Beastie Way

If you had gone up to any beastie living in South Karn at the time and asked, 'do you know Joke Malley?' They'd have said, 'Well, yeah.' Everyone knew Joke Malley. If they didn't know him personally they knew who he was.
He used to hold my hand and walk me down Beastie Way on his way to Roy's, and I could see how they regarded him differently. People who weren't beasties would treat him like they treated any other beastie; some with disapproval, some with caution, some with curiosity. But the beasties didn't regard him the same way they regarded each other. Some smiled at him, some nodded at him, some snarled at him. But however they looked at him, they always gave way for him. He pretended not to notice, but he didn't notice so purposefully I was certain he did.
Looking back, I realise now that South Karn wasn't really that big, nor was he the only beastie the other beasties gave notice to. But no other beastie ever walked me down Beastie Way holding my hand, and to my small seven-year-old existence, he seemed like the King of the Beasties.
Which made me the princess.
Of course, beasties don't have kings or princesses and would sneer at the idea of it, but a girl was allowed to have her fantasies.

'Daydreaming again, girly?'
Roy was dad's friend and always called me girly. I remember him a giant of a man, twice as big as dad and three times as wide. I remember being the only kid my age who wasn't scared of him, (and I could never understand why the others thought he was so scary when he was always so nice to me.)
'Here, I have something for you.' He opened his giant palm and I laughed in delight as he showed me a big, dirty ring. It was an ugly thing, made for a full-grown man and not for a small seven-year old girl, but jewelry was jewelry and beasties don't have pretty things. Not even beastie princesses.
He slipped it on my thumb and it was too big. There was a rat face carved on it, sticking out, baring its teeth. It was scary looking but I wasn't scared. I was happy. My dad was sitting at Roy's table drinking a beer with that smile of his that wasn't quite a smile. I showed the ring to him and he brought me up to his lap.
'That ring was especially made for the Blood Rat Gang,' my dad said, even though I hadn't asked. 'That's me and Roy, we're blood rats. And now you're a blood rat, too.'
'Really? I'm a blood rat?' I asked.
'Sort of. We figured you're old enough to start coming with us to the meetings. Like with Jenna, you'd like that, wouldn't you?'
I had envied my older sister by four years ever since she had been going with mum and dad to their meetings. Me and my younger brother, Ben, would be left in the care of my Aunt Merrin, who I always thought was ten times scarier than Roy, even though I could never understand why none of the other kids my age were scared of her. She always used to say bad things about my dad to us, trying to turn us against him. I think she resented him for marrying her younger sister, (my mother), and turning her beastie like him.

It turned out that the meetings were boring, mostly because I had no idea what they were talking about most of the time. They made references to things that I didn't understand, talked about the real exciting events that I wasn't allowed to go to. I used to wonder if my sister was as bored as me, but she seemed to be able to follow the conversations.
I do remember one meeting, and it was when Roy got his tattoo on his lower right arm. My dad had the same tattoo, but I never really noticed it because it had always been there. There were the words "Blood Rat" above a picture of a rat, similar to the one on my ring, and then below that, a fancy pattern with swirls. It was all in black and red ink. I remember because Roy showed it to me as well as to everyone else. He showed it off like a trophy, and everyone was congratulating him.
They also gave him a new jacket. His old one had a picture of a rat and the words "blood rat" on the back, but the new one also had the fancy pattern that was on his tattoo. My dad had the same thing on his jacket.
The next day, dad was taking me to Roy's, and when Roy went out to greet us, I saw the other beasties looking at Roy the same way they looked at dad. I admit I did feel a pang of jealousy, my dad was no longer king of the hill, but the jealousy only lasted for a moment. Then I made a connection I never made before. The tattoo and the design on the jacket was a symbol telling the other beasties that they were important. It indicated that they had status. It explained why everyone looked at my dad the way they did, because the pattern told them he was important. And now Roy was, too.

My brother liked to paint, and he was good at it, too. He was always the creative one, and at six years old his eye for detail was just as good as any adult's. He also had this special paint that you could paint on your skin and wouldn't wash off right away. I asked him if he could paint a tattoo on my arm just like dad's.
Then I sneaked into mum and dad's room. Dad went out during the day but mum was asleep in her bed. I tried to be quiet as I rummaged through her closet, and I stole dad's jacket.
I really don't know what I was thinking, or that I was planning to do anything. I think I just wanted to pretend to be important like my dad. I put it on in my room, it was very big for me. Then I went into the living room where I could show it off to Ben. His eyes widened as I walked in the room.
'Tha's da'ey's jacker!' He accused.
'I know, I just wanted to try it on.'
'Di' you ask da'ey?'
'He said it was okay,' I lied. 'Do you know how dad's really important to the beasties?'
'Nuh-uh.'
'Well, he is. I think this jacket tells them he's important. So now I can be important, too.'
'Why?'
'I don't know why, it's just the way it is. Do I look important?'
'Nuh-uh.' I was a little hurt by that.
'Well what do you know? You're only a baby. I'm going to try it out with the other beasties. '
'You carn go out!'
'I'll be fine, just dont tell mum or wake her up.'

