Chapter 11 - Volume 2 (1/2)

Prologue

Ο

Overcome your past.

People would say this easily.

If I were to give a piece of advice to these optimistic people, then it would be that there were a lot of past experiences in the world that could not be overcome.

What if your own mother was human trash?

That was fine. You could manage that.

Or if your own father was a guy like trash?

You could be patient up to that as well.

But, if you were to watch your younger half-siblings tremble in fear because your own mother had slapped them, solely for the reason that they were from another mother, and your father watched idly from the side while not uttering a single word—then at that point, you could only modestly accept the truth.

That your life was shoved into dog shit.

I had vaguely assumed that my life had reached this position when I was 10 years old.

My younger half-siblings were clinging onto each other and crying. The reason was simple. My mother had cursed at them by shouting, “You dirty children of a whore!”. Of course, at that time I didn’t know what the word ‘whore’ meant. The day I discovered that the existence of a penis could be used for something other than peeing was when I was 11, thus meaning, I needed to wait 1 more year before I stepped into the world of obscenity.

I’m serious.

Even I had a time when I was pure.

Back to the story.

There was no way a 6 and 5 year-old could comprehend the word ‘whore’, when a 10-year-old couldn’t either. Except, it was obvious that the words were said with an offensive nuance. How could I tell? That was because when my mother had called them whores.

“Oh my. So you two are the children of a whore.”

She did not speak pleasantly like this, but.

“These mongrel-like whore’s children. How dare you not know your place and—!”

She had exploded her anger out savagely.

Even children knew when they were not welcomed.

Regardless of being able to understand the words or not, you at least knew when the adult in front of you was trying to kill you or help you. It was especially noticeable when the adult had intensely slapped your face at the part of saying “children of a whore”.

Thus, the moment my younger half-siblings started trembling their shoulders.

The moment my younger siblings, who were laughing happily just a second ago, had muffled their crying because they were sincerely afraid that they were going to be killed,

I had the gut feeling that if I did not fix this shitty situation, then my life too would become shit.

“Father. Throw out my mother.”

“What?”

“Don’t needlessly ask back. You heard everything. Have a divorce with my mother.”

My father blinked.

Even his blinking felt like an excuse which further raised my annoyance towards him.

“……What are you saying?”

“So you’re going to keep backing out? That’s fine, I’ll use this opportunity to clearly say this now. My mother is insane. My little sisters had merely broken a ceramic cup by mistake, but do you know what my mother did?”

I slapped my own face. Hard.

Because I thought that I should show him a demonstration.

“She slapped them. Hard enough to make my siblings fall to the floor. Up to here you can still overlook her as a normal hysterical patient, but what she did next was the real problem. My mother went to get a kitchen knife and shoved it near my siblings’ faces.

“……”

“Do you understand? A kitchen knife. She showed a knife to my 5-year-old little sister. My mother is not a hysteria patient. She’s a through and through insane person. Divorce my mother immediately and kick her out of our home.”

“Son. She is still your mother.”

“I am fully aware.”

I spoke coldly.

“That’s why I’m urging you to divorce her even more. Before I further scorn the father who claimed to love that woman and made her his wife.”

“……”

“Father. You read to me quotes from Rousseau yesterday. That the difference between man and beasts was that they bore a will. You read this to me in a soft, a very soft tone. And today, I’ve discovered a beast within my mother’s face.”

“Certainly, it was effective giving you a teacher on rhetorics. Seeing that you’re a lot more eloquent than I was at your age.”

“I already realized that I was a genius when I was 6-years-old. You aren’t going to make me realize it again by complimenting me now.”

“Did you hear it as a compliment? I was scoffing.”

“Ha. You’re the one who needs to listen to the rhetorical classes, father. You don’t even know how to properly scoff at your own son and you think you’ll be able to hold onto your wife? Please do better at looking after yourself.”

“I will say it again. She’s your mother.”

My father’s voice became cold.

“For 10 months, she went through all kinds of pain holding you inside of her stomach before giving birth to you. The very first person to smile when you came to this world was your mother, the first person to cry for you when you got hurt for the first time was also your mother. Son. Know your place. How dare you say such immoral words like kicking out your own mother.”

I snickered.

“How shameless.”

“What?”

“This is not my problem. This your problem, father. Because of a single mother, 6 of your children are being abused. It’s simple math. Will you save 1, or save the other 6. Throw away irritating words like immoral. There are no humans as ethically trash as you, father. None.”

“……”

“This will be the last time that I will request something from you regarding this topic, father. For good. So give me a serious response. Will you divorce my mother?”

My father went silent.

He stayed silent for over 40 minutes.

The reason why I remembered the time exactly was because I had glared at the wristwatch my father had on. It was around the time 11am was crossing over to 12 in the afternoon.

“I can’t.”

Damn 12 in the afternoon.

Since that moment, I despised this time permanently. My habit of refusing to wake up in the morning originated from here too. I will be saying this again but. I utterly despised the morning and noon.

“……Why not?”

“Because I love your mother.”

“That is a really, immensely, disappointing answer. Then does that mean you do not love your children, father? Do you not care if your wife were to kill all of your children?”

“Yes.”

And thus I could never forget this moment.

Like a sculptor using a hammer and nail to engrave a mark on my brain.

A type of trauma was embedded.

“I love your mother that much.”

“……”

“I’m sorry, son.”

“……Just now, father.”

I gulped.

It might not have only been saliva that I had swallowed down.