Dealing Flesh (2 page)

My heart pounds heavily as I courageously knock on the white-wooden bedroom door.

“Paps?” I say in my chirpy childish voice.

Total silence emanates from the other side.

“Ahh, forget it,” says Vicki, gently pulling me away by the arm.

“I guess, I’ll have to tinkle into the kitchen sink then.”

At this moment, the door swings open and
Papa’s
sleepy face turns up.

“What’s up, gals?” he says with a warm smile.

“I have to potty.”

Before he can reply, my eyes wander around the room.

Ragelina:
Oh, no. There she is—his whore.

In front of the sink stands Gisela, butt-naked, washing her genitals while uttering a few words I cannot decipher. A wave of disgust sweeps over me.

Ragelina:
So that is the woman who is responsible for the loss of my happiness? Mhmm.

Whip Cracker:
You failed as a daughter, you awful, awful child you. To deserve a man like your father, you better be slim, have long flowing hair, and be financially well-off.

Months pass. Wedding bells ring for
Papa
and Gisela. Oh, holy glory. Now that the two live together in her posh home located in a quiet cul-de-sac on the far south side of town, I get to spend a couple of weekends at his new domicile. It does not take me long to figure out that I am a
Dorn
in Gisela’s eye, but the feeling is mutual. After nearly two more encounters with the invader, Dad’s efforts to connect with me tapers off.

Doubt Cloud:
I am intrinsically flawed. I know it.

Brokenhearted, I let Gisela whisk
Papa
away eternally.

This afternoon, when the word “
Papa
” slips from my lips, Mother exclaims in an upset tone of voice, “He is no father. Why don’t you stop calling him that? A sperm donor, that is all he is and nothing more. A real father would never do what he did to you!” I admit,
Papa’s
behavior wounded me deeply, but I have a hard time incorporating Mother’s suggested terminology. So, I don’t.

~~~

It’s a crisp, blue-sky summery morning. I fervently parade around the asphalt front yard of the red brick elementary school building, wearing a shy grin on my face, while holding a huge cone-shaped goody bag in front of my body. The conehead-shaped container that stands about a
meter
tall is a customary present that parents give their children on the day they enter first grade. Mine runs over with
Schlickersachen
. Much to my liking, I admit.

I giddily explore my surroundings, but upon seeing a few fathers march in to accompany their daughters, the look on my face turns to rain. I so wish
Papa
was here. But he’s too busy making babies with Gisela. At least, that’s the impression I got from hearing Mother talk. Gulp.

~~~

Fast forward to a year from now—Mother informs me that Dad has become the proud father of a son.

Enviola:
It’s the ultimate betrayal. Now I will, for sure, never matter again.

Blushetta’s Curse

The mere sight of Mrs. Huber, the fifty-something-year-old, long-nosed elementary school principal who wears her braided white hair rolled up in a bun, invokes sheer panic in me, especially when she looks at me with her stinging gray eyes. Each time she lectures, I hear only a wee bit of what she is trying to convey because I’m consumed with anticipating her every move. I mean, honestly, who’d be foolish enough to risk falling victim to any one of her notoriously unjust disciplinary actions, by needlessly shining the light on oneself?

This morning, I sit erect like a statue, quiet like a mouse in my chair, following her agitated silhouette demeanor, wishing and hoping that I won’t be the one the cobra strikes out at today. I watch Heinrich, the fellow in front of me, form grimaces behind the principal’s back. Can’t help but burst out laughing; no, timidly giggling. Before I know it, Mrs. Huber, whose expression now reminds me of a slightly irate canine, stomps my way and stops right next to my desk.

Scaredy Cat:
Don’t breathe.

“Stand up and hold your hands out,” she sternly demands. Reluctantly, I follow the order. At once, the ruler swishes down on my fingers. I flinch, feel the water build up around the rims of my lower eyelids, but I put forth every effort to keep actual tears from rolling.

Tough Gal:
Don’t give her that gratification.

Scaredy Cat:
I won’t. Sure hope though, there isn’t going to be much more of this.

I feel the sharp pain of the ruler hailing down on my hands a second time. Mrs. Huber turns away from me and waddles back to her podium.

