Hush, Little Baby

"Don't you hit your sister," Mother yelled at Joseph as she smacked his hands.

The blow made Joseph lose hold of the baby. She fell onto the floor.

"Now you've made your sister cry," Mother told Joseph, but the baby made no sound.

Joseph looked down at his stinging, red hands. But he would not cry. It was her fault, but Mother always blamed him. She was the one. She was always the one and Mother never punished her. It wasn't fair.

Mother took the baby into the corner where the rocking chair sat. Ignoring Joseph entirely, she began to sing as she rocked, crooning little songs about comfort and sleep.

She never sand those songs to him, but the baby heard them all the time. She never rocked him in the chair. Only the baby. Always the baby.

"I hate you," Joseph told his mother. "I hate the baby, too," he continued defiantly.

Mother put the baby down and stopped rocking long enough to come over to where Joseph sat on the uncarpeted floor. She looked down at him in her blue flowered housecoat, the same one she had worn yesterday and the day before. Her eyes were red as Joseph's hands, crying tears for the baby. She never cried for him.

"You don't hate me," she told him. "You don't hate the baby."

"I do," said Joseph. "I hate you both and I'll hate you forever."

Mother hit him again and went back to the rocking chair.

Joseph was satisfied. He did hate her. He did hate the baby. And one day, when he grew up, he would kill them both. The thought made him happy.

"I'm going to kill you when I grow up," he told his mother.

She ignored him and continued rocking the baby. "Hush little baby, don't say a word," she sang.

"I'm going to kill you and the baby," Joseph said again.

Mother put the baby down again and rose form the rocking chair.

"You don't want me to come over there and hit you again," she warned him. "You don't want me to."

"I do want you to," Joseph insisted. "I want you to hit me. I'm going to kill you and the baby when I grow up."

Mother cam eover and hit Joseph on the side of the mouth. There was already a bruise forming there from that morning. And another bruise from the day before on the other side of his mouth.

Mother returned to the baby.

Joseph put up his hand to touch the blood as it trickled down his face. "When I kill you," he told his mother. "You are going to bleed, too."

She ignored him.

"When I kill you both, the baby is going to bleed, too," he taunted.

Mother came over and picked him up by his feet. She turned him upside down and pounded him into the floor. Then she returned to the baby.

"Frere Jacques," she sang.

"I love you," Joseph said, when he could speak again. "I love you and I love the baby."

"I know," said Mother, keeping a tight hand on the baby.

"I would never hurt either of you," he promised.

"I know," said Mother. "Now come play nice with your little sister."

And Joseph went over to the rocking chair and picked up the doll his mother had pretended was his little sister for as long as he could remember.

"I love you, Angela," he told the doll.

But the doll did not say anything back.

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