I pleaded her forgiveness and promised henceforth I would be a good son she would be proud of. I was not sure she believed me although she did not flog me further. I had betrayed some confidence she had on me and now it was so slim and hard for her to believe me. Mother had warned me time and times not to move about with cliques of bad friends who could put me into trouble one day. I would have to face the punishment and they would go free. Even though the boys had questionable conduct we had grown as cliques of intimate friends since our childhood and so it was difficult to tear away from them completely. Her prophecy about keeping bad friends proved true. I should have known these things but I lacked a father’s discipline.
That early morning Mother cried openly, for the first time after her sickness, and came back the second time to beat me with her hands. I respected her because of my guilt and allowed her the second time to beat me all up. I was conscious not to believe that she had descended to my own emotional level in her effort to rule me which as my mother she was entitled to. I slept that remaining with tears in my eyes. I did not forgive Mother freely and did not forgive myself. My younger ones were deeply sorry too and said so openly. They pleaded with Mother not to beat me the third time and cried when she did. Their love for me helped ease the pain and made it easier for me to sleep. When Mother left us, they all held me firmly and cried with an emotion I did deeply understand. I too cried and we held ourselves and went back to bed.
That morning, I did not wake up so early. Mother had woken up and prepared our breakfast for she had prepared to go to the market that morning. She called us and instructed us to wash our faces and rinse our mouth. We ate together and while Mother was talking with my juniors, I did not join; neither did I raise my eyes, so that no eye contact would take place. If it does, I would end up letting out tears. She was worried about me and looked into my eyes but did not know what to ask me. I was sure she understood why I was in that mood and so she could not find anything to start with. She stopped eating earlier than all of us. My conscience pricked and judged me. I was the reason. I felt sorry I had caused Mother many problems and pain. But my mind, which was still immature, would not accept my folly.
Before she went out, she called me privately in her room and was full of regret for beating me so hard. I was her son, she must have reasoned and not her rival. So she placed her hands across my body to her shoulder and looked into my eyes.
‘Ikem,’ she called.
She could not say anything further. Her lips moved silently as she sought to find words to place me in a position of guilt.
‘Ikem, you know everything in this house. None of them is hidden from your very eyes. We are only struggling to survive. Things are very hard for us. I warned you over the boys you have chosen as friends. They are not good breeds. They are not for you. See how they lied against you and deserted you when they put you into trouble. You have made me spend everything in this house. These children are bad and will corrupt you. See how pale and bad you look since you started moving about with them. How do we raise money for the family’s need?’ She asked rhetorically.
The family rule I have broken was too visible to hide but I pleaded that she forgive me for the last time but she kept looking at me while I beg and looked on the ground to avoid her eyes. I was younger. It would be disrespectful to kill her eyes with mine.
Mother was really a nice woman, very loving, hardworking and compassionate. She felt contrite even depressed for having beaten me and for the last time that moment she flashed her smile at me and we made up for our quarrel.
I was back to human and the son she wanted me to be.
She openly commended me for my changes, discussed me among her fellow women, charged those within my age brackets to look up to me. I was pleased and made promises to her that I would ever make her proud.