Out of Mercy

Five-year-old Julia lay quietly in her bed, anticipating the sound of the footsteps she knew might come. Her breathing controlled, she tried not to move; any noise she made muffled the distant sounds. Concentrating on the silence, she waited. For as long as she could remember, the routine never changed. He would quietly slip into her bed, pulling her close to him and stroking her soft hair, twirling it around and weaving it gently through his fingers. Her father was obsessed with her hair. Tender curls of copper that fell gently around her small shoulders. He would never allow anyone to cut it as long as he lived. Ever so gently, he would envelope her small body with his. Cupping her hands within his, he would communicate with her the only way he could, signing the words, “I love you, baby girl.” Julia’s first language was that of the deaf; her second, the spoken word. Although both her parents were born deaf, they were able to speak crudely. This was enough to teach their daughter both methods of communication, sign and speech. When the sun rose, he would leave, but not before reminding her of their secret. She was afraid of what he did, not of him. She had separated his actions from his presence. In her innocent mind, he was her protector. Not knowing that her father was different from anyone else’s father, she did not question their relationship. That next morning, her mother complained of back pain. It was disturbing for Julia to see her mother in such discomfort. She cuddled with her on and off throughout the day. After dinner, Julia’s mother told her to go upstairs to play. Julia signed in protest, “No, Mama; I want to stay here with you.” “No, you do as I say. Stay in your room.” Her mother’s fingers moved with determined zest. “Do as your mother asks, Julia,” her father signed. Julia climbed the stairs as slowly as she could to show her dismay, glancing back at her parents with hateful squints. Shortly thereafter, she heard the loud slam of her parents’ bedroom door. She could hear her mother’s cries through the wall. Julia moved stealthily down the hallway on her hands and knees until she reached their bedroom door. She lay on the floor, peering under the door. She could see her father’s feet pacing back and forth at a frantic tempo. Her mother’s cries were so loud that Julia had to cover her ears with her hands to muffle the disturbing sounds. Not being able to control the urge to push the door open and rescue her mother from whatever was happening to her, she grabbed the doorknob with both hands and turned it slowly, pushing just enough to create a crack wide enough to see into the room. Julia saw her mother lying on the bed with a wad of wet bloody towels between her legs. Wiping tears from her own eyes with the sleeve of her shirt, Julia tried to think of something she could do. Her mother’s arms were extended upward, her hands grasping the headboard so tightly her knuckles were white from the pressure. She was drenched with sweat and weeping uncontrollably. Julia watched the conversation between her parents, their hands cutting through the air with lightning speed. Julia could pick up enough to understand what was being said: “We should go to the hospital now.” “I told you, it’s too late; we must stay here and deliver the baby ourselves.” Julia’s father saw her at the door and quickly shut it with determined force, locking it as soon as he felt the latch engage. This did not deter Julia. She crawled into the bedroom that adjoined theirs and entered the bathroom that the two rooms shared. She could see her father sitting on the foot of the bed. Suddenly, the crying stopped. Julia sat posed on her knees waiting; the weak cry of a baby was all she heard until both her parents began to cry out. She did not understand what was happening. Her father stood and began to pace again. She watched him sign repeatedly: “We have to. It is the merciful thing to do. We have no choice.” Her mother would wail every time he would say it. Once again, Julia’s father discovered her presence. He came straight for her, jerking her up by the arm and dragging her down the hallway to her room. He plopped her down in the middle of her room and commanded her to stay there. Julia clung to his pant leg sobbing. “Daddy, please don’t leave me here alone. I’m so scared. What’s happening?” Julia signed. Ignoring her pleadings, he shook his leg to free himself of her and left, closing the door behind him. Julia pressed her ear to the cold, wooden floor. She could hear scuffling and other strange noises. Deciding she had better stay put, she pulled a blanket from the bed and snuggled into the only comfort she had. Familiar footsteps approached her door. Through the darkness, she could see the shadow of her father’s feet cast by the illuminated hallway outside her door. He stood there, motionless for some time. When he finally opened the door, all Julia could see was his silhouette. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she could see that he was holding a box that had been taped shut. He pulled Julia up to a standing position and handed her the box. “Take this to the trash pile and put it in the barrel; don’t open it,” he signed frantically. “Your mother needs me. Promise me. You are my big girl, and I need your help. Can you help me? Please, I have nobody else to ask that I trust. This needs to be done now!” Julia extended her small, trembling hands outward to receive the box. The cardboard box was heavy for its small size. The tape had been wound around it several times. The lid was no longer visible, but she could feel the hump where it met the box beneath the layers of tape. Julia walked slowly toward the back of the house, having to put the box down to open the door. She left the kitchen door open to give her some light as she walked out to the trash barrel. She clutched the tattered, well-used box tightly, her tiny fingers gripping it with all her strength. Standing in the moonlight she made a decision she knew was wrong, but her curiosity compelled her. Julia desperately searched the ground around the trash area for something to cut the tape. She spotted a burnt, tin-can lid with a jagged edge. It took several minutes to saw through the tape. Peering down into the box, she began to cry. Julia understood what her father had done … and why. Tugging at the gnarled tape, she attempted to reseal the box. All she wanted now was to get rid of it and forget what she had seen. She threw it into the trash pile and kicked ashes over it to hide it from view. She ran into the house and straight for her bed. She wanted to sleep … sleep and forget.