Bright Blue Eyes

Mary had a difficult pregnancy. She had o endure it on her own. It wasn´t a planned pregnancy but her boyfriend promised to marry her. She was a God-fearing modest woman. Her soon-to-be husband was a bum. When she first met him he was the perfect Dom Juan. He had gracious blue eyes, a small but full mouth drawn on his face, adorned with the most enchanting smile she had ever seen.

                But he was also a womanizer and a drunk.  As soon as they discovered she was pregnant, they rushed and arranged the marriage. Both of afraid of the consequences of this undesired circumstance – Mary´s father, although an old man, was feared for his short temper and his tendency of pulling a gun whenever he felt necessary.

                The marriage didn´t last long. Mary´s husband, in one of his night outs, got drunk and went on driving like a mad man just to find his death in one crossroads.

                Mary was just 17 when she found herself pregnant and widowed. There seemed to be nothing much left for her but to stay home and live with her parents. They lived in a bleak two rooms shabby house. The wooden floor creaked, the wallpaper were worn and torn in some places, one could hardly say whether the stains in it were once flowers or clouds. It had a musty smell that overwhelmed the place, every furniture was old and smelled of decay - all she wanted was to die.

                The pain of carrying a baby without a father, of living with a moody father and mother that felt nothing for her but disdain was unbearable. “What a waste of air you are! You have a child to take care and it doesn´t even has a father. And what a father it had! It didn´t have a father since the beginning, this poor bastard!” Mary couldn´t do anything but keep the pain for herself. She would cry silently at night. The tears would come vigorously; the sobbing made her chest hurt, but not a sound would be heard. She knew how to be discreet while suffering. It is a craft you learn with time, since you are a child. And she was no longer a child and a master in it.

                The baby girl was born by the end of the year. The little pinky and chubby thing was something to be beheld and admired. The sweet smell of new fresh skin, the soft and thin blond hair on the perfect round head, the big blue eyes that glinted at her. That small precious thing was nothing more than a gift. A gift from God, so she thought it. It could have been nothing of what she heard of it before it was born. Her mother called the baby a spawn of Satan, a leftover of a dead degenerate, an orphan without a father with no future but whoredom. But it was nothing like it she kept repeating to herself. Mary saw in those perfect limbs of her daughter that she – the baby-  was a gift. A gift from God!

                She was suddenly stricken by fear that her mother might kidnap her little diamond – as she called it – and give her away. To adoption, to a circus, to whoever passed by, to Satan himself.

                Her religious piety grew like weed after a storm. There in a world, where only fear and misery waited for her, only God was by her side.

                With the help of an aunt, she borrowed some money and moved away, as farther as she could from her parents. She didn´t even told anyone else her new address, except to her aunt that gave her clothes, food and support. She found a tiny one storey house in a friendly neighborhood where the grass looked greener, the sun shone brighter and people smiled at the mere sight of her. She never felt so happy inside.

                She got odd jobs that paid enough to pay the rent, feed herself and her daughter. She never saw her parents again, who died one after the other in the passing years as her darling little thing blossomed like a miracle.

                She named her daughter Mary, after herself and the Mother of Jesus. She would dress her little girl in an embroidered white gown. Her doll face adorned by curly blond hair that looked almost white under the sunlight and bring her to church every Sunday . The baby would be surrounded by people who couldn´t help but be attracted by the enchanting little thing she was, and every single face shined at the mere sight of the rosy cheeks and the yellowish curls and the bright big blue eyes.

                Mary grew well and fast and seemed in perfect health despite the restrictions that life bored on her and her mother. Momma, as little Mary would call her mother, could go through anything, any pain, any discomfort, as long as her little Mary was well dressed and well fed.

                Mary was almost fourteen when Momma received the news that her aunt, the only person who stood by her side when she needed most, had passed away. She left a son, also an orphan almost the same age as Mary and Momma was his only relative left. Momma felt a strong pain in the chest and desperation took over her soul. It was already an ordeal to raise her only daughter and the thought of having another mouth to feed overwhelmed her with despair. “What am I to do?” – “But his mother was the only person who gave me a hand and, besides, never asked anything in returned”. To tell the truth, Mary never paid back the first ten months her aunt gave her for the rent until she got a job. What kind of Christian would she be if she let the poor boy on his own fate? The helpless kid.

                She took him home as if her own. He was one year younger than Mary but bigger. A well-fed dark boy called Julian, who could actually be a helping hand in bringing some food home. He was strong and healthy enough to get a part-time job after school and she made it clear to him.

