Agatha brought the food from stove to table, laying the plates on the bare wood. The room was plain, with the wooden walls of the self-built house unadorned by paint, or decoration, except for the Christ figure on his cross, looking down sombrely upon the family gathered for their repast. Now the only sounds were the occasional clatter of cutlery on the plates and the chewing of food.
At the head of the table, William ate in precise movements, cutting the meat into small chunks and chewing until it was well masticated. He looked at his family from under lowering brows. Agatha ate as he did, she had learned to appreciate what food the Lord gave, as had all his flock.
The children were young and yet to fully understand this precept, and he watched Joesph as he pushed his green beans around the plate. Agatha had seen too; he saw her look of concern. Well, the boy would have to learn that waste was not tolerated.
‘Eat your beans, Joseph,’ he said, and returned to the serious business of eating, forcefully spearing his own beans and securing them to the tines with a potato. He demonstrated how easy it was, pushing the food into his mouth and snatching the fork out, and repeated the procedure. Fork, chew, swallow.
At least his daughter Magdalene, was dutifully clearing her plate. Agatha had finished, and he too laid his knife and fork at the six o’clock position on his plate.
Now the silence lay heavy in the room, unbroken, by movement. The room had darkened during the meal, the wooden walls had somehow crept closer, the atmosphere oppressive. Jospeh had sat back in his chair, sitting on his hands, his mouth set in a firm line and his plate sat before him, empty save for a small pile of green beans.
‘Joseph’ Willian said, his voice holding the command of the pulpit. ‘Clear your plate. You know we do not waste what the Lord has provided.’
Agatha and Magdalene were motionless, waiting and William could feel them urging Joseph to eat, but Joseph did not move.
‘Eat. Your. Beans.’ How dare Joseph waste food like this. Food the flock had grown with the sweat and toil of their hands.
Jospeh shook his head, but he could not meet William’s eyes.
Defiance. So be it. A lesson then.
With a sharp movement, he cupped Josephs’s head and held it in a vice like grip, whilst with the other he scooped up the beans and as Joseph’s mouth opened in a cry, he crammed the vegetables in. Joseph started to cry, his small face going red, and he started to wheeze as he struggled to breath past the food William was forcing down his throat. Jospeh resisted but his child’s hands were no match for William’s, and he was helpless, his eyes went wide with fright, as his air was cut off, yet still William continued to press the vegetables in, using his long fingers to force them to the back of Joseph’s mouth as if stuffing a goose. Through his cold rage, William heard Agatha’s feeble protest, ‘William, please.’ Magdalene was crying, but he wasn’t done yet. Jospeh had to learn. He must not waste food. And he must obey his father.
‘William!’ he heard her again, but she knew as well as he did that children must be taught how to behave. Joseph wouldn’t learn unless he was taught, and some lessons were harsh.
‘William! Please! He is choking! He cannot breathe!’ Agatha had shouted this protest loud enough to startle him into letting go. Jospeh fell back in his chair, gagging up a bolus of mashed vegetables and gasping for air, his eyes streaming.
William lay his hands on the table, panting himself from the exertion as Joseph sat sobbing. Gradually his gasps lessened. Magdalene was crying quietly by Joseph’s side and William saw she had put out her hand to hold his. Agatha too was breathing heavily and looking down at the table and he saw they trembled in the aftermath of the violent act.
He felt his anger ebb and a finger of shame crept in its wake as he looked at Joseph’s weeping, red, tear-streaked face, his shirt stained with gobs of ejected beans.
‘Alright, alright,’ he said, in a softened voice, to show the lesson was over. ‘That’s enough now. You can leave the table. All of you.’
Later, as he passed Jospeh’s room, he saw through the half open door, Agatha enfolding Joseph as if to hide him from the world, as he cried again, and Agatha’s soft whispers, meaningless words of endearment. He hesitated. Joseph was seven now, old enough to be weaned from his mother, but he saw again Joseph’s face at the dinner.
He would allow it tonight.
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