The Monster's Daughter by Michelle Pretorius Page A

him,
Matrone
.”
    â€œThat’s how. I asked why.”
    He got it wrong. A lump bulged in his throat. “F-for my s-s-s …” He closed his eyes anticipating the blow. “S-sins.”
    â€œStop that.”
Matrone
Jansen tapped her heel. “What can you do to be free from sin?”
    â€œI have to b-b-beg f-for f-f-forgiveness. I have to f-f-ollow the rules.”
    â€œCommandments.”
    Benjamin nodded. He didn’t want to talk anymore.
Matrone
Jansen put her hand on Benjamin’s head, her long fingers squeezing his skull. “Beg, then, Benjamin. Beg for forgiveness, so that when His fiery wrath comes, you may be saved.”
    And he did, panicked thoughts jaggedly confessing things the minister said were bad, words he didn’t know the meaning of, a liturgy of wrong, professing a legacy bestowed on him, the son of a man, birthed from the loins of a woman, the offal of the world, the product of lust and greed. When he couldn’t think of anything anymore,
Matrone
Jansen would make her voice soft and say, “He is the servant of God, to execute his wrath on the wrongdoer. Amen.” And then it was over and Benjamin was glad.
    â€œYou must never tell what we do here, Bennie.”
Matrone
Jansen smiled, the skin on her face pushing into deep grooves, like there wasn’t enough room for it.
    He always promised, because then
Matrone
Jansen would give him fudge and call him a good boy.
Matrone
Jansen made the fudge at her home. Benjamin once asked what her house looked like, if the walls were glossy yellow too and if she had a family that had kept her.
Matrone
Jansen had laughed. She told him that she lived alone and that her parents were dead. She was an orphan, like him.
    The Sunday night that everything changed, a white flash woke Benjamin. He couldn’t see Pieter anywhere. Only a single kerosene lamp stood on the shift table, bathing everything around it in a soft light circle. Outside the sky raged, making breathing sounds, growling like the caretaker’s dog when he saw black people. An invisible giant stomped on the trees, setting the sky on fire. It was the wrath of God, like
Matrone
Jansen had said. Benjamin panicked. What if God was there to take him? Something banged against the window above Benjamin’s head, over and over again. God was knocking, demanding to be let in.
    There was another flash of lightning. Rain scraped on the glass likeLucifer’s talons on the souls of sinners. The room stirred, the sounds of the others drowned by the voice of God. Small bodies on blue mattresses squirmed, their movement growing like a sea-wave. Next to Benjamin, Jo-jo thrashed wildly. His tongue protruded from a slack mouth, saliva dripping onto his blanket. They would all go to Heaven, Jo-jo and the others, because they weren’t twelve yet, that’s what the
Dominees
had said. But Benjamin was different and nobody could fool God. Something banged outside. Jo-jo screamed, his body tightening into a ball. This set the others off.
    Benjamin crawled over to Jo-jo, his mouth dry, his skin hot and clammy. “Stop. Quiet, Jo-jo. God’s going to find us.”
    Jo-jo’s arms wriggled wild. Benjamin put his hand on Jo-jo’s head, trying to stop it from moving. The boy squirmed, kicking, rolling away from Benjamin, falling off the mattress onto the floor. A barrage of gut-wrenching shrieks followed. Benjamin put his hand over Jo-jo’s mouth, but it was too late. The sky exploded, lighting the distorted faces around him. Benjamin’s breath stuck in his throat, refusing to let go. He had to get away. He had to get to the light, like
Matrone
Jansen always said. The light would save them all. He crawled to the shift table, his hands leaving wet prints on the red tiles. His stomach retched, his dinner spilling onto the floor, a sickly yellow of squash and fudge that burned his throat. Pieter didn’t like cleaning throw-up. He