every morning i wake to the horrible din of a wailing child and a screaming grandmother. these contests are seperated by loud bumps (the child being thrown upon a wall or being attacked by heavy blunt objects) followed by the child pushing her volume a notch higher with the grandmother (screaming at the child) following suit. this starts at aproximately eight in the morning, therefore serving as an adequate alarm clock.
as i walk down, i exchange pleasantries with the grandmother (wearing low cut cleavage baring ugh suits) as the housewife hurls hateful glances at me. the man of the house smiles at me from behind a newspaper. the child sits in a corner, suitably mangled and quiet (children should be seen and not heard). These people are short, grimy and have several disorderly sharp teeth. All of them except the child, that is. the child is still human.once when i crept up on them, hoping to record the scene. the mother, for all the sadness in her voice, was relaxing on a chair while uttering her remittances. meanwhile, the grandmother bent with her hands on her haunches, so as to get as close as possible to the child while screaming. the man of the house was holding the child by his feet and thrashing her against the wall. i thought one of them noticed me, so i fled the scene.
once, i asked the grandmother why they beat the child as they do.
'we all went through it', she said, 'how do you think we became the way we are.'