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PITY THE CHILD
Pity the child who knew his parents
Saw their faults,
Saw their love die before his eyes,
Pity the child that wise.
He never asked, “Did I cause your distress?”
Just in case they said, “Yes.”
(Benny Anderson, Tim Rice, Bjorn Ulvaeus; from the ‘Chess’ Soundtrack)
Mason woke up with a start and a feeble cry that, in his dream, had been a yell of horror. Abruptly, he sat
up in his bed.
It was a nightmare he could not remember a thing from, and that made it only scarier.
The darkness around seemed to be breathing – or was it Mason panting, gasping for breath?
Dad had shown to him very sensibly that if there were no monsters in a lit room there was no way they
could appear in the same room when it was dark. They had even gone through a series of tests, and
Mason had had to agree Dad had a point. Sometimes it helped; but on nights like this one nothing did.
That is, nothing if you do not dare to jump out of bed and tiptoe to the parents’ bedroom. The darkness in
the corridor was as sticky, hostile and dangerous as in his own bedroom, but mom and dad’s bedroom
was safe.
Safe, Mason articulated silently and lay back. Dad did not appreciate his coming to their bedroom at
night. Moreover, sometimes the door would be locked, and if Mason dared to stand there and knock,
there would be a silence, deadly and long enough to make one so scared he’d yell and bang at the door,
and when a disheveled CC opened the door at last Mason would be weeping already. His father’s wrath
would not cheer him up any.
This was why for a very long time Mason had managed to fight his fears without running to his parents.
And there were lots of fears. He was an impressionable boy with a very vivid imagination, and he just did
not feel safe. Subconsciously, he felt his world could fall apart any minute. It irritated the big, strong man
his father was. “I’m rich and powerful,” he’d say haughtily, “there can be no threat and no monster I
cannot make retreat, son.”
What CC did not know was that for a child the peace between his father and mother is the main pledge of
safety; that was something Mason just did not have, and without that it’s all but empty words. Of course,
what CC did not know was not known to the five-year-old trembling in his lonely bedroom, either; and the
boy was as angry with himself and as perplexed at his ‘weakness’ as his father.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Mason said to himself aloud, but his voice did not sound right. He tried
to remember the poem his mother had taught him.
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting, too…
No way, it did not help.
“No,” said Mason to himself after a pause. “You’re not a man, Mason Capwell. Chicken!”
Weary of the fight with himself, the boy got out of his bed and walked to his parents’ bedroom, praying for
the door to be open and for his father to be asleep. Sometimes Mason would be lucky and he’d wake
only his mother who’d shake her head, take him back to his room and lull him to sleep with old romantic
verses or legends.
Sometimes mum and dad would be sleeping apart in their bedrooms. Then Mason could even get to lie
down beside his mother. When he was asleep Pamela would pick him up and carry him back to his own
room in order not to call CC’s wrath onto their son. CC thought Mason too big to sleep in his mother’s
bed.
This time, Mason heard mum and dad were sharing the room. The door was not locked, it was even half-
opened, but, as becomes a well-bred boy, Mason knocked at it and caught his breath.
“Who is it?” his father’s angered voice boomed immediately. The door was violently flung open, and the
tall figure appeared in the doorway. “Ma-ason! What the hell are you doing here?”
Mason shriveled; he only wished he could get smaller. “I’m sorry sir,” he mumbled. “Dad – a bad dream –
couldn’t sleep – could I--”
Mason saw his father was still dressed, as if he had not gone to sleep at all, and it surprised him.
“Go back to your room, boy,” his mother’s voice said. “It was just a bad dream. It’s over. Go to bed.”
Her voice was not soft or tender; it was rather tense. It scared Mason all the more.
“C-can you go with me, mum?” he said diffidently. “Just to put me to bed?”
“You’re big enough to do it on your own,” she said wearily.
Mason controlled a sob ready to burst out. He turned and ran back to his room, and cried himself to sleep.
In the morning Mason paid special attention to his looks. He asked Rosa to check if he looked all right, as
became a good boy, as he knew after nights like this his father tended to be testier and more impatient
with him.
This morning, however, proved to be different.
Even before the breakfast was served, Mum was dressed as if for a long journey, and she had a little
suitcase at her feet.
“Where are you going?” said Mason, clueless.
“I need to go away, boy,” she said patting his hair.
“Is Dad going too?”
It did not seem like he was.
“No, he’s staying. And you’re staying with him.”
“Do you – are you going to England to visit grandma? When are you coming back, mum?”
Mason was a perceptive boy, and he did not like it what was in the air. He felt a universal catastrophe
was about to break out, but he refused to believe it yet.
“T-to England, maybe,” Pamela faltered. “When am I – look, Mason--”
“Pamela,” CC said.
“CC, let ME handle this,” she said tersely. “Mason, I do not know when I will be back. Just be a good
boy--”
Here it was; that was it; what he had suspected all along. He knew he had not been good enough, and
now, because of that, his mother was to go away!
A dry spasm of inescapable fear wrung out Mason’s lungs. With a superhuman effort, he managed to
control it.
