Nymphadora gave birth at night near a well squatting over a bucket to catch the babies in, and Asher had never seen such a disgusting sight.
The miracle of birth caused him to vomit blood into a nearby bush, and his father made jokes the entire time, asking him, does it matter where the blood comes out of, Asher?
Their small family was surprised that the babies had even arrived, expecting them to never live, and even more surprised when they looked just like Father.
“Father, have you laid with this woman beforehand,” Asher asked him.
“I would rather a sheep, first. It would possibly be quieter and more experienced during the love-making as well.”
Nymphadora said some very choice words but Father ignored her because she was filled with hot air and anger, always shouting. After all, that was one of the few things she was good at.
Another thing she was good at was luring food.
Asher used to be a viable trap, especially for women, feeling sorry for a lost and abandoned filthy child who claimed he needed a bit of bread and a bath. Nymphadora was able to bring in more men because she bathed more frequently, and every day she screamed at them to do it, until one day they did.
They bathed in a riverbank near a village they would terrorize at night, whispers of smelly goblins, and a witch with her babes on her back.
Nymphadora was amazed that Asher was so cute and fawned over him, and he continued to tell her that he was a man, and wanted to be treated like one.
“You will always be my little man,” Nymphadora cooed.
The babies in her arms, wrapped in thin linens looked at him, and he growled, jealous that they were always up against her at night. He hated that he could hear their thoughts as well, but they were much more jagged and rough.
Instead of words, rough images of what they tried to convey flashed in his mind, and they were angry, he knew because he could smell it, and whenever they were, images of fire flashed in his head.
Asher was furious as he could now smell lust on Nymphadora after his father had finally washed and cut his hair, his face visible after he sloughed off layers of death. Asher tried to convince himself that he had nothing to worry about because there was a chance he could still grow.
The babies were growing after all.
Nymphadora and Father stayed the same, as did Asher, but the babies grew. They grew at the normal rate as if they were normal children, but they never strayed from each other, one another’s shadow, and one day they stopped growing, grown men, but Asher was still frozen in time.
After several years, Asher gave up on becoming a man or ever being Nymphadora’s husband and settled as her son. He was still bitter, his Oedipus Complex in full swing, as his father pretended that he was not having sex with Nymphadora, even though Asher could hear them because they were never quiet.
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It had been thirty years since Dante and Kato were born, forty since the curse had begun, and Kato asked Asher why they never went out at night, but he and father could. They hid in caves, like monsters, or inside abandoned buildings and ruins of beautiful castles. It was all the same to them, as they cycled through the same places, but it was becoming problematic.
Asher glared at his brother as he laid on the filthy cave floor and told him not to worry about it. He was younger, so he should mind his own business.
This was not a good enough answer for Kato, so he pestered his mother and father when they returned. Kato asked many questions, about many things, and he would not rest until the answer had revealed itself to him.
Sometimes he asked too many, causing strife.
Another day inside the cave, bored with nothing to do, Kato started to ask his father many questions. He leaned on the smooth cave wall, and they all sat in the dark, too paranoid to even light a fire during the day, but Kato still smiled, because they could see him anyway.
“Father, what is your name?”
“I don’t have one anymore,” he replied.
“That’s impossible,” Dante said. “Everyone has a name! Even Asher!”
“Quiet,” Asher screamed, his shouts echoing in the cave, and his siblings smiled, as it was so easy to poke the bear.
“Mother, what is his name,” Kato prodded.
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Nymphadora lied. She played with a skull in her hands and sighed, bored as well, happy that at least someone came up with a topic of conversation in the dark.
“You must know, Asher,” Kato said.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t,” Kato replied.
“He doesn’t so drop it,” Father said.
They dropped it because he told them to drop it, everyone except Nymphadora of course. Father never understood what power he held over his sons that made them so respectful but it never worked on Nymphadora.
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“Tell them, stop being like this,” she huffed.
“Woman, be quiet.”
“You can’t tell me what to do like them, it doesn’t work,” she screamed.
Like maniacs, well, they were maniacs, they all shouted and screamed at each other in the dark cavern, naked until the sun fell, and Father refused to tell anyone his name because he didn’t like it anymore.
They would never remember it anyway, the few times he would slip up and say it, or think it. He would just open his mouth, tell them to forget they had heard it, and what was done was done.
This continued for many years, and at this point, he continued out of spite because he liked keeping something to himself until Nymphadora named him herself, but he went around claiming that he came up with the name to save face.
