The Angry Man
“I’d never before seen anything that gave, all at once, so many signals of anger and the wish to destroy.” – Kazoo Ishiguro, Klara and the Sun (2021)
Our neighbourhood is the quietest street in our community, whether during the day or night. Weekend parties are rare so most of the noises are coming from mowing of the lawn and children playing street hockey. Not a lot of screaming and shouting, except in this particular house. But nobody seems to hear or notice the explosive emotion of the angry man – the father of two adolescent girls. Hatred is his currency. Power and control feed off his weak personality and insecurities. The locked windows and closed doors have stifled the loud noise that could have warned the neighbours of his Jekyll-and-Hyde personality. He seems normal when he is outside the house, tending his small patch of garden in his backyard, or cleaning his car, or barbecuing, or shovelling the snow. It’s his ordinariness that makes him invisible just like any average guy. How can he be stopped?
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The Wilsons moved into this neighbourhood seventeen years ago as one of the first home buyers in this newly-developed community in the suburb of Mississauga. Ron and Rita just got married and with the considerable amount of money they were gifted in their wedding, they were able to afford the down payment for a new house immediately. Like all newly-weds, their early years of marriage were blissful. Their romance, though not spectacularly over the moon, was good enough to satisfy each other’s sexual fantasy. They were friendly to their neighbours, especially those near their house. They also participated, in a very small way, in any community events and gatherings. They were not flashy and so did not leave a mark that much.
Both worked in Toronto’s financial district: Rita as a bank teller and Ron as a credit manager of an investment firm. They were early risers in order to catch the GO train for their daily commute to work. They lunched together and took the 5:30pm schedule for home, except when Ron worked overtime. Their weekends were basically to sleep in and do household chores. Once in a while, they spent time walking in the park and ate out in a restaurant after. Again, their life’s routine was nothing out of the ordinary.
In five and seven years, their daughters were born, respectively. Rita had to quit work to take care of them. The pressure as sole provider was pressing hard in Ron’s shoulder. Added to that was the stress to perform well at work, especially when there was an economic downturn. Investment firms are famous in firing their employees when profits are down because executives still want to receive their bonuses. Ron was always at the forefront in making decisions who to fire. It troubled him a lot but he had no choice. He needed his job more than ever and would do anything to keep it. Ron started to drink to calm his nerves. Soon after, Ron became irritable and angry all the time.
His angry mood started by the time he climbed out of bed from a restless sleep. Not even the soothing flow of the shower could cool him down. He demanded from Rita to have his breakfast ready immediately when he’s fully dressed and out of the bedroom. He didn’t want to be rushing out to catch his train, so any slight delay in his time schedule would ignite his bad temper. His expectation for dinner to be ready when he arrived home was nothing less. And because he already had a drink or two of straight-up whiskey by the time he got home, Rita would still get the verbal abuses she did not deserve.
Rita bore it all for the sake of her young daughters. When she took them out for a leisurely walk around, she had a ready, beguiling smile to anybody they met. She greeted them as well with simple hello or good day. She knew how to keep a secret, including their immediate families from both sides. Nobody knew.
The verbal abuses were not enough. Ron started slapping Rita for any remarks coming from her which he interpreted to be undermining his authority.
“Why are you turning to be violent? Are you not afraid to appear diminished in the eyes of your daughters?”
“Not when they don’t know. And I warn you not to tell them about it. Besides, you’re being overly dramatic. It was just a light blow and you’re crying foul all the way to Nunavut. Don’t be so darn smart aleck and I will refrain from hitting you.”
“But I’m your wife! Don’t I get the respect I deserve?”
“Not you, too! You’re not my boss and I don’t want to hear any back talk in my own house.”
It was just one slap at first, then two, until they left marks in Rita’s face that needed to clear up in a week or so. Again, Rita kept quiet for she knew exposing Ron’s violent temper would make it worse for her, and perhaps would extend to her daughters like the splinters of a bomb explosion. She would rather sacrifice herself and wall up the incidents. Her daughters must be protected at all costs. She would explain to them that the bruises were caused by her clumsiness. And to relatives, she would invent lots of excuses like this conversation with her dad:
“Rita, why can’t we visit you and the kids? Is there something wrong?”
“Nothing, dad. We’re just too busy. I’m afraid we won’t be a good host. You’ll just be wasting your time and money. Go travel instead and you’ll have a better time.”
“But we want to see the kids. We miss them so much.”
“Let’s do FaceTime instead.”
So nobody knew until the beatings were more frequent. Rita was forced to call the police; otherwise, she would become another statistic of domestic homicide. Ron was given a citation as a first time offender. Words spread out and their neighbours now looked at them in a different way – empathy for Rita and lots of hatred for Ron. Their immediate relatives were very much concerned and wanted as much as they could to help out with some kind of a peaceful resolution. But nothing they could do mattered without Ron’s co-operation.
“I have become a monster in the eyes of everybody. I’ve never felt so humiliated in my life! All I did was to work hard and provide you and the kids a comfortable life. Now I’m ruined.”
“I don’t mean to do it but you’re killing me, Ron.”
“How could I kill you when you’re the mother of my daughters? Do you think I’m so stupid to leave them motherless and their father in jail?”
“What now, Ron? Will you change?”
“The hell with you Rita! Do you think I can forgive you?”
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Ron was lucky to keep his job. So he worked as harder as before to redeem his reputation. He spent as much time in the office – the first to come in and last to leave the building. He did not drink alcohol as much as before, but when he did, his anger towards Rita was rekindled. He would be looking for Rita and gave her the usual beatings. This time, though, he was using a stick like the Talibans and hitting Rita at her rear and back so that the bruises could be easily hidden. And the verbal abuses continued with more intensity. Never a day passed that Rita was not fearful of her life.
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Finally, I have been promoted after years and years of proving to my superiors the quality of my work. I could have easily looked for another job but I like it here. They have tolerated my flaws. I was close to being fired a few years ago. But I was given a second chance and I rewarded their trust with hard work and dedication. I wanted to celebrate so I phoned home to let my family know I was coming home early. But I didn’t tell them the reason. I made a reservation for a 7pm dinner in a fancy restaurant. When I arrive home, the house is quiet. I wait and pour myself a glass of whiskey. I turn on the TV and watch the breaking news about a collision that happened around 2pm in Hurontario St. and Dundas St. E in Mississauga. That’s close to home. The reporter is saying that all three passengers in the car are dead while the truck driver is unharmed. Initial investigation points to the car speeding over the limit and skidding in the opposite lane towards the truck. The truck driver puts on the brakes but the car still gets hammered by the strong impact. I turn off the TV and pour myself another glass. It is getting close to 7pm and the family has not come home. I phone my wife but she is not answering. I left several messages and eventually told her about our dinner reservation. I am getting pissed and mad as hell. Someone will get it tonight. I am about to pour myself another drink when I hear the doorbell. When I open the door, I see two solemn-looking police officers.
“Mr. Wilson, sorry to inform you that your wife and daughters…”
POSTSCRIPT: The recent deaths of Elvie and Angelica Sig-Od (mother and daughter) at the hands of a family member highlight once again the menace and evilness of domestic violence. The sad part is that there’s no one who can really prevent it. Every time it happens, we can only shake our heads and empathize in silence. You may have read my past articles dealing with the abuses toward women. The above story is obviously another one. If you are a victim of domestic violence, I urge you to leave that relationship immediately. Otherwise, you will end up just another statistic.
22 September 2022