punishing us for it? He grew up surrounded by violence that he himself began to inflict to others over time.

My father’s mother often used to say:

- As a boy, he was such trouble, not a day went by without him being beaten.

She told us that our father, when he was a boy, ran away from home and no one knew anything about him for three months, no one knew where he was or what he was doing. He was everywhere, from Bosnia all the way to Slovenia. She said that she beat him up once so hard that he got cuts on his skin, and she put salt on those cuts, as a warning not to make any more mistakes.

My father did not listen to anyone in the entire world and had always been his own man. He barely finished four years of primary school. Grandmother said he was a very bad student and that she had to force him to finish even those four years of primary school. He broke his father’s jaw with one punch. He also beat her, his brothers, relatives and sisters-in-law. On one occasion, he hit his sister in the head with an ashtray so hard that my aunt ended up in the intensive care unit. She recovered, thanks to God.

My father had a child from his first marriage (son), my second half-brother who was raised by his uncles rather than by his own father. While his first son was little, he would sometimes buy him something, but very rarely. He didn’t even call him father but used his real name. He abused his ex-wife, who was an Orthodox Christian, as well. When he went to serve his military service, he told her he didn’t want to see her there when he returned. Grandmother said his wife wanted to take her child with her who was only six months old at the time. They didn’t allow her to take him and thus she was forced to leave the house without her child. She went away in tears and said she would get in touch. She never did. She started a new family in Serbia, she has two children now, a son and a daughter, and her daughter’s name is the same as mine, Sandra. I don’t know why, but I had respect for that woman, even though I didn’t know her. I believe she suffered greatly.

Every day of my life was filled with fear and anxiety. I was afraid to do anything, because I would be punished for every single thing.

The days went by, but how I do not know.

Mum started working as a food service worker at a hospital on May 14, 2000. I remember she often brought bread and food leftovers from the hospital. To me, that food was delicious. Mum came back from work every other day at 5:30 p.m. She was never late, not even a minute. After finishing work, she immediately ran home, because if she didn’t arrive home on time, father would start shouting, posing a million questions and sub-questions as to why she was late and where she was, etc... Once the chaos ensued, because she was ten minutes late.

We could have an easier life thanks to my mother’s salary. To be truthful, we always had money for food, for everything we wanted to eat. Father would often take all the money from my mother, her salary she earned, and spent it on drinks.

Although he spent all the money on drinks, he often came home with even more money. I don’t know how he got the money and what he did, but we were never hungry. He didn’t buy us toys that often, so we took care of the “Nintendo” game we got as if our lives depended upon it.

My sister, brother and I loved to play. It’s sad to say, but even when playing together with them, I felt rejected. My sister and brother would always be alone, they always had secrets of their own, and some plans they shared. When I approached, they’d stop talking and say:

- Let’s go, Sandra’s coming, she’ll overhear what we’re talking about.

If I complained or cried to my mother, she would say that it was nothing and that one day, when we all grew up, we’d be eager to spend time with one another.

One day, father and mother went for a walk in the fields. They said they would be back soon, and that we should be in the house and behave ourselves. I, as the eldest daughter and sister, wanted to surprise my parents and I cleaned the house nicely. Regardless of his behaviour, my father was very clean and meticulous, the same as my mother.

As a child, I was always required to do some work around the house, mostly to clean and tidy up. Before their return, I started cleaning used coffee cups. As I was wiping the cups, two coffee cups fell to the floor and shattered. I panicked and was afraid what my father would say or do when he found out about the broken cups. I cried, and my siblings told me that was my own fault, and that I shouldn’t mentioned them when the whole situations came to the light. My parents came back from their walk and as I was collecting tiny pieces of glass from the broken cups, my father started yelling at me and insulting me. Since I wanted to explain to him how it happened, I started to stutter so much at that moment that I couldn’t produce a word. Mum tried to calm him down, but it was in vain. He started making fun of me for talking and mocked “STUTERRRERRRR”

I could hardly stand it. He started beating me, he grabbed a belt with a metal strap and started hitting me as hard as he could. Petrified, I urinated in my pants and I was shaking. The more I cried, the more he hit me. He hit both my sister and brother, and they said they didn’t do anything, that I broke the cups.

Mum tried to calm the situation:

- Please, don’t mind the cups, that’s not a reason for the child to be beaten. Let her go, you’ll kill her!

My mother’s words had no effect, anger seized him even more, so he lifted me and threw me on the bed. Then he took a chair and threw it at me. He hit mum so hard that she immediately fell down. He cursed her father, mother, brother, sister out, just because she tried to save me from him. Usually, in addition to the beatings, my father almost always punished me with work, which meant that whatever he ordered me to do I had to do it immediately. It was mostly cleaning.

Soon after that, my father bought some hens and made a place for them behind the house. During the day, he would let them out, so one of us had to keep an eye on them, so that they wouldn’t run to the garden and destroy the crop.

The next day, or rather the next night we went to sleep. The three of us were in the same room together, my mum put plastic film under me because I used to wet the bed almost every night. That was caused by fear I had been going through for years, as I found out much later.

The rustling of the plastic film was so funny to my brother and sister, because they could hear my every move that way. We all laughed uncontrollably. We heard someone banging for us to calm down. It was even funnier for us and we laughed out loud, which we were not allowed to do. Father came in with a belt in his hand and hit each of us with it. Naturally, we got scared and immediately fell silent. It no longer occurred to us to make a noise. That night passed also, somehow.

Morning came. It was as if nothing had happened in the house the night before. My father talked to us in a normal way, we had breakfast and then went for a walk in the nearby meadows. Mum went to work the next day.

Summer vacation was approaching. After school we hurried home to play with friends who lived upstairs.

The boy who was always playing with us became my crush, even though at the time I didn’t even know what that was. We were ten-year-old kids. Sister vomited a lot during that period. She often had stomach pain and nausea. Mum and sister had the same symptoms, they both had hernia on both sides of their bodies. My sister stayed in the hospital because they had to operate on her. They let us know when the operation was over. I wanted to visit my sister together with my parents. Mum and dad were very sad about my sister. While walking, I saw “some” emotions awoke in my father that had not been visible until then, and especially not tears. I missed my sister very much because we spent a lot of time together. She recovered and seven days later she came home. She had to rest at home until her sutures got removed. I helped her any way I could and I was happy she was with us.

Dad disappeared the next day, he went to get drunk, and in a way, we were happy, because we were left alone with mum.

When he was home, my father wouldn’t let us watch the TV, he would often shout and order us to turn it off. He prohibited mum from watching soap operas. We could watch the TV freely when he wasn’t there. We loved when he was not there. My sister and I were playing with Barbies we had brought from the old flat.

Our enjoyment didn’t last for long. Father, as always, came drunk and the first thing he saw when he came in were our scattered toys. It bothered him, he took the belt out of his pants and started beating us. He didn’t even pay attention that my sister had just recently came out of surgery, he hit us. We promised that we would never leave things on the floor again and that we would always make sure that everything was clean.

The next day, we were all sitting in the house, and the parents were talking about summer vacation which was coming soon and that the two of us were about to go to spend some time at granny’s house. They decided it would be my sister and brother. I was sad, I wanted to go. My parents said that my brother and sister would stay there for 20 days, and when they returned, I would go. When they left I remained alone in the house. I was very bored; I didn’t know where to go or what to do with myself.

Friends from the neighbourhood also went to their relatives over the holidays. Mum worked every day. By the father’s orders, I had to clean the house every day...