“Hear me well, young man, you´re orphan now, but you aren´t crippled.” He would live in the cellar, eat her food and share the bills.

                Little Mary rarely left the house. Her mother feared the outer world and its temptations. She had no business outside the garden around their house. She should do well in school and become what she didn´t have the chance to become herself.

                A year went by, and she realized that Little Mary was behaving differently. She seemed gloomy, quiet… she rarely left her room. She wasn´t nothing of the glowing light she used to be. Momma could hear her little daughter cry feebly behind the closed door. She would knock at her door and ask whether everything was all right. Most of the time she wouldn´t answer. She would simply say in a quiet voice. “I am trying to rest, Momma…” and after a deep distraught breath; she went completely silent. One day she told Momma, “Can I talk to you later?”
                Momma´s soul was filled with fear. What could her little Mary want to talk to her? She knew girls would go through some rough times at that age, but it happened to anyone… anyone… even to Momma.

                “Can we talk now?” Asked Momma, almost in a whisper. Her voice trembled a bit and she couldn´t hide her apprehension. The door tickled as the key turned and unlocked the door. Momma opened and found her daughter lying on her stomach, face hiding in the pillows and arms. Momma slowly kneeled beside the bed, caressed gently the golden curls and in a trembled voice asked “What happened, angel?”

                Mary started to sob wildly, with strong jerks that made her back bow. It took five minutes for her to come to a halt. She kept silent for a minute or so.

“Momma, I´ve sinned… sinned against God…”

Momma felt her knees go weak and she couldn´t keep the position anymore and sat on the floor. Warm tears fell from her eyes. Her whole body shook violently, but she kept herself away from the bed so Mary couldn´t acknowledge it.

“God… God forgives you… God forgives anything”. Momma repeated in long pauses that made it sound like an eternity. “How… how did you sin?”
                “I am pregnant, Momma”. She said and started to cry violently again.

                Momma didn´t say a word. She couldn´t say anything even if she wanted. She mustered some courage to ask what she already knew.

                “Who made you sin, my angel?”

                “Julian! Julian! I love him, Momma!”

                Momma stood up calmly. Her face pale as death. Her eyes showed no emotion, they stared fixed at the oblivion. They turned from red into white like magic. She fixed her kneaded clothes and left the room. She went to the kitchen and sat by the table quietly.

                It was still five o´clock and Julian wouldn´t come home before six.

                Everything was repeating itself. The wheel of fate was against her again. Her own sin… she had sinned and the very same sin befell on her precious angel. The little house she lived in for the last 14 years. The very same one that smelled of flowers and happiness, now stank of musty worn-out wall paper. All the furniture creaked and as she repeated to herself “I´d fallen, so she has” - She was struck by panic! The voice she heard wasn´t hers, it was her mother´s.

                Little Mary cried for ten minutes straight, but felt silent by fatigue. She wanted to sleep, but she couldn´t. Thoughts went through her head. She knew Momma was a good person and would accept Julian. They would marry and have the baby. Momma would be the greatest grand-Momma ever. She smiled at herself. What was there to fear? She has sinned, but she could have things right now. After all, Julian was a good boy and she knew he loved her. They´d have a baby together…

                But an abrupt noise was heard from the kitchen. Chairs screeched from their places, a voice cried “Stop!”  A stump was heard. Little Mary startled. “What in God´s name?”

                She left the room in a rush to reach the kitchen where the commotion came from.

                What she saw was nothing she could even dream of. Even in her worst nightmare.

                There was Momma, holding fast a cleaver in her bloody hands. Her face was colorless. She showed no emotion. But her clothes bathed in bloody said more than she wanted to hear. On the floor, lying lifeless was Julian. His brown eyes half open, staring at the emptiness, told everything: he was dead. His head was at least four inches away from his neck and a pound of very dark blood surrounded him.

                “Why, Momma, why?” She asked in a whisper. She limped toward her mother shaking all over. She stretched her arm in a unsure movent and touched Momma´s arm. Only then the woman, with thin drops of red blood realized her daughter was there standing a couple of feet away. With the same fixed eyes, resembling two ice cubes, turned to her slowly.

She paused. Touched gently her daughter´s face. The feeling of that soft sking sent shivers to her spine.
“Why you´ve sinned, my baby? Angels don´t sin…” spoke Momma softly.

                Little Mary felt the first struck. The warm blood started to cover her chest. The second one made her lean backwards. Only after the third blow, that hit her between her large and bright blue eyes, she lost her conscience.

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