I didn’t cry. It was painful what he did, but I didn’t cry. He said it was okay.
I didn’t cry the second time either. I liked it. He was gentler. He
told me it was our secret, our special thing, and no one should know
about it.
I went to him the third time it happened, it was raining and the
thunders scared me. We did it again, I enjoyed it. We began to do it
more often, and each time I enjoyed it more.
I was twelve that first time, and a happy child, happier than any
other child I knew. I doubt if any other child had so much love. I was
my father’s lover and he was mine. Everything was perfect.
And then, on my twentieth birthday, the unthinkable happened.
My father broke up with me. Just like that. He said it wasn’t
right, what we do, and that we must stop. End of matter. It felt like a
full stop at the end of an epitaph. It was too sudden.
I had no warning, no premonition. The break up was like death. I
had taken the week off from school just to be with the only man in my
life, the best man I ever knew, or so I thought. I thought my birthday
would have ended sensually, like all the others. It was usually the best
birthday present he gave me, a passionate night of love making right
out of a romance novel.
It had been a while. My higher education had taken me away. And I
sorely missed my beloved father. I went home that day with thoughts of
my father obscuring all other thoughts. I arrived late in the evening.
He wasn’t home yet. I made myself as adorable as he liked. It was not
hard. My allure had never needed much artificial furnishings; a touch
here and a touch there, and I would be set to win any beauty contest.
That evening I was at my best.
All my preparations and quivering anticipation was to have ended in bliss, the kind only my father could give me.
Instead, I got the shock of my life. That terrible day, I knew
exactly how the Deer must feel when the hunter’s bullet crashes through
its heart. I learnt how it must feel to be shot out of the sky.
I had hoped he didn’t mean it, that this was just another
punishment, but the way he said it convinced me it was final. I knew my
father; I knew the look on his face. It was the same look he had when he
shot Dragon our Alsatian. This was not like before when he would refuse
to touch me because I misbehaved. My father had never hit me or scolded
me; his punishments were usually more severe and silent. He would
simply refuse to touch me for days on end. Such days were hell for me. I
could barely survive without him. When he was pleased with me, he
really would take his time and give me much pleasure that I never knew
was possible.
I was a very well behaved child; I had all the proper manners for a proper lady. Thanks to my father.
But this was no punishment. This was a cessation. This was my
death. I tried to make him see reason, to convince him that we were to
be forever. I told him of our joys, our laughs and how love couldn’t be
any better. I begged him not to kill his beloved and only child.
The man was like a stone.
It is true what they say. Men are beasts; unfeeling beasts.
How could he end something so wonderful, something so perfect? He
said he still loved me, but I didn’t believe him, I couldn’t believe
that. He couldn’t even look me in the eye when he said it. There must
have been a reason, but I didn’t care for whatever it was. I knew it
wasn’t about right or wrong, there is no love that can be wrong,
especially the kind we had. It was beautiful; we were one, my father and
I. Our love transcended that of a father and his daughter. It was the
stuff of heaven. No, His reason wasn’t religious, not at all, my father
wasn’t that sentimental. I was his sole religion, he worshiped me.
There was no one else either, I knew that much. My mother died
while birthing me. Ever since, I had been my father’s heartbeat. And he
was my breath. I never missed my mother. I never knew her, never would
meet her. I would, perhaps, have liked to know her, but somehow I thank
God she wasn’t with us. It would have been awkward. I don’t think I
could have shared my father with any one.
My father gave no reason for killing me. He couldn’t explain why we
could no longer have what we had. There was nothing I didn’t think,
there was no thought I didn’t wish to explain his decision by.
Something, perhaps, must have happened to his hormones. I couldn’t
believe this was my perfect father. I couldn’t believe my day could ever
become so dark.
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