It is around this time in first grade that I see more of Blushetta, the part inside me that turns redder than a rooster’s comb when all eyes are on me, like when the teacher calls on me, for instance.

Blushetta:
They know so much, and I know nothing. I am nothing. I hate that
they have some sort of power over me.

I don’t remember when blushing first ambushed me. It likely started before I entered school. Regardless, I cannot shake the suspicion that Blushetta is here to stay, that there is nothing I can do to keep her at bay unless a miracle happens.

Scaredy Cat:
Maybe it’s just some
stupid phase that will vanish as you get older.

I hope so. From now on, I will study the faces of people much closer, eager to find the smallest bit of evidence of Blushetta in them. I barely come across anyone, but the times that I do, I rejoice.

Blushetta:
That’s nice, but I know they don’t have it as bad as I do. No way.

Enviola:
I wonder what makes the majority of folks so lucky to being spared this pestering fluke.

Doubt Cloud:
It’s so fucking unfair.

To outsmart this nuisance, I discover that if I can pose a question to a person before they can, then I can keep Blushetta under wraps.

Blushetta:
It’s a start, but it only scratches the surface of my predicament. You must find a reliable antidote with lasting effect.

Scaredy Cat:
You have to. I can’t fathom having to walk on eggshells for the rest of my life trying to outsmart this hideous dilemma.

Doubt Cloud:
It’s like wearing a “Come disrespect me because I have no self-esteem” label on my forehead.

In nature though, all my timidity vanishes. Being an avid climber, I can conquer tall trees. My favorite is the birch tree that reigns over the playground of the Middle School. My friend Susie and I creep up the strong branches this afternoon. Much to our surprise, we find an inviting, human-sized nest that must have been built by previous tree enthusiasts. It is constructed and secured in one of the branch forks, held together by several layers of sturdy twig bunches that are topped with leaves.

Pretender Babe:
Awww. I’m just gonna close my eyes and pretend I am with Tarzan in the jungle.

Pristina:
I would love to spend the night up here.

~~~

This afternoon, a few neighborhood kids and I light a campfire near the shrubs of the public playground. We roast marshmallows and potatoes on sticks. Someone suggests playing “Indians hunting for squaws” where the boys entrap the girls and ultimately, tie their catch to a tree.

I purposely make it easy for my favorite, Frank, to capture me. Now that he’s got me, he fastens the rope tightly around my wrists and binds me to the nearest trunk. This bondage game tickles me and even makes me forget all about Blushetta.

The Newbie

Somewhere around age seven, Mother introduces us to Otto, a tall slender man who is four years her junior. Unlike the bushy, curly head of hair that Dad carries, Otto’s dirty blond tresses hang straight down almost to his chin. He wears
Beatles
-style clothes, and his reddish mustache outlines his lips like a pointy-edged horseshoe.

Within a few months, the two marry. I feel hollow, like my inner light has permanently turned off ever since that dreadful day that Dad bailed on us.

Pristina:
What concerns me is—why do people have to start new lives with other people?

~~~

Early 1970’s

Nearly a year has gone by since Otto entered our lives. He attains his engineering degree and with the hike in income, we immediately set course for a rustic farm in the relaxing backcountry of the Austrian Alps. Having calves tickle the top of my hand with their scratchy tongues, and grunting pigs nudge my fingers with their cute slimy round noses as I feed them potato peels, brings instant brightness to my grieving presence. Vicki and I spend some time amongst the tethered black-and-white mottled cows taking turns squirting milk into each other’s mouths straight from their udders.

On the
Feldweg,
Sis and I encounter a snake. Petrified of its potential for being poisonous, one of us—I forget who—throws a brick on top of the serpent. Freaked out by the blood that splatters us, we escape the scene with shrill screams. Dust laden, speckled with red dots on various body parts and clothing, and clouded in animal scent, we schlep through the dimly lit corridor of the farmhouse, up the stairs to the room that we share with the “adults”.

“Supper will be served in roughly forty minutes. But…
Pfui Teufel…
look at you. You both need to wash up before we eat,” Mother yells out.

With Otto in need of a shower as well, the “adults” decide that for the sake of saving time, the three of us better share the basement stall, which barely measures two and a half square feet.

