Addy's Redemption Read online

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  “That’s my Addy-girl.” Lionel always said that in front of company and gave her a pretentious peck on the cheek. Addison cringed inside from his touch. Of course, that did not mean she had stopped being available for sex. She dared not refuse him. When he was ready for her, he would pinch her bottom hard, sadistically twisting the skin, and she’d awaken, legs spread, ready to receive his nasty member. Lord knows he probably had other women when he was on his business trips, and maybe even closer to home. Addy hoped he would never give her syphilis. She had read that the disease could make a person blind, crippled, and always led to an early demise.

  Once she risked bringing up the topic of using rubbers, even though it is a sin for Catholics to practice birth control. Lionel, of course, turned things around to make her look as if she was the offending party.

  “How do you know about safes? Don’t you trust me? You think I’ve been unfaithful? You call yourself a CATHOLIC? You know I live by the seventh commandment, in case you forgot it, ‘Thou shalt not commit adultery’. How dare you question my faithfulness? Maybe YOU are the one who’s running around. I see how you look at the lawn boy. You lust after him; I know it. I’ll bet my last nickel that you’ve already fucked him. How do I know what you do all day when I’m at the office working hard to support your cheating ass? You whore! Now I know why you know about rubbers.”

  His anger escalated out of control. Eyes narrowed; lips clenched; body grew taut.

  Oh please no, thought Addy desperately as she witnessed Lionel’s all too familiar demonic transformation. Lionel’s voice became louder and louder; the insults more offensive and lewd. Then he smacked her hard across the face. The blow left an angry red welt on her right cheek, and Addy whimpered like an injured puppy. As Lionel began to calm down, he cradled her in his arms, tenderly kissing her bruised cheek. Addy loathed him and the ugly scenario that had taken place countless times over the years. She knew well what would come next. He would take her by the hand, lead her to their bedroom, lift her skirt, unzip his fly, and fuck her. Sometimes he would force his penis up her anus, then immediately after, push it into her vagina, then her anus again, rhythmically alternating between her two openings.

  Addy suffered repeated urinary tract and bladder infections. Although the urologist may have suspected why she ended up in his office so frequently, he was always tactful about it. He advised her to use a squeeze bottle filled with a sterile washing solution every time she urinated. In spite of her fastidiousness, the infections continued. The urologist finally prescribed long-term, low-dose antibiotics. She hated taking the medicine because she developed yeast infections and a raw stomach as side effects, but those problems were better than being in pain every time she peed.

  It had been almost twenty-five years since Lionel first lifted the veil. Addy knew she was too intelligent and sane to put up with the rapes and beatings, yet she had no way to escape. It was like her hopeless dream of having her own bakery. The dreams of unlucky girls never come true. Such unfortunate souls do not have the confidence or spunk necessary to change their lives.

  A few magazines were brave enough to publish articles about wife beating. Addy could identify with the women criticized for staying in abusive relationships. Her spirit had died long ago, so what did it matter if her shell was battered? Lionel had also indirectly threatened her life. After he beat her then cuddled her, he would whisper, “Now Addy-girl would never think of leaving her daddy, would she? She knows what happens to naughty little wives who try to run away, doesn’t she? There’s nowhere for them to hide. You know it’s a man’s world. Men stick together. Have you ever heard of any guy arrested for belting his wife? Hey, I know plenty of cops who keep their women in place with a good smack.”

  Addy was convinced that no matter where she fled, Lionel would track her down. Because he was such a glad-handed phony, he had associates all over the country. He even had their neighbors and friends fooled. After all, he was a deacon at church, coached Little League baseball, and golfed with his neighborhood buddies and co-workers. Addy learned early on that he didn’t want her to get too close to the women in the small circle of couples they knew. If he found out she had been for coffee or lunch at a neighbor’s, he would fly into a rage, pointing out the housework she had failed to do. Eventually, Addy understood this was his way of keeping her from spilling her guts about the abuse. Addy learned to stay home, working around the house all day and reading women’s magazines when her chores were completed.

