The memories of the grunts and moans now haunt me for many reasons.
In the grass, hidden by nature, the pack of seven men would leave her behind so they could go and boast with each other about another ‘wild fuck’ with the daughter of a mafia king. None of their words struck my heart because, at the time, the syllables carried no meaning. My mother was still fighting hard to shield me—trying to find a way to save me—from a merciless future.
In fact, the men never appeared to me as humans. They felt like faceless moving shadows that stirred throughout the space around me. I knew they were older, but even at my young age, I was already blocking them out. Maybe, deep down, I sensed the danger that endlessly followed in their wake.
Once the pack of men went back inside, a worn woman with a brilliant soul would weakly drag herself from the tall grass, always thankful to see me waiting. At the time, I believed she was relieved because she adored me. I was clueless that she was thankful to still be the pack’s main focus.
With her old summer dress torn and clutched in her trembling hands, Mother was covered with a white glue-like fluid still clinging to her skin, hair, reddened breasts, back, buttocks, thighs, and in between… “Scarlett,” she would call out to me with a relieved kindness that should not belong to the scorned. “Would you please start the water?” English being her second language, she spoke with a foreign, regal tone that brought me comfort.
Having helped cleanse her many times before, I happily jumped from my swing to run to the outside spicket, more than willing to tend to the woman who loved me with her heart and soul. I cherished the moments the men weren’t around. It meant I got my mother all to myself. When they were around, she usually stayed quiet and reserved. All I understood was that she wasn’t telling me wonderful stories to pass the time.
With a full bucket of splashing water, I would return to the depleted woman who lay panting on her side. Gently and with great care, I would rinse her used body, unknowingly helping to bathe the shame away. Unaware of what I was touching, my soft little hands would scrub her clean. Then, once done, she would crawl to a dry spot on the ground and rest while I put away the bucket.
Upon returning, I would lie next to her, and we would stare at the sky. Snuggled to her side, I would ask, “What do you see in the clouds today, Mother?”
A breeze carrying mountain fresh air would blow through her drying black hair, that once shined like the horse on the cover of The Black Stallion book. “I see the angel of the night, waiting for the sun to fall, so he can come down to earth and find his Scarlett and take her away.”
Her words held such feeling, but, unbeknownst to me, she was praying for the Angel of Death to come and collect her child. She’d rather me dead than to be in the pack’s brutal grip.
My mother, Isabella Giordano, spoke with a thick accent of the Italian language I was forbidden to learn. Her ‘roots’ were not to be mine. The pack wanted no reminders that this daughter was tainted by the blood of an enemy. They didn’t even like that my mother named me Scarlett; therefore, they would only refer to me as Scar or Little Shit. It didn’t seem to matter that none of the men had any way of knowing who exactly my biological creator was, due to their constant rapes. Unified, they regarded me as their ‘property,’ and, no matter how many times my mother pleaded, they refused to ‘sell’ me.
Whenever I asked why she wanted me sold—an action I could not comprehend—my mother would whisper the only Italian she dared, “Vita Mia,”—My Life—“because, away from here, there is a chance for you to be found.”
Found. One simple word with life-changing meaning.
Mother and I shared a small bed in a barren room. With bars on the one window we had, our view faced the mountains. Our door was always locked from the outside. I had a few crayons and coloring books, and every now and then, another fairytale book was thrown at us. I didn’t know I was going without. I didn’t know what the word abundance meant. I