Cara's Lion
Children in the neighbourhood have been sighting a lion in the forest behind their suburban street. The adults have found the game amusing, if not slightly frustrating as the magic of Christmas has the children persuaded of the reality of such magic.
Cara ran her fingers through her curls, untangling thick knots as best as she could without a comb. The bruises down her thin arms were yellow with age. They would be healed soon. The cuts under her feet and over her back would take a little longer, but they felt hard now. Her old school shirt hadn’t seen fresh blood for days. While her father was outside, she was free to sit with her closet door open. There her dirty mirror hung and she hid all her treasures she'd collected or created. She smiled as she placed a delicate finger on the torn picture of a baby in a manger. A childish joy bubbled through her chest. Each reminder of hope felt good. She straightened the pine cone angels on the broken shelf.
A hand reached in front of her, tearing the tattered image from the closet door. Cara's father loomed over her, examining the baby picture.
“Stupid girl,” he grumbled. Cara flinched. The picture was crumpled and tossed aside. He stepped forward. “Eleven years old and you still believe your mother’s fairytales.”
“They’re true,” she squeaked, cowering into the closet. He picked her up and shoved her shoulders into the closet door. Her angels fell at her feet, watching as his fists came down. She raised her arms over her face, shielding the green eyes she inherited from her mother.
“Stop it!” she screamed. His fists continued.
“What good was a dead baby for your mother? Or fake tits with wings? You're stupid. And weak.”
Explicit curses streamed through the air. She flailed her arms, but couldn’t stop the assault. It hurt so much she couldn't tell where she was injured. The sound of wood splintering filled her hearing. She fell, unsupported by the closet door any longer.
"How dare you try and hide things, scheming behind my back. Just like your mother."
Her attention was snatched away from the flow of dirty names as the closet hit her across the ribs. Her legs crumpled. Her vision blurred, but she saw her father's figure storm away. She heard glass smashing and a lion’s distant roar. Darkness overwhelmed her.
Night settled before Cara woke and found her lamp shattered. She stretched across to her stained mattress, despite screaming muscles, hoping to avoid the slicing pain from glass shards on the floor. He worked a night shift before his happy hour and she needed help before he came home. It took time to hobble into the forest behind their house. How long was hard to measure, as the screams of pain shooting through her body made it impossible to track time. She could barely see. Her entire face throbbed. The pain in her ribs was greater than she'd ever felt after previous beatings. This is what the doctor meant by a ‘ten’ when he asked how bad the pain felt last time. This is what Mama had taken for her so many times before.
Daddy, why did you take Mama? Why am I back here? Mama helped me escape you and this place.
Mama had told her about the baby after they escaped. It had given Cara hope, even when she heard that the baby had grown-up and died. The picture of the baby was the one thing she had managed to smuggle in her underwear when her father's friends had come to take her. Her father burned Mama’s holy book.
Now Cara placed a hand over her throbbing ribs and held her breath, listening. The wind whispered among the pine trees. Coloured lights flickered. Cara limped closer to the neighbour's house and rested against a tree. With each breath, her ribs burned. The decorations illuminated her in flashes of white, red and blue, disguising the colours emerging from her own skin. Slowly, inch by inch, she allowed herself to slip down the tree, knees bent, until she lay amongst the pine needles.
Daddy, why do they get coloured lights and I'm not allowed pine cone angels? I can't even walk far enough to get help.
Cheery tunes floated out a window nearby, singing words of joy and peace. Tears squeezed between her puffy eyelids, completely blurring the little vision she had. A picture of a baby wasn't enough anymore.
Pine needles crunched. She closed her eyes, waiting, unable to see and unwilling to turn towards the noise. Something large crept over her. Fur brushed lightly against her bare leg. Something wet touched her cheek bringing cool relief rather than the expected sear of pain. A lion's roar bellowed directly above her. The surprise caused her to jerk painfully. She screamed. Every muscle flared in response. Throwing her hands over her mouth, she tried to contain the whimpering she could feel rising in her throat. She had seen the lion from a distance before. Its majesty had always filled her with peace.
Again, the roar filled the night. Her heart raced, just as it did when her father beat her. Then she heard the voices.
“Kenya! Stop!” It sounded like a Russian man.
“Papa! I heard the lion over here.” It was a little boy. His Russian accent was weak.
“There is no lion. There is danger where that girl screams. Come back right now.”
The fur against Cara's leg moved away. She sobbed, “Please! I'm over here. Please come.”
The footsteps stopped nearby. Her tears cleared enough for her to peek at them. The man slowly approached her, his eyes darting over her and through the trees. “Der’mo. Are you okay? Are you alone?”
“Papa, look. I told you the lion was here.” The little boy looked to be about four. He pointed behind Cara. She slowly turned and inhaled sharply. The lion lay five steps from her with its head on its paws and eyes focused on her. It lifted its head as she made eye contact.
“Don't be silly, Kenya. We can see the girl now. Leave your lion game for another night.”
Cara whispered, “There is a lion there. Can't you see it?”
The man stretched a smile across his face, despite his serious eyes. "This doesn't look like a fight with a lion. What happened?”
Tears blurred her vision again. “My father found my baby and pine cone angels.”
“Your baby?” His eyes widened.
“A picture.”
His fists curled and uncurled repeatedly while he stared at her. She nervously glanced to the little boy, who still stared with wonder at the lion. After a few more breaths, the man knelt beside her and lowered his voice to a gentle lull. “Will you come with me and talk to the police? You can stay with us tomorrow and we will do what we can for you after that.”
She attempted a smile, but her skin felt like it was tearing.
“Tomorrow's the baby's birthday. I would like that.” She hesitated. The police could take her two other places - the hospital or home. “You won’t let them take me back?”
“Never.” He offered his hands. She screeched as he pulled her up. He placed an arm around her and turned to his son. “Kenya, run home and tell your mother to call the police.”
“But Papa, what about the lion?”
“Remember how Santa is a fun story? So is the lion. This girl is really hurting. Now go tell your mother.”
The boy's hurried footsteps disappeared into the night. The man lifted Cara's legs and carried her across the uneven ground. Each jolted step felt like she was back in the closet. The man chatted about his family and their holiday plans for the next day. Her heart had calmed by the time he pointed to his house. More lights flashed out the front, but these were lights Cara was more familiar with - those on top of a black and white car. The back door was open and she could see the uniforms waiting for her.
Before moving inside, she cast one more glance over her shoulder. The lion stood among the trees. Peace enveloped her. Tomorrow, she would think about the lion, not a baby. Tonight, she would tell the police about her father. Without fear. Honestly.
