can’t go ahead and have it, Mama.”
Mama closed her eyes. She swayed, and for a moment she looked as if
she would faint.
“I know what I did was wrong, Mama,” Amy said, beginning to cry.
“I feel dirty. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel clean again. I hate
myself.
And I know that an abortion is even a worse sin than what I did. I
know that, and I’m afraid for my soul. But I’m even more afraid of
going ahead and having the baby. I’ve got my life to live, Mama.
Yvegot mylife!”
Mama’s eyes opened. She stared down at Amy, and she tried to speak,
but she was too shocked to be able to get any words out. Her mouth
moved without producing a sound.
“Mama?”
With such speed that Amy hardly saw it coming, her mother raised a hand
and slapped her face. Once. Twice. Hard.
Amy cried out in pain and surprise, and she raised one arm to protect
herself.
Mama grabbed her by the blouse and dragged her to her feet in a
disconcerting display of strength.
The chair fell over with a crash.
Her mother shook her as if she were a bundle of rags.
Crying, frightened, Amy said, “Mama, please don’t hurt me.
Forgive me, Mama.
Please.” “You filthy, rotten, ungrateful little bitch!”
“Mama–” “You’re stupid, stupid, so damned stupid!” her mother
screamed, spraying her with spittle as hot and stinging as venom.
“You’re an ignorant child, just a stupid little slut! You don’t know
what could happen. You don’t have the slightest idea. You’re
ignorant. You don’t know what you might give birth to.
You don’t know!”
Amy was unwilling and unable to defend herself. Mama pushed her,
pulled her, jerked her from side to side, this way and that, shook her,
shook her, shook her ferociously, until her teeth rattled and her
blouse tore.
“You don’t know what sort of thing might come out of you,” Mama
screeched maniacally. “God knows what it might be!”
What is she talking about? Amy wondered desperately. She sounds as if
she’s heard Jerry’s curse and believes it’ll come true. What’s going
on here? What’s wrong with her?
Second by second her mother was becoming increasingly violent.
Amy hadn’t really believed that Mama would kill her. That’s what she
had told Liz, but she had been exaggerating. At least she had thought
she was exaggerating. But now, as her mother continued to curse her
and shake her, Amy began to worry that Mama would seriously hurt her,
and she tried to squirm away.
Mama refused to let go.
The two women tottered sideways and bumped solidly against the table.
The nearly empty mug fell over, spun around twice, dropped off the
table, scattering droplets of cold coffee, and smashed into a dozen
pieces when it hit the floor.
Mama stopped shaking Amy, but her eyes were still demented and wildly
lighted.
“Pray,” she said urgently. “We’ve got to pray that there’s no baby
inside you.
We’ve got to pray that it’s a mistake, that you’re wrong.”
She pulled Amy down roughly onto the floor, onto her knees, and they
knelt side by side on the cool tiles, and Mama began to pray loudly,
and she held Amy by one arm, held her so tightly that Mama’s fingers
seemed to pierce Amy’s flesh and touch the bare bone, and Amy wept and
pleaded to be released, and Mama slapped her again and told her to
pray, demanded that she pray, and Mama asked the Holy Virgin to be
merciful, but Mama wasn’t merciful when she saw that Amy’s head wasn’t
bowed far enough, for she grabbed her daughter by the back of the neck
and forced her face toward the floor, forced it down and down until
Amy’s forehead was touching the tiles, until her nose was pressed into
a wet splotch of spilled coffee, and Amy kept saying, “Mama, please,”
over and over again, “Mama, please,” but Mama wasn’t listening to her,
because Mama was busy praying to everyone, to Mary and Jesus and Joseph
and God the Father and God the Holy Spirit, and she prayed to various
saints as well, and when Amy gasped for breath a couple of drops of