  As Lionel constantly reminded her, she was so lucky to have a nice house and a beautiful yard maintained by Tim, the neighborhood youth Lionel had accused her of fucking. Yes, Addy did use those words in her head, keeping herself entertained by her rebellious thoughts. Wouldn’t Aunt Sophia and Aunt Hazel have died a much earlier death if she had dared let the “F” word slip from her lips? Actually, she had never heard the “F” word until Lionel used it with her. Addy was puzzled how a man who portrayed himself as an upstanding Catholic could use such filthy language in the bedroom.

  Addy eventually settled upon the opinion that Lionel was crazy. He fashioned himself after the imaginary “Father Knows Best” radio program where the wise, infinitely patient, and loving dad would come home to his happy, zany family. In Lionel’s house, they had to be seated around the dining room table at precisely six o’clock, no exceptions. Addy and the children internalized all of Lionel’s rules in order to keep the peace.

  Things might have been okay, really, if only Lionel were nicer. Addy would love to pamper a good man. She imagined her mom had probably spoiled her dad because he looked like a man who treated his wife lovingly and respectfully. At least that is what Addy gathered from her aunts’ descriptions of her father. In fact, Sophia and Hazel had often shed tears over how much they missed their little brother and how sweet he had been to them.

  One afternoon, Addy was reading a true story about a woman whose husband beat her regularly, even while she was pregnant. At least Lionel’s attacks lightened up while Addy was expecting. She often wished she could have been one of those Catholic baby-machines constantly knocked-up so Lionel would be less violent. Addy had three children: Peter, James, and little Mary. Although Lionel was excessively strict and militaristic with the kids, he did refrain from hitting them.

  Lionel seemed to time Addy’s thrashings when the children were not around. He frequently revealed his demonic temper to the children by shouting and slamming things, but he never laid a hand on them. Maybe he sensed that if he hurt the kids, his submissive little Addy would rise up, a wounded mother bear, and somehow find the courage to rip him to pieces. The children did learn early on though, to “walk on eggs” so as not to set Daddy off. What if they weren’t asleep on the nights he attacked Addy? Whenever that thought rose in her mind, Addy immediately dismissed it. Her children were her reason to live; her angels; saviors; her precious charges, and she tried to shield them from pain and ugliness.

  The magazine article Addy was reading that afternoon went on to describe the many horrible things this man did. If he did not like what his wife prepared for dinner, he would smash the plate of food on the floor. At least that had never happened to Addy. She learned to cook exactly what Lionel favored so he usually approved of the meals presented before him.

  Some compassionate nuns helped the abused woman to escape to a safe place, but the woman soon went back to her husband who eventually beat her to death. This story made Addy’s stomach turn, yet she could understand. When you feel you have lost all hope, it is sometimes easier to lie down and give up.

  Chapter II

  Confession

  Some people who go to Catholic school hate nuns, but Addy did not. Her teachers at St. Mary’s were very intelligent and treated her gently, perhaps because she was an orphan. In addition, many of these women had been missionaries and shared vivid stories about the difficult circumstances they encountered when sent to poor countries to establish hospitals and schools.

  Nuns take vows of poverty and chastity, and for the most part, seem to lead humble, simple existences. Helena had always reminded Addy that the nuns had the lowest position in the Catholic Church acting as maids to the priests.

  When Addy recalled the over-stuffed, pompous priests who visited with Aunts Sophia and Hazel after Mass, vows of poverty and chastity never came to mind. On the contrary, those priests lived lives of luxury, with collections of fine china and crystal, summer homes, trips to the opera in New York City, and frequent vacations abroad. When Addy got older, she was shocked to learn that the Church never defrocked errant priests but simply transferred them to other parishes or positions. This information made her secretly hate those priests, but of course, she never shared her feelings with Lionel. Parish-funded hedonism … that is how Addy viewed the life of a priest.

