Franklyn - Episode 1

 

Benny and I planned to kill our father. We were going to use a knife when he was asleep, snoring. We were going to press the knife deep into his gut then twist it, the way we'd seen people do in the movies. I was to use the knife, while my brother sat on our father's legs to prevent him from wriggling. Even though I was ten, a year older than Benny, I wasn't scared, even a tad. 

But Benny was scared . It was evident in his incessant blinking, his sudden stammering, and gibberish talk. Yet he agreed. We didn't see eye to eye on a lot of things. Things like what channel to watch when our parents weren't in the parlour and who was to have the front seat when just a parent was driving. But we agreed on killing Father. We were doing it for Mother. 

Mother was in the hospital. That morning, she and father had had an altercation which provoked father to throwing careless blows that contorted her face. He'd rushed her to the hospital, frantically telling the neighbours she'd tripped over a banana peel and fallen on her face.

Benny had her premolar. He'd picked it up and put it in his pocket when father struck it out with an upper cut. He showed me later, after father had returned from the hospital and mopped the crimson-stained terrazzo floor. After he'd made us toast bread and tea, and begged us not to divulge the morning's happenings to anyone

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. It's a secret we all have to keep. When you grow up and get married, you'll understand. I'll take you to see her later in the day. No school for you guys today. He rubbed his palms together as he pleaded. In his eyes I could see gleaming guilt flickering like fireworks. 

Mother's premolar was jagged, scary-looking with faint touches of red. We took it to the bathroom and rinsed it in the sink, careful to avoid it going down the drain, after which Benny slid it back in his pocket. I feared it would get entangled to the frayed hem of his pocket or escape through a hole like our recess money had last week. But I said nothing.

Father drove us to the hospital. We were silent throughout the journey, dressed in shirts and jeans the way we dressed for summer school. Father kept peeking at us through the rear-view mirror. He ducked all the curses drivers hurled at him. 

He took us to mother's ward. There were four beds. Three were empty. One had mother in it. She was curled into C like a snake, facing the wall, her back to us.
Sweetheart, Father called, his voice coaxing. 
I almost reeled back when she turned, slowly seating upright. Her eyes were bloodshot, the edges black, her hair awry, her jaw swollen, her lips stitched. She seemed like a mad woman, one on the prowl, ready to devour us all. 

Mummy! Benny called, Mummy look at your teeth, it's in my pocket.
Father pulled him back as he sent his hands into his pocket. Mother's eyes gleamed, she was expectant. Then abruptly she broke into tears. Father sat down and held her, Sorry, he whispered, fondling her hair. 

She settled into his arms. Come, Franklyn.' She was talking to me, holding out an arm. Benny was already next to her. They looked like a team celebrating victory. It all felt wrong, Mother wasn't supposed to succumb to Father's plea. It was typical of him, his volatility, then he'd come begging looking pitiable like a puppy.

 Come, Franky baby. Mother cajoled me. I joined the team celebration, even as my moniker sounded belittling. I did it for her, to make her happy. But I was still going to kill my father. For her. I was going to prevent her from future pain.
              
   Three Days Later

Benny disagreed. He said our parents were now friends. Mother's wounds had begun to heal. He said there was no need to kill Father. He'd discarded mother's premolar, at Father's request. He was so credulous, so naive.
But he'll still hit her again. I tried to convince him, chidingly. But Benny would have none of that. He'd been to church yesterday, and instead of sleeping through the session as I did, kept yelling Amen as the Pastor bellowed, thou shall not kill, thou shall not steal...honour your father and your mother.

So I decided to do it on my own. I wasn't going to kill him in his room, because he now shared it with mother. I was going to kill him in the parlour when he fell asleep watching Wrestle mania. I was going to use a pillow, the way an angry wife had killed her husband in a movie Id recently seen. The man had cheated on his wife with the help, and the wife had found out and killed him, pressing the pillow against his face until he stopped breathing.

Like the wife in the movie, I pretended to be friends with Father. I greeted him with enthusiasm, I hugged him when he returned from work. I was so good in my act that Benny got confused. Aren't you killing him again? I shook my head. Little did he knew how far I'd gone in my preparation. He was so naive. He didn't know I'd exchanged our pillows. Mine was too soft to kill, too supple. I'd taken mine to the top of the bunk bed and brought his down. I'd been practicing tiptoeing, stealth movement, rolling on my belly like a cobra. I also had plan b strangulation. If the pillow didn't kill him, my hands would. I'd been cracking my knuckles. I was ready. All I had to do was wait for the perfect time.

The perfect time arrived. Father was lounged on the sofa watching the 9 o'clock news. On screen was footage of a village destroyed by herdsmen on the plateau. Mother was with him, her head resting on his shoulder. They looked drowsy. They'd both had long days at work. Father was a banker, mother a trader. They'd soon fall asleep, I was sure. Then I would attack. I was ready. I kept up my pretence. I sat at Father's feet, pretending to watch the news, waiting to hear him snore. Mother kissed him goodnight, she rubbed my head and left. I knew Father would soon begin snoring, I leapt up, making for my room to get the pillow. 
Goodnight, Franky.
Good night, Dad.
 I smirked. He didn't know I was coming back to murder him.