I step inside the basin first, wearing a one-piece bathing suit that I am determined to leave on. Only inches separate me from Otto who towers in front of me. With barely enough room to move, I feel forced to look his way. My eyes catch glimpses of him joyfully lathering away at his private part. I feel horribly uncomfortable, especially now that I notice his thing increasing in size.

“I know, it’s big,” he brags, wagging his erect penis my way.

I giggle, but in all earnestness, I wish for the ability to dissolve into thin air. As fast as humanly possible, I wash off any residue of soap on me and escape the enclosure.

Now that we are gathered around the dining room table, no one mentions a word about the incident. Hence, I file it away in the chest of
Forever Buried Secrets
.

~~~

Amsterdam, Netherlands – 8 Years Old

Three weeks have passed since we returned from the farm. This morning, we leave for a weekend trip to the land of the Dutch. An uncomfortable yet exciting feeling washes over me as I walk beside Mother, Bruno and Vicki down the famous
Canal Street
on this gloomy gray sky day.

With each step, I feel like I should be watching my back because, according to the “adults”, this area is famous for drug dealing and other questionable behavior. I think that it is best not to let my guard down. Who knows what could transpire at any given moment? Sure enough, while I am brooding over this and more, a couple of strange-looking men approach us. I hear them say something to the “adults,” but can’t make out what. The fellows’ dark secretive demeanors frighten me. As quickly as they arrived, they now take off running, fully disappearing from my sight. Otto reveals that they tried to sell us hashish, something quite common to this vicinity.

Around the next corner, I spot an inviting red-and-white building. The “adults” set course for it, and Vic and I follow closely. Upon entering, I see them light up like little children in a candy store. “Don’t go anywhere. We’ll be right back,” Mother hollers while hanging onto Otto’s hand as he pulls her along. They both vanish in the far back end of the room. I look at Sis in bewilderment. Next thing I know, Vicki takes off to the other side of the store, and I, although still uncomfortable, explore some of the items displayed on the shelves in front of me. Something tells me I’ve seen similar gadgets and garments inside one of those glossy catalogs at our house…maybe even inside the “adult’s” bedroom.

Five minutes pass. Sis and I reunite. We look at a few of the magazines and gizmos together, giggling here and there when picking up one that appears overly-bizarre, like the two silver balls that each hang on a string for instance or the band of cheap looking pearls that, as far as I understand, isn’t intended to be worn around one’s neck.

Now that fifteen minutes have passed, I see Mother and Otto head our way from the back end of the room. They show up in front of my face within seconds, instantaneously herding Vic and I outside where we continue the sightseeing. At one part of the road, several buildings with big showcase windows catch my eyes. Behind the glass, I make out alluring women lolling around in skimpy outfits. I can sense my pulse beat faster. Otto enthusiastically photographs some of the ladies from about twenty feet away. The word
Nutten
drops from his mouth.

Utterly fascinated, I watch the prostitutes’ every move.

Blushetta:
They look like rock stars
.

Affirmative.

~~~

Costa Del Sol, Spain – 1971

Vacation falls upon us again. This time we set course for Calpe, a lively coastal town in the south of Spain with a dry, hot climate. Excitement escalates as we pass underneath the brown hacienda-style gate that says, “Welcome to the Campground” on the upper beam.

Thanks to family team efforts, our tent is set up in no time. Once everything’s put into place, we hurry down to the water to get a good look at the humongous glistening waves of the Mediterranean Sea. I drop onto the towel in my tri-color striped bikini and take in a few strong gulps of the invigorating ocean air. Vicki, who’s nearly eight now, snaps off her top and flops down right next to me on the quilt.

Miss Vanity:
Whew.
Not I. I am skinny as a rail.

Blushetta:
And who needs it? It’s only going to increase the chances of being ridiculed by Otto.

Scaredy Cat:
Yeah. I don’t need him to comment on my feminine development or the lack thereof.

Miss Vanity:
Besides, I got enough to deal with having to hide my smile after the “adults” and Vicki accused me of having Bugs Bunny teeth not long ago, suggesting I refrain from showing them altogether because they aren’t a pretty sight to see.