“Please,” he said hastily. “I’ll be a good boy from now on, I swear. Always on my best behavior. I’ll be the
best pupil at school and I won’t disturb you – you’ll never hear me at home, I will be seen not heard. I
promise. Please do not go.”
“Mason, I have to.”
“I’ll never disturb you at night, never again. I’ll always be--”
“Mason,” dad said wearily.
They just did not believe him.
Oh why was that to be the horrid, horrid result of his hideous misdeeds?
He felt crushed.
“Mama dear, please,” he blurted out. “Dad, oh please. I promise, I’ll be good, I’ll never be naughty--”
Why was that to be the punishment – wasn’t it oh too cruel? “Can I go to jail instead?”
Pamela and CC exchanged glances: had Mason heard anything of Hal Clarke?
“What’s all this nonsense!” CC burst out. “Your mother’s going, and you have--”
“Can I go, too?” said Mason quickly, grabbing at the suitcase handle. “Can we all go, please?”
“No. Your mother has to go, and my firstborn son is staying here with me,” said CC.
Mason knew this tone of voice only too well – irrevocable.
He knew his tears would only anger his father more, but it was not within human powers to contain them
any longer. Mason let out a whine full of horror and despair.
…and woke up with a start and a feeble cry.
The fear that it was he who was responsible for the breakup of his parents was left where it belonged –
in the past, preceding the many various, conflicting, cruel emotions the child and then the teenager had
to go through. But Mason’s heart was still throbbing painfully, and he had to let the air out of his lungs
ever so slowly so as not to start sobbing.
Julia was sleeping peacefully by his side. Good, he had not woken her up. He knew she would be
comforting him but what was the sense. The five-year-old was so lonely – and why appear before her
with tears streaming down his cheeks. A grownup man that he was, he smirked.
The whine’d returned to where it belonged, too; but still, Mason seemed to hear a thin whimper. It took
his brains, still thick with sleep, a few seconds to fully recover.
Samantha.
Cautiously, Mason got out of his bed, put on a wrapper and hurried to the nursery. He took the baby out
of her crib and pressed her to his chest.
“Hush, my little one.”
She was looking up at him, her eyes full of tears and the very copy of his own. Mason smiled down at her.
Here she was: the only creature to really, truly make him realize he was no longer the little, defenseless,
vulnerable boy suffering so acutely. Now HE was the parent, and this time his responsibility was not far-
fetched but very real, too. He was fully responsible for what this child would turn out like. He was the
grown-up here.
He kissed Samantha’s little head. “I promise,” he said thoughtfully. “I promise.”
Pity the child who knew his parents
Saw their faults,
Saw their love die before his eyes,
Pity the child that wise.
He never asked, “Did I cause your distress?”
Just in case they said, “Yes.”
(Benny Anderson, Tim Rice, Bjorn Ulvaeus; from the ‘Chess’ Soundtrack)
Mason woke up with a start and a feeble cry that, in his dream, had been a yell of horror. Abruptly, he sat
up in his bed.
It was a nightmare he could not remember a thing from, and that made it only scarier.
The darkness around seemed to be breathing – or was it Mason panting, gasping for breath?
Dad had shown to him very sensibly that if there were no monsters in a lit room there was no way they
could appear in the same room when it was dark. They had even gone through a series of tests, and
Mason had had to agree Dad had a point. Sometimes it helped; but on nights like this one nothing did.
That is, nothing if you do not dare to jump out of bed and tiptoe to the parents’ bedroom. The darkness in
the corridor was as sticky, hostile and dangerous as in his own bedroom, but mom and dad’s bedroom
was safe.
Safe, Mason articulated silently and lay back. Dad did not appreciate his coming to their bedroom at
night. Moreover, sometimes the door would be locked, and if Mason dared to stand there and knock,
there would be a silence, deadly and long enough to make one so scared he’d yell and bang at the door,
and when a disheveled CC opened the door at last Mason would be weeping already. His father’s wrath
would not cheer him up any.
This was why for a very long time Mason had managed to fight his fears without running to his parents.
And there were lots of fears. He was an impressionable boy with a very vivid imagination, and he just did
not feel safe. Subconsciously, he felt his world could fall apart any minute. It irritated the big, strong man
his father was. “I’m rich and powerful,” he’d say haughtily, “there can be no threat and no monster I
cannot make retreat, son.”
What CC did not know was that for a child the peace between his father and mother is the main pledge of
safety; that was something Mason just did not have, and without that it’s all but empty words. Of course,
what CC did not know was not known to the five-year-old trembling in his lonely bedroom, either; and the
boy was as angry with himself and as perplexed at his ‘weakness’ as his father.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Mason said to himself aloud, but his voice did not sound right. He tried
to remember the poem his mother had taught him.
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting, too…
No way, it did not help.
“No,” said Mason to himself after a pause. “You’re not a man, Mason Capwell. Chicken!”
Weary of the fight with himself, the boy got out of his bed and walked to his parents’ bedroom, praying for
the door to be open and for his father to be asleep. Sometimes Mason would be lucky and he’d wake
only his mother who’d shake her head, take him back to his room and lull him to sleep with old romantic
verses or legends.