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Santos Dominus was exhausted as he walked down the cobblestone street, past the brightly painted houses, the bicyclists ringing their little bells he found pompous and somehow endearing.
It was a short walk, and he was emotionally, not physically tired as he had come to pick up his eldest son. Two female officers, with yellow vests that said POLITIET, in white reflective letters, was holding his son’s hand outside a deli, telling him that it was going to be okay.
Santos looked at the officers, their large breasts, and knew exactly what he was up to this time.
“This is your little one,” Officer Andersen asked.
“Unfortunately yes,” Santos replied tersely.
“Ah, I see, just show us the proper paperwork of identification and you can be well on your way.”
“I don’t know this man,” Asher lied.
“Asher, it’s time to go home,” Santos said. “Leave these women alone.”
“Will you be my wife,” Asher asked Officer Olsen.
“Why of course,” she giggled. “When you grow up first!”
Asher frowned, and Santos let out a laugh that sounded like a bark. He got out his wallet, shuffled through his numerous fake IDs and Asher’s fake ones, found the matching pairs, handed them over, and they went about their day.
Santos dragged him by his arm, and Asher glared at his father, upset that he was stuck with him for eternity, limited by his body.
“Why must I be around you? I cannot live on my own, I cannot drive, nor have a lover, I am stuck, ” Asher screamed.
“We all have things we deal with. Don’t focus on it. Distract yourself.”
Santos dragged his son to a newspaper stand, and he grabbed the first one that said Friday, April 9th, 1999. He paid the friendly news attendant who waved at his son and called him a handsome young man, and Ash let out a sound that made the man’s ears bleed and lips twitch.
Asher was bitter, and the entire family could sense his animosity in the air.
“Here, read the newspaper,” Santos offered.
“Does it matter? Every single day is like the last,” Asher complained.
They stopped outside a window store, and they bickered about the same thing they had always bickered about for years.
“Asher, should I have just left you to die? Is that it?”
“No, I’m sorry father, it’s just, I feel so stuck. Everyone gets to try everything, and I can’t and it’s not fair! How can I not complain?”
A truck made loud beeping noises, coming closer to the entrance of the window store, and they were interrupted as men in bright green, friendly uniforms mumbled god morgen, and lifted large glasses through the wide doors.
Santos and Asher moved to the side, to get out of the way, and their repetitive argument continued. However, this time, Asher said something much different.
“Father, I think that it's time for me to die, there’s nothing left for me,” Asher said. “I think I’ve seen all there is to see.”
The two men holding a long glass pane heard a young boy tell his father that he was ready to die, lost their concentration, and they stumbled on the already bumpy cobblestone road. They gripped the glass, but it turned vertical to horizontal, and they stumbled a few more steps to the side.
The top of Asher’s head was sliced open, exposing his cerebrum to the cold spring air, and his fuzzy blue hat with the puffball on top came off as well. The piece of glass was wedged into his head, the only wound that he could not heal from.
Santos didn’t comprehend what he was seeing, and he continued the conversation.
“Don’t be silly Asher, there’s always something new every day.”
The movers didn’t know what to do, the young boy dead, his skull inside the glass pane, a science specimen on full display. His brain was seen, clear as day through the large window pane, because they were so well made, as the owner took pride in his work.
The employees stood in the same place until the POLITEI arrived, and it was the same ones who were at the deli, so they cried when the very same boy they delivered to his father was now dead, the top of his skull sliced like the meat at the building they found him in.
The ambulance arrived, then the coroner’s van, and it was a scene because Santos told everyone that it was fine.
He was just tired.
A little nap in the dirt was all, he had done it himself a few times.
The employees told him that it was an accident, and the owner promised that he would spend his life making it up to him and Santos told him it was fine, nothing to worry about, children trip and fall every day.
The reality that his last remaining child of Naomi was dead did not hit him until he returned to the house he and his closest children all lived in, when he was watching television, many days later, and a female officer with the words POLITEI on her vest was on the screen, and she was holding the hand of a child, talking about how to find a trusted adult when lost.
Nymphadora thought coffins were silly but said nothing as to not hurt her husband's feelings when he bought one. They buried him in his tiny coffin, under another of his fake aliases, ASHER ANDERSON, 1990-99, and Santos did not allow anyone other than Nymphadora, Kato, and Dante to come to the funeral.