  Naturally, Lionel loved the priests. In many ways, he was like the worst of the wicked among them: hypocritical, self-indulgent, and vile. Addy, always fair-minded, however, knew that not all priests were bad. She had read that in the olden days, Catholic families felt especially blessed if their sons became men of the cloth. Many poor parents saw the priesthood as the only hope for their sons to receive an education as well as free room and board. Addy wasn’t sure, but she suspected these priests were probably decent fellows. Still, she hoped her sons Peter and James would never consider a religious vocation. Lionel, on the other hand, would have loved if the boys chose the priesthood. Then he could puff up even more while he played the role of the devout, humble deacon. What Lionel didn’t know was that Addison viewed God as a vengeful puppeteer watching his pathetic creation limp along in suffering and pain. After all, hadn’t she prayed for an end to this living nightmare of life with Lionel? She knew she had to stay for the
children’s sake. She stopped praying about the abuse and just wished Lionel would die.

  Lionel’s beliefs about God were straight out of the Baltimore Catechism. Addy still remembered that thin, blue-covered book: the doctrine for Catholic children. When she was a child, the drawings of two bottles of milk had intrigued her. One bottle held plain white milk, but the other contained black flecks. The dirty milk represented the soul of a sinner. After all these years, Addy still recalled the rote responses she had memorized:

  Question: “Who made us?”

  Answer: “God made us.”

  Question: “Why did God make us?

  Answer: “God made us to show forth his goodness and to share with us his everlasting happiness in Heaven.”

  All Catholic children learn about two kinds of sins: mortal and venial. Mortal sins are transgressions against the Ten Commandments, whereas venial sins are less serious. Addy’s eyes filled with tears when she remembered herself as an innocent little girl confessing she had “stolen a grape” from the grocer’s display. She did not want to take the grape, but Helena put her up to it. Addy admired Helena so much; she would do almost anything to maintain their friendship.

  Although to the outside world, Addy’s may have appeared the ideal Catholic life, how comically far from the truth. Lionel had made her “damaged goods,” just like the aunts’ view of Helena and her mother, Mary Kurowski. Addy was certain that Helena and her mom had never participated in the smutty things Lionel forced her to do. The few times she protested, Lionel made it clear that, as a Catholic wife, she must submit to her husband. Aunts Sophia and Hazel had often praised Lionel for coming along and saving Addy from the life of sin and degradation she might have faced if she had moved to New York with Helena…what irony.

  When Catholics go to Confession, they name their sins, and the priest gives a penance of prayers to recite according to the severity of their transgressions. Addy wondered what Lionel’s confessions were like. When he was not out of town “on business,” he went to Confession every Saturday afternoon. Addy went along just to appease him, but she gave the same list of sins each week: “I ate meat on Friday. I missed Mass on Sunday.” Most often, her penance was three Our Fathers and three Hail Marys. Of course, Lionel and Addy never went to Confession at St. Michael’s because Lionel was so involved in that parish; the priest may have recognized his voice. Lionel took Addy around to various Catholic churches in the area, using the excuse that he wanted to get a peek at them.

  Lionel must have rationalized that God forgave his sins, at least until his next Confession. One Saturday Lionel drove her to a church in Middletown. Drowning in depression and self-loathing, the last thing Addy wanted to do was to stir up even darker thoughts as she searched her mind for sins. Her gloominess came about last night when she and Lionel attended the wedding of their neighbor’s son. Addy observed just how tenderly some men danced with their wives. Why was she stuck with a beast?

  Addy knelt in the dark confessional and waited to hear that familiar yet frightening sound of the priest slowly opening the panel on his side of the confessional. At that moment, Addy’s heart beat so rapidly she was sure she would faint. The screen that blocked her view of the priest consisted of a strange material Addy had never seen anywhere else. It was a corrugated, perforated partition covered with a thick, yellowish waxy substance. Only a Catholic who has knelt in a confessional would recognize the distinctive odor of this veil-like window through which you could see the shadowy outline of the priest.