Sometimes mum and dad would be sleeping apart in their bedrooms. Then Mason could even get to lie
down beside his mother. When he was asleep Pamela would pick him up and carry him back to his own
room in order not to call CC’s wrath onto their son. CC thought Mason too big to sleep in his mother’s
bed.
This time, Mason heard mum and dad were sharing the room. The door was not locked, it was even half-
opened, but, as becomes a well-bred boy, Mason knocked at it and caught his breath.
“Who is it?” his father’s angered voice boomed immediately. The door was violently flung open, and the
tall figure appeared in the doorway. “Ma-ason! What the hell are you doing here?”
Mason shriveled; he only wished he could get smaller. “I’m sorry sir,” he mumbled. “Dad – a bad dream –
couldn’t sleep – could I--”
Mason saw his father was still dressed, as if he had not gone to sleep at all, and it surprised him.
“Go back to your room, boy,” his mother’s voice said. “It was just a bad dream. It’s over. Go to bed.”
Her voice was not soft or tender; it was rather tense. It scared Mason all the more.
“C-can you go with me, mum?” he said diffidently. “Just to put me to bed?”
“You’re big enough to do it on your own,” she said wearily.
Mason controlled a sob ready to burst out. He turned and ran back to his room, and cried himself to sleep.
In the morning Mason paid special attention to his looks. He asked Rosa to check if he looked all right, as
became a good boy, as he knew after nights like this his father tended to be testier and more impatient
with him.
This morning, however, proved to be different.
Even before the breakfast was served, Mum was dressed as if for a long journey, and she had a little
suitcase at her feet.
“Where are you going?” said Mason, clueless.
“I need to go away, boy,” she said patting his hair.
“Is Dad going too?”
It did not seem like he was.
“No, he’s staying. And you’re staying with him.”
“Do you – are you going to England to visit grandma? When are you coming back, mum?”
Mason was a perceptive boy, and he did not like it what was in the air. He felt a universal catastrophe
was about to break out, but he refused to believe it yet.
“T-to England, maybe,” Pamela faltered. “When am I – look, Mason--”
“Pamela,” CC said.
“CC, let ME handle this,” she said tersely. “Mason, I do not know when I will be back. Just be a good
boy--”
Here it was; that was it; what he had suspected all along. He knew he had not been good enough, and
now, because of that, his mother was to go away!
A dry spasm of inescapable fear wrung out Mason’s lungs. With a superhuman effort, he managed to
control it.
“Please,” he said hastily. “I’ll be a good boy from now on, I swear. Always on my best behavior. I’ll be the
best pupil at school and I won’t disturb you – you’ll never hear me at home, I will be seen not heard. I
promise. Please do not go.”
“Mason, I have to.”
“I’ll never disturb you at night, never again. I’ll always be--”
“Mason,” dad said wearily.
They just did not believe him.
Oh why was that to be the horrid, horrid result of his hideous misdeeds?
He felt crushed.
“Mama dear, please,” he blurted out. “Dad, oh please. I promise, I’ll be good, I’ll never be naughty--”
Why was that to be the punishment – wasn’t it oh too cruel? “Can I go to jail instead?”
Pamela and CC exchanged glances: had Mason heard anything of Hal Clarke?
“What’s all this nonsense!” CC burst out. “Your mother’s going, and you have--”
“Can I go, too?” said Mason quickly, grabbing at the suitcase handle. “Can we all go, please?”
“No. Your mother has to go, and my firstborn son is staying here with me,” said CC.
Mason knew this tone of voice only too well – irrevocable.
He knew his tears would only anger his father more, but it was not within human powers to contain them
any longer. Mason let out a whine full of horror and despair.
…and woke up with a start and a feeble cry.
The fear that it was he who was responsible for the breakup of his parents was left where it belonged –
in the past, preceding the many various, conflicting, cruel emotions the child and then the teenager had
to go through. But Mason’s heart was still throbbing painfully, and he had to let the air out of his lungs
ever so slowly so as not to start sobbing.
Julia was sleeping peacefully by his side. Good, he had not woken her up. He knew she would be
comforting him but what was the sense. The five-year-old was so lonely – and why appear before her
with tears streaming down his cheeks. A grownup man that he was, he smirked.
The whine’d returned to where it belonged, too; but still, Mason seemed to hear a thin whimper. It took
his brains, still thick with sleep, a few seconds to fully recover.
Samantha.
Cautiously, Mason got out of his bed, put on a wrapper and hurried to the nursery. He took the baby out
of her crib and pressed her to his chest.
“Hush, my little one.”
She was looking up at him, her eyes full of tears and the very copy of his own. Mason smiled down at her.
Here she was: the only creature to really, truly make him realize he was no longer the little, defenseless,
vulnerable boy suffering so acutely. Now HE was the parent, and this time his responsibility was not far-
fetched but very real, too. He was fully responsible for what this child would turn out like. He was the
grown-up here.
He kissed Samantha’s little head. “I promise,” he said thoughtfully. “I promise.”