Honour
Created | Updated Nov 23, 2008
Her head jerks round and bounces off the wall. Blood trickles from her nose and mouth - face heavy-impact-engineered to achieve the purple puffy look. One eye is swollen shut from the fury of earlier blows.
And again. A back-hander, hard across her temple. Her tears and pleas only increase his anger. Lies. All lies! She cowers against the wall, raising her arms to protect her head, so he hits her in the ribs. Terror deadens the pain. His eyes are wide, bulging, insane with rage. Mouth twisted, spitting curses and accusations. The ugly contortions of his face, make him look possessed. She can't look at it. The barbarous mask is too cruel.
Too late to run. To have any chance of escape, she should have gone sooner - as soon as the trouble started. Why hadn't she left? Fear. The sense that should have driven her to run, caused her to stay. The world beyond these walls could hardly be colder or harder than this. The cold, hard world is a distant sanctuary now. Out of reach.
Even now, she would try to run if it was only him. There are five of them. A tidal wave of rage beats down upon her. He's the only one hitting her now. They'd all managed to get a slap or a kick in when she first arrived, but now they just keep up a frenzied howl. The dominant male is in sole charge of the beating. As is right and proper.
She's inherited his stubborn determination and refuses to submit to his will. If he wanted her to be a submissive little chattel - a thing to use in trade, to give or sell or exchange, he shouldn't have come to this country. He should have stayed in the old country where she would have been surrounded by 'good' examples of how an obedient and dutiful daughter must behave. He could have kept her at home and prevented her from learning to read.
Instead, he brought the family here and she learned to be a modern British girl. She fell in love with a modern British boy. Chose him herself. Scandalous! When they found out, they forces her to make promises that she couldn't possibly keep. They expressed their outrage at her small gesture of self-determination with fanatical language, threats and violence. Now it's "whore" and "liar". But there are worse things than whores and liars.
It's hard to move. She can hardly stand any more. Her brothers are baying for blood. She tries to sidle along the wall to hide behind her mother. The woman moves aside to allow the beating to continue unopposed.
The sound is starting to fade. She rejects the language of the curses. Thinking only in English now. The shouting is just an angry buzz. No need to listen. Heard it all before. Ungrateful... Disobedient... Brought shame on the family... .
There are hands around her throat squeezing out her life. Good! There will be no marriage to a stranger in Pakistan. No brute, like her father, to scourge her own children.
But she could have been happy with her sweet, her gentle, her own...
And again. A back-hander, hard across her temple. Her tears and pleas only increase his anger. Lies. All lies! She cowers against the wall, raising her arms to protect her head, so he hits her in the ribs. Terror deadens the pain. His eyes are wide, bulging, insane with rage. Mouth twisted, spitting curses and accusations. The ugly contortions of his face, make him look possessed. She can't look at it. The barbarous mask is too cruel.
Too late to run. To have any chance of escape, she should have gone sooner - as soon as the trouble started. Why hadn't she left? Fear. The sense that should have driven her to run, caused her to stay. The world beyond these walls could hardly be colder or harder than this. The cold, hard world is a distant sanctuary now. Out of reach.
Even now, she would try to run if it was only him. There are five of them. A tidal wave of rage beats down upon her. He's the only one hitting her now. They'd all managed to get a slap or a kick in when she first arrived, but now they just keep up a frenzied howl. The dominant male is in sole charge of the beating. As is right and proper.
She's inherited his stubborn determination and refuses to submit to his will. If he wanted her to be a submissive little chattel - a thing to use in trade, to give or sell or exchange, he shouldn't have come to this country. He should have stayed in the old country where she would have been surrounded by 'good' examples of how an obedient and dutiful daughter must behave. He could have kept her at home and prevented her from learning to read.
Instead, he brought the family here and she learned to be a modern British girl. She fell in love with a modern British boy. Chose him herself. Scandalous! When they found out, they forces her to make promises that she couldn't possibly keep. They expressed their outrage at her small gesture of self-determination with fanatical language, threats and violence. Now it's "whore" and "liar". But there are worse things than whores and liars.
It's hard to move. She can hardly stand any more. Her brothers are baying for blood. She tries to sidle along the wall to hide behind her mother. The woman moves aside to allow the beating to continue unopposed.
The sound is starting to fade. She rejects the language of the curses. Thinking only in English now. The shouting is just an angry buzz. No need to listen. Heard it all before. Ungrateful... Disobedient... Brought shame on the family... .
There are hands around her throat squeezing out her life. Good! There will be no marriage to a stranger in Pakistan. No brute, like her father, to scourge her own children.
But she could have been happy with her sweet, her gentle, her own...