  “Bless me Father, for I have sinned,” Addy began mechanically. “It has been two weeks since my last Confession. These are my sins.” Then, almost as if someone else were speaking, Addy blurted, “I want to divorce my husband.”

  The priest was silent for a moment then replied, “The Catholic Church does not approve of divorce under any circumstances.”

  Choking back her tears, Addy whispered, “But he beats me.”

  Cold and matter-of-fact, the priest answered, “Make an appointment to see a Catholic marriage counselor. It is sinful to even think thoughts of divorce.”

  Addy left the confessional in disbelief and walked zombie-like to the altar. Her deep hatred for the Catholic Church rose inside like a raging fire. She wanted to run through the sanctuary screaming, “DEMONS. YOU ARE ALL DEMONS.”

  Instead, she glanced over at Lionel with his fat head bowed in holiness.

  “You fucking son-of-a-bitch,” ranted Addy in her head. “If this is your religion, you can stick it up your ass, just like your fucking filthy dick you love to stick up my ass.”

  Addy no longer felt guilty about the foul rebellion that played out in her head. It was what kept her sane. She knew that her marriage was very wrong and unhealthy, but she had no way to escape. If she killed herself, the children would have to stay with Lionel, and God knows what he would do. As difficult as it was to go on, Addy had to be an anchor for her beloved Peter, James, and Mary.

  Chapter III

  Memories of

  Sound View Beach, Connecticut

  During the ride home from Middletown, Lionel suddenly announced that he was planning to rent his co-worker’s summer cottage in Maine.

  Oh, hell, thought Addy. How will I be able to tolerate him all day every day for a week?

  “Charlie says he has two weeks available,” he continued.

  TWO WEEKS, Addy thought with alarm. What a perfect penance.

  “Of course, I can’t take two weeks off from work, but you and the kids can go.”

  Addy straightened up and replied, “Of course. What weeks will we be going?”

  “August 14th through the 27th. I’ll be in Denver, but I think you can manage the kids all right without me. After all, it’s about time you started to show some responsibility.”

  She was dumbfounded. Had she heard him correctly? Did he say he would be in Denver? Does that mean he will be letting us go without him? Maybe there is a God after all. As soon as they got home, Addy would start crossing off the days until vacation on the calendar.

  The last time Addy had stayed in a cottage by the shore was when she was a child. It was at the ocean that she felt truly alive. Although Addy did not realize it at the time, as a child, she believed there was something wrong with her because she had lost her parents. That was a very unlucky thing. Aunts Sophia and Hazel used to take her to Sound View Beach to stay with some Italian friends who rented cottages in a little Italian enclave every summer. During those two weeks, Addy became someone else. She spent her days floating in the ocean, collecting shells, digging in the sand, and fashioning elaborate castles with canals and moats. All the kids would hunt for snails, and the women would boil the hapless creatures for supper. They would use an open safety pin to dig out the snail’s body. Addy just could not stomach the snails. Fortunately, there were always other delicious choices like homemade raviolis or veal cutlets.

  The women, joking and laughing, standing over huge pots of boiling pasta, and brushing the hair away from their sweaty brows with bent wrists, could have been a Van Gogh painting. Addy didn’t know Italian, and the women knew very little English, but no one cared. At times, a look of sadness clouded the women’s happy faces as they observed Addy, commenting, “Poveretta.” Addy later learned that translates something like, “Poor little thing.” They felt sorry for Addy because she was an orphan, but they treated her as if she was one of their own children. Even Addy’s aunts loosened up at the shore, smiled more, and treated Addy with greater warmth. In Addy’s mind, Italians were magic. They loved life, no matter what the circumstances. Food, wine, music, children, nature…. these were the treasures of those beloved people.

  In addition to the snails, the kids collected buckets of indigo blue mussels, and the Italian men would pry open the shells, then slurp and swallow the slimy orange bodies of the mussels live. Addy nearly threw up at even the idea of this practice, but she had to admit, the mussel-slurping men stirred admiration for what was to Addy a solely masculine pastime. There was so little masculine influence in Addy’s life.