The first time I got up and my skinny legs were criss crossed in red whelps I didn’t know what had happened. I ran in the kitchen. “Lookie . . .. lookie,” I cried. Mom turned around and said, “He beat you goot last night Landa . . . I hot told heem to.” I just stood there lookin’ at her. I tried so hard to remember the beatin’ . . . but I just couldn’t. I only remember goin’ to bed . . . crawlin’ under the cover . . . closin’ my eyes.
Dad let us have it like that afew times at 3 in the morning when he’d get in real drunk and she wouldn’t give him any peace cause of all the “trooble” we’d caused while she was stuck there and he was out “enjoyin’” himself. He refused to take her. He would rather pull off his belt and jerk us outta bed when we were sleepin’. He did it to shut her up . . . to just shut mom the hell up because what else could he do? By god, he wasn’t gonna take her anywhere. Dad wasn’t gonna let her put on a fancy dress and fix her hair and go out with HIM. I remember when he used to say to her, “ . . . I ain’t EVER gonna take YOU around human beings.”