The Bad Seed.
This story was inspired by reading a Sunday paper. Two of its topics mentioned were problems taxi drivers spoke of experiencing with some of their customers. The other topic referred to was on incest.
o0o
He sat alone in the car, waiting. The slow, repetitive green and red flashing of the neon sign outside the twenty four hour convenience store across the street had a somnambulistic effect. Yawning, he peered at his digital watch. 3.50
a.m. Only fifteen minutes since the last time I looked and an hour since my last fare, he thought. God, it's been a slow night and I’ve got to hang around for another two hours before this shift is over and I can go home. He yawned again and wound the window down a bit more to let in some fresh air.
Movement ahead caught his attention and he squinted through the windscreen. A laughing, drunken couple staggered, arms entwined, along the pavement and lurched toward the cab parked first in line at the rank.
He watched them, glad of the diversion. The young male struggled with the door and, stepping aside swept his arm back in a chivalrous gesture. His giggling partner curtseyed and struggled into the back seat. Laughing, her male companion fell in on top of her and the door was barely slammed shut before their cab sped off.
David laughed quietly. Bet they don’t make it to their destination without puking, he thought. I’m glad they’re in old Bill’s cab. It couldn’t happen to a nicer guy. Chuckling, he switched the motor on and eased his cab forward before switching the motor off again.
Flicking the radio on, he fiddled with the knob, changing stations until ‘String of Pearls’ blared from the speakers. This should wake me up, he thought. Turning the volume down David started humming, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel in time with the music.
The back door of his cab opened and surprised, he turned to see who was getting in. A male, about forty slid onto the back seat. “Austin St Yeronga” the man said in an unmistakable Australian accent.
David nodded and, turning the radio off, eased his cab onto the roadway. Glancing in the rear vision mirror he saw his passenger leaning forward and staring at the identification photo above the driver’s sun visor. “Yeah, a real mug shot”
David said. Nodding, his passenger slid back in the recess of the cab.
David’s attempts at conversation were met with silence. He shrugged. Some people are like that he thought. At least he’s sober.
The cab turned into Austin Street and slowed down. “Which house, mate?” David asked peering at the row of old houses.
“Here will do” his passenger said gesturing to a small park on the left.
David stopped his cab and glanced at the meter. “That’ll be fifteen dollars thanks” he said.
Suddenly the man leaned forward and David felt something prick his neck. “What the hell …” David gasped and struggled but the passenger’s arm was clamped firmly around his throat.
“Remember Susan Flannery or, will it jog your memory better if I call her by her family nickname of ‘sweet Susan’?”
the passenger whispered into David’s ear. David’s eyes widened and his passenger, watching his reaction in the cab’s mirror, nodded.
“Yes, I can see you do” he said. “Susan was my mother - but I’ve only just found out about you.”
“Found out what?” David said.
“What you did to her” his fare answered.
“What do you mean? I never touched her.”
“Yeah, right. Don’t move!” David felt the needle go deeper into his neck. He winced and tried to draw back but was held fast.
“Did you know Susan’s mother was raped – and her cousin was her real father? Just as I am the child of your incestuous raping of my mother, our sweet Susan.”
“I told you; I never touched your mother.”
“No? Take a good look at me then. Don’t move your head! Look in the mirror over the dashboard. Notice a family resemblance - father?” the man mocked.
David stared at the image staring back at him. He couldn’t deny the likeness between him and the man with his arm still clamped firmly around his throat.
He tried to turn his head and confront his passenger, but the grip tightened preventing him from moving. David’s gaze swung back to the mirror. “I don’t know what your game is but Susan didn’t have any children” he said. “She went interstate and never came back. If it hadn’t been for the letters every Christmas she sent to her mother, the family would have lost touch with her. ”
“Susan went interstate to hide her pregnancy and only her mother knew of my birth” the man answered. “Even though my conception was violent rape of a virgin, when I was born, Susan loved me. She didn’t want anyone else in the family beside her mother to know she had had a child. Because of you she ostracized herself from the family who she loved and who loved her.”
David remained silent.
“You knew my mother and what you did to her. I can see by your expression that no matter how much you want to deny that me being your son is probably true.”
The man laughed derisively at David. “Yes, I heard how you always wanted a son but instead had two daughters. Well, now you know you did father a son – dad – but don’t expect any weeping gratitude or congratulations from me.” The man became silent, deep in thought. The only sound in the cab was the slow tick, tick, tick of the fare meter that David had forgotten to switch off.
Rousing himself the man continued. “Further delving through family secrets unearthed the fact that incestuous rape of our womenfolk is well entrenched in our bloodline. It’s almost, in a way, as if you couldn’t help yourself. We’ve got a bad seed in our gene that passes down the male line.