After sneaking out of the house I went straight to Beastie Way and began walking down it, my head held high, and I pretended I didn't notice the way the other beasties looked at me, the way they would look at my dad.
And they did look at me. But they didn't give way to me.
When the first group of beasties saw me they began whispering to each other and before I knew it five beasties were surrounding me. I tried to walk past but they grabbed onto my arm. I looked around but the only other person there was pretending not to notice what was happening.
'Nice jacket, squirt,' said the biggest one. One of the other guys, a red head, pulled it off me
'Hey, that's mine!' I objected. But then the big one grabbed my right arm where my brother had painted on the fake tattoo. I could see that he had a tattoo, too, but this one had the word, "Viper" with a picture of a snake, and a similar but different pattern underneath.
'What idiot would put this marker on a little girl?'
'Isn't it obvious? It's fake. A bit of make-up,' said a skinny one. 'She probably just did it herself, or got one of her little friends to do it.'
'No it's real!' I said. I can't fathom what I could have been thinking saying that, especially when my arm was being held so tight I knew there were going to be bruises, except that I didn't want to be found out that I was just pretending to be important.
'Are you sure?' the big one asked. 'If it's real, we'll have to cut it off.' He had a sinister smile and he took out a knife. I started crying.
I looked at the man on the sidewalk for help but he avoided my eyes.
The big guy put the knife to my arm. 'Did the Blood Rats do this?' He asked. I shook my head, deciding now to tell the truth.
'I told you, she did it herself. It's just a bit of makeup,' said the skinny one. 'Just copying her elders, no doubt. Let's just wash it off and let her go home.'
'He's right, it's just paint,' I said. 'I lied before. I'm sorry.'
'Real or not,' the big one snarled, 'it's still heresy. We can't let her go without punishing her first.' I cried out as the knife cut into my skin. The guy who wouldn’t meet my eyes earlier went pale and ran off.
'Come on Bruce, it's just a little girl. I think she's scared enough to not do it again.'
'Is that true, little girl?' The big one said. 'Have you learned your lesson?'
I nodded frantically, and I had. Tears were running down my face.
'We'll still have to wash it off and make sure it's not real before letting her go,' the big one snarled, moving the knife away from my arm. 'And, little girl, if it is real, we'll still have to cut it off.'
'And we'll have to keep the jacket, too,' said the red-head, holding the jacket.
'No, that's my dad's jacket! He'll kill me!' I yelled out, temporarily brave.
'And who's that, little girl? Who's your daddy?'
'J-Joke Malley,' I said, half afraid and half proud, hoping that after knowing how important my daddy was they'd just let me go. But all they did is laugh.
'It looks like Joke Malley can't control his squirts,' the big one said. 'We'll have to confront him about that later.'
'No need, look who's here,' said another one, one that hadn't spoken before now. And then I saw my dad, Roy and a couple of the other Blood Rats running up to us. The man that was here earlier was skulking behind them. The big one grinned at my dad, (and his teeth were horrible.)
'Joke, it looks like your offspring don't know about respect the rules,' he said, 'and we were thinking maybe we should teach her instead.
'Let her go, I'll take care of it,' Joke said
'Why should we? You've already failed, we're thinking we should take over. How do we know you won't do the right thing by her this time?'
'Please,' (and it was the first time I ever saw my dad beg.) 'You can come with us. We'll take her to Roy's house and you can watch us wash it off. But then you'll have to leave. I'll discipline her my own way.'
'And what if we want to teach her our own way?'
Dad got out a gun and pointed it to the big man's head. I never even knew he owned a gun. The big man spat at his feet.
'Guns are for cowards,' he sneered in contempt.
'She's my daughter,' dad said. 'I'll be a coward for her.'
The big man threw me at my dad, and he grabbed me almost as tightly as the big man was holding my arm. Roy handed him a piece of cloth and he wrapped it around where I had been cut, (which had been bleeding quite a bit.) Then my dad heaved me over his shoulder and they all went to Roy's house.
There, he sat me down on a chair and dad took off the bandage. Roy got out a small bottle of alcohol and a bowl of water, and dad started rubbing the tattoo quite hard. It hurt because of the cut and the bruising. The blood cleaned off easily but it took a bit more rubbing to get the paint off, but it did come off, and dad sighed in relief. Then he got a new bandage and he put this one on more firmly.
'I'll discipline her, I promise,' and he said this so coldly that for a moment I was more scared of my father then I was of the big man.
Dad carried me the rest of the way home as I wondered what my punishment from dad would be. When we did get home, my mum was frantic and my brother was in tears. My mum took me and hugged me, and then she slapped me. Then she went to her room. Dad took me to my room and locked my door.
The next day I was locked in my room the whole time. I couldn't see my brother or my sister or anyone else. Mum brought me meals and I was allowed out twice to the toilet, but that was it. That night, dad took me out of the room and took me out to Beastie Way. There was one of the men that were there last night, but I was glad to see it wasn't the big man. Most of the Blood Rats were there, as well as representatives from most of the other gangs. They took out a rubbish bin and threw a lit match in there, and the whole thing lit on fire. A man holding dad’s jacket walked up and threw it in the fire, and dad made me watch as it burned. Then, one of the Blood Rats came with a small bottle. Dad held out his arm and bared it so the tattoo could be seen, and they poured the contents of the bottle on the tattoo, and his skin blistered. Dad had his teeth clenched in pain, but he didn't cry out. The Blood Rat then rubbed it so the skin came off, and then there was just red, raw, blistered, untattooed skin underneath. Dad looked at me so I could see the pain.
As for my punishment, it was merely to be locked in my room for a week. It wasn't as bad as the rest of it and I probably would have spent the whole week in my room, anyway. We only did walk down beastie way once after that, and that was just so Roy, who had some doctoring skill, could treat my wound which had become infected.
That last time when dad walked down beastie way with me, they didn't look at him anymore. And when they did, it was with a shake of their head, with pity. He was challenged all the time where he wasn't before. The worst of it all was that he no longer held himself with pride. He slumped. He didn’t look the other beasties in the eyes. He never brought it up again after that night, but I never did forgive myself for his fall.