Life with the black demon. Sandra Pasic

to meddle in this affair. He glared at me, red-faced and wide-eyed, grabbed me and lifted me up, then threw me to the floor with all his strength. At that moment I instantly urinated my clothes. When he saw the wet pyjamas and when he realised I peed myself, he got even angrier. He pulled the belt out of his pants; I remember it well, it was brown, and he began hitting every part of my body uncontrollably. He didn’t pay any attention to me, didn’t even look where he was hitting. The more I cried and begged him to stop, the more hits I suffered.

      All in tears, my mother begged him to let me go, saying he would kill me like that, but no! He neither heard nor wanted to hear either my mother or me, nor did he have any compassion for any of us at that moment. Ultimately, my mother’s plea made him even angrier. Enraged, he grabbed his rifle and hit mom on the head with it.

      My God, I will never forget how my mother got up with difficulty after the blow, and was totally disoriented, confused, and crying. Blood effused down her face in great quantity. For me, it was - horror. I almost fainted due to the shock I experienced. I was afraid to approach my mother, but I wanted to hug her so much, I wanted to wipe the blood of her face, comfort her, and tell her that everything would be fine, even though I knew it wouldn’t. He sent my sister and me to bed.

      I went to my room. I couldn’t sleep. How could I fall asleep when the music was playing so loudly? I could hear him swearing. I wanted to get up, I gathered all my strength, because I was afraid of his reaction. I had an odd feeling, or rather, I felt a strong uneasiness deep inside me. And yet, there I was, in the living room. Fortunately, he didn’t say anything to me, but I heard my mother say to him:

      - Put that rifle down, you’re going to kill someone.

      He, furious and with a strange look on his face, got up and fired two bullets into the wall. He shot right above the crib where my brother was sleeping. My little brother’s cries echoed throughout the room. That small innocent being did nothing wrong. My father, angered by my brother’s crying, got up and shook the crib as strongly as he possibly could. Brother didn’t stop crying, and father didn’t let my mother comfort my brother, not even to try to calm him down. No, he didn’t want that, instead, he picked my brother up and threw him back in the crib. Mother stood up, covered in so much blood that her face was barely visible. A terrifying sight! Terrible images in front of my eyes. Stomach cramp, pain in my soul. I thought my mother was going to die. I don’t even remember how that night passed.

      Father did not want to sleep next to mum. We finally went to our room. He remained sitting in the living room, drinking, smoking cigarettes and listening to loud music. We fell asleep fearfully and with some difficulty. Before I fell asleep, I was afraid he would enter the room and beat us all. Although I was a little girl, I was not afraid for myself, I only wanted to protect my mother from him ever coming close to her...

      A new day dawned... We woke up in the morning and he was still sleeping in the living room. The day passed, night came... and, unfortunately, it all happened again.

      I couldn’t understand why those problems concerning my father always happened after nightfall. Alcohol on the table; he’s drinking, and I sense a disaster of some sorts.

      Uncertainty again. Fear. I started shaking... His unan- nounced guests arrived out of nowhere. I didn’t know them.

      My mother was told that someone from her side of the family was going to war, someone close, I don’t remember well, but I think it was my mother’s brother. She was very sad, but my poor mother wasn’t even allowed to cry. It was too much for my father. He couldn’t stand my mother’s grief. Instead of compassion, he became aggressive. The mother was silent, did not speak, did not utter a word. He would quickly find some reason just to beat us.

      It was very cold outside that night, it was snowing. We all had to be lined up next to each other, as close to him as possible. He hit my mother, but she quickly got up and ran to the hallway. I ran after her, but my brother and sister stayed with him. We knew what awaited us. Another night of beatings, pleas, tears, begging, to no avail.

      Mother and I ran away from home. We tried to find a place where we could spend the night. We knocked on our neighbour’s door... Neighbour S.Z. let us into her house. I lied next to her daughter who was lying on a mattress placed on the floor. It wasn’t long before the doorbell rang. It was the father. He asked the neighbour if she knew where we were, if we were with her.

      The neighbour answered:

      - They’re not here, you’ll have to look for them somewhere else, I’m alone with the kids, my husband isn’t here and I can’t let you in.

      Father believed what he was told. We all fell asleep, filled with fear.

      New day. My mother woke me up:

      - Get up, Sandra, we’re going to your granny’s.

      We were on our way. It was freezing outside. We arrived at my granny’s. As soon as we were able to briefly recount what happened, we heard my father entering granny’s house. In terror, we jumped out of the window and fled into someone else’s garden. There was a tractor in the garden. We hid under the tractor and waited to see what was going to happen. We could hear my father’s voice. Granny called our names and said that my father had calmed down and that he wouldn’t hurt us. We believed granny and went into the house. Father was sitting on the couch, his hand was covered in blood. Mum asked him what happened to his hand, and he replied that he hit our neighbour’s glass door and injured himself. A conversation ensued. He promised not to hurt us, neither me, nor my mother, and begged us to return home with him.

      Of course, once again, mum believed his words. Maybe she didn’t believe my father’s promise, rather, she wanted to go to my brother and sister, because he left them all alone back in our flat.

      The next day mum and dad went somewhere. My sister and I were left alone in the flat with our brother. Father said that they would be back soon, and that we were supposed to keep our house and brother safe and keep the fire burning.

      Having this freedom to ourselves, my sister and I went out on the balcony and called the names of the other children outside. When the children noticed us, we hid ourselves. Our brother was sleeping in the crib. While we were playing like that, we completely forgot the task our father had given us. When I remembered my obligation to keep the fire burning, I went to stoke the fire, terrified of what would happen if he noticed. The fire was out. At that instant I felt chills down my spine, and knew immediately that there would be consequences.

      - O my God, what should I do now? Father’s going to beat me when he comes back.

      I was frightened and shaking, and my sister looked worried. We both cried. Even though we were just little children, the idea came to us to start another fire. I took a lot of paper from a cardboard box used for storing the firewood which was next to the stove. I lit the paper in the stove on fire, and I threw a used match stick in the cardboard box, not noticing that it was not completely burnt. A big flame appeared immediately. We panicked. I was not afraid of the fire but of the consequences that followed for what I had done. I had to find a solution. We took the cardboard box with fire inside of it and dragged it across the hallway, so that we could throw it out onto the balcony. My sister found spare keys on a shelf in the hallway, she quickly unlocked the door of our flat and went to our next-door neighbours for help. The neighbours managed to put out the fire. Traces of ash remained in the hallway, and also, naturally, the smell of smoke.

      After about thirty minutes, father and mother returned home. Neighbour R.V. was with us and tried to explain in the simplest way what had happened, but without much success. Seeing his anger and her own defeat, she stopped explaining, simply said goodbye, turned around and left.

      I knew what was coming. He immediately started yelling at me and my sister and through all that shouting and swearing, he started beating us. He hit me first as hard as he could, he lifted me and threw me on the couch. I bit my tongue and blood ran out of my mouth. He turned and started beating my sister. My sister was weak and skinny, a gentle little girl.

      Our mother