The Drowned Boy

Dear diary,

You are my dearest and nearest confidant. I have so much on my mind today, it’s now or never. And I just have to say this once and for all. I’m no worse than anyone else. Do you understand what I’m saying? But I was put to an impossible test, and even though I’m strong, it was just too much. The thing is Tommy dragged me down into the mud, and suddenly I was just the girl up at Granfoss with a disabled son. You know how people talk, it’s unbearable. And it was definitely not what I’d planned for my life. What I’m writing now is really important, because it’s the truth, and my case is coming up in only two days. I have to face the fact that I might be convicted. I just hope I can get away with a fine! Because then Dad could pay it and everything would finally be over for good. The way things are now, I might be convicted of negligence and moving the body, because I moved him from the bathtub to the pond. The inspector explained it all to me, and it doesn’t sound good. I dreamed about death all through the long winter. He’s sticking to me like a shadow and disturbs my sleep. Sits on the rug beside the bed baring his teeth.

On August 10, I ran a full bath and poured in lots of bubble bath, so the bubbles were almost over the edge. Because Tommy loved soap bubbles and I so wanted to be good and kind. You have to believe me. Tommy was being so difficult that day. Maybe he wasn’t feeling well, what do I know? He was whining and complaining and didn’t want anything, didn’t want to be held or washed. He hit me with his little fists and tried to get me to go away. And I hate being rejected when I’m trying to be nice, I guess everyone does. I can only say I’m sorry, I really, really am. Because I just got so angry, you have to forgive me, dear diary. I am who I am, and children with Down syndrome are like that, they’re difficult and obstinate and insistent. If there’s something they don’t want to do, they’re impossible. I tried to force him, but he wouldn’t be forced. It was like banging my head against a brick wall. I was on my knees beside the bathtub, holding him up with my left arm and trying to wash him with my right. I did look after him since he was the boy I’d been given, but I had the most terrible thoughts, that I had a child who wasn’t normal, who had things wrong with him. I was sitting on the floor with a retard, and I didn’t deserve it. I mean, what had I done? I hadn’t broken any rules, I hadn’t done anything to deserve being so unlucky. They say that everyone is worth the same. But that’s not true, because there are idiots and they take up a lot of space and time. They’re a burden to the rest of us. Is there anyone who has a child with Down syndrome who can put their hand on their heart and say that they hadn’t hoped for something else? When they told me in the maternity ward, I wanted to scream. But I kept myself together for Dad’s sake, and for Nicolai, obviously. He was in shock as well, even though he never admitted it. But he did take it better than me, I’ll give him that, thanks to his cautious nature — in fact, he was almost a coward. His emotions never really came to the surface. He just moped around, and that’s not healthy. So we took our slow, listless baby home with us. We took him home with heavy hearts. We had no choice, he was what we got. And we couldn’t hand him back and say that we’d changed our minds. But oh, if only we could have done that! It would have been a joy, instead of all the sorrow and rage, bitterness and desperation. Family and friends came flocking to see the new baby, and I was so embarrassed, because they could see something was wrong. They could tell by his eyes that he wasn’t normal. There were no delighted exclamations and I couldn’t handle it. I just wanted to hide my face in shame because I was so embarrassed. And then they didn’t know what to say, and it was all so awkward. I balled my hands and ground my teeth. My cheeks burned with humiliation. I thought about all these things as I sat there by the bathtub, with my difficult, soapy, slippery child in my hands.

I’m not bad! But I’ve always been impulsive and I just boiled over with rage and frustration. So I grabbed both his ankles and dragged him under. It happened on the spur of the moment. I want to say something really important here. I never once thought of killing him. I needed to vent my frustration, stop the whining and complaining that were getting on my nerves. There’s nothing worse than a child screaming. It drives you mad, makes you feel like your head’s going to explode. So I pulled him under. Within a few seconds he was hysterical. He flailed around with his hands and swallowed loads of water. Then I let go of his ankles and pushed him down with both hands, right to the bottom of the bathtub. I held him there until he started to spasm. Then I thought it was maybe enough, and gradually became myself again. And of course I regretted what I’d done, but it was too late, because he’d stopped fighting and in the space of about a minute he was limp and lifeless. But it took longer than I thought. The adrenaline made my heart pound and my mouth dry. I clenched my teeth, it wasn’t easy. No matter what people might think if they’d seen me then, I didn’t kill Tommy with a light heart. And I don’t want it to be said that I killed him with malicious forethought. It wasn’t cold-blooded murder, because my blood has never boiled as it did that day in August. After a while he just lay there absolutely still at the bottom of the bathtub, with no more life in his eyes. The irises were dull, like milky glass. I almost didn’t recognize him. He wasn’t the Tommy I had given birth to anymore, just a cold, white, and wet unfamiliar little carcass. He’d thrown up and had foam around his mouth, and that’s when it started to dawn on me what I’d done. I hadn’t planned it, I’m not evil. I just wanted something different from Tommy, I didn’t want all the shame. All the struggle. But then I had to find a way out of it. I had to give a more logical explanation, because sitting there on the floor I realized I had a major problem. I was sitting there with a dead baby and I needed an explanation. Which was why I told the first story that he’d managed to get down to the pond on his own two feet. And then because he was so eager, he’d gone out onto the jetty. Yes, I thought, of course that’s what happened, and people would just have to believe it. After all, I always get my way, so I was used to it. I sat there for a while and listened but couldn’t hear anything from the cellar, where Nicolai was busy with his bikes as usual. So I lifted Tommy up and carried him down to the pond. I walked through the grass with his little body in my arms. I stood out at the end of the jetty and looked at the black water with tears stinging my eyes. And, glancing quickly to the left and right, I threw him in. He was gone within seconds, sank like lead in the dark water. Just so you know, dear diary, I’m not without feelings, and I hadn’t expected the police to catch me. So I had to change my story halfway. And I’ve done what I can just to get through this. I’m going to be a mother, after all, I’ve got responsibilities. I’m finally going to have another baby. It doesn’t matter that Anders isn’t too happy about it. I don’t care about things like that, and in any case I decide over my life.

This is the whole and full truth.

And now I want to stop being plagued by these horrible dreams.

Go away, death, go away!

Granfoss, June 22, Carmen Cesilie Zita, on my honor.