Mr. Family Man

By Karen Lesley

Mr. Family Man married with three children, nameless, who during the book develops from a boy to a man - participates in a real massacre during the Holocaust.
He is not a Nazi, he is allowed to leave if he so wishes, yet he lifts his gun and fires - why?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Karen Lesley
• Release date: Oct 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463664674

Karen Lesley

karen lesley is 51 years old and loves trees. She also enjoys 19 century Russian literature, detective novels and running hard core hills.She has written five full length novels and two collection of short stories and is interested in the darker aspects of human history.

Book preview

MFM

by Karen Lesley

Copyright 2018 Karen Lesley

Smashwords Edition

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Table of Contents

Chapter one – insert.

Chapter One.

Chapter two – insert.

Chapter Two.

Chapter three – insert.

Chapter Three.

Chapter four – insert.

Chapter Four.

Chapter five – insert.

Chapter Five

Chapter six - insert

Chapter Six.

Chapter seven – insert.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter eight – insert.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter nine – insert.

Chapter Nine.

*****Chapter one - insert*****

Come on men. Come on - get in - get in.

It’s cold, and its dark - and I know my arse's going to freeze.

And it's two hours like that, in this.

And I'm tired. I want to go back to bed.

Come on men - rouse yourself. Let's get in the trucks.

I grab my ammunition, and my whip, and I climb in the truck.

I want to go back to bed - I'm tired - I want to go back to sleep.

******Chapter one*****

Please. Please - get the doctor.

Mary holds my niece in her arms and she begs my mother again.

The doctor, the doctor, Mary cries, and Isla begins to move in her arms.

It's all right...

It's all right, she says, kissing her on the cheek.

Mary weeps, pushing her towards me.

I step back - I don't want her - I don't know what to do with her - with either of them - I swing my eyes round the room looking for escape.

It's alright, my Mother speaks, her voice breaks into the room like the fairground wheel I took Rose on last spring; her and me, up above anyone, looking down, our legs touching - me feeling her through the touch of her skirt.

All right, all right, Mary's babbling now, crying...screaming - touching her head.

Poor mite. Mother knows a lot about babies - helped some into the world - and, I heard behind the bike sheds, touching Laura under her shirt, some out as well.

Too good for the likes of you. Too good for the likes of you...Mary's father had come storming round, screaming at Mother right at the top of his horrible voice, coming down here to live amongst the gutter trash.

It wasn't Tobias who'd socked him - but Mother, square across the jaw, right as Father would have done.

Could have showed that lot down the fair a thing or two, Kurt had said smiling, tipping beer into mugs, rolling out fags, cooking smelly, salty, kippers on the one gas ring that stands in the corner of the kitchen.

Mother smiled - and I was happy and sad - but Mary had stayed after that.

She won't sleep, keeps tossing and turning, crying, touching her head, Mary's crying, and when she does - as she did when Tobias was found alive - her voice changes - it becomes different - becomes less like Mother's, less like one of us and more like them; them who live over the river, on the other side, far away from the docks and the smell.

We should fetch the doctor, and I can see as I watch her that she still thinks as one of them.

She won't lie still - won't settle.

I don't really know how old Isla is, born January, now's October, one of the ones worse for hunger - Tommie U-boats blockading the docks.

I watch Mother look at her, not Isla but Mary, shaking her head.

Mary's hair has come loose from the knot at the back of her neck, and she's wearing her sleeping shift - the buttons aren't quite done up right, and as she passes Isla over her shoulder I see the round of her tit - lovely and juicy - her nipples like a cherry, stuck flat on a cake.

My eyes go lower and I can see the square of her hair poking through the flesh of her dress, right and ready for me to touch.

I feel Mother's boot dig into my calf, and I winch - her eyes narrow and frown, and I blush and study the large sliver mantle clock standing on the top of the fire surround.

When she slept,

Mary hasn't noticed - Kurt would have clumped me if I'd done that to Martha, his wife, but she isn't half as tasty, and three years older as well. Tobias would just have spoken to me, later, letting me know she was his and not mine to enjoy.

She went all loose and hard as well. Oh Mother call the doctor.

Mary begins to wail, and I can see she's afraid, it was there earlier, when the telegram came telling Mother that her oldest son had been found - but barely alive.

Mother walks one step forward and holds out her arms to Mary - I can see Mary hesitate, she moves backwards and then forwards uncertainly - she's like the big bony dog who lives down the alley, I feed him a pound of tripe, and pleaded with Mother - but she'd sent him out on his way.

Let me look at her. Mother's voice commands, still stretching out her arms, and Mary's trapped by the fireplace and the tiny table where we've spent a lot of night’s playing cards and drinking beer.

Then she passes her over.

I've said goodbye to them, I'd heard her telling Tobias through the gaps in the wall, speaking thickly like talking through the treacle we'd eaten before Father had died. I'm with you forever, she'd said crying.

She's burning hot and then she shivers. She's cold, then hot, then cold, then hot again, Mary's face goes white, it goes red and then white again, the Spanish Lady. She whispers it almost under her breath, like the fisherman to afraid to tell you the tales of serpents and monsters, and yet too afraid not to mention them at all.

Mother's large hand comes out and I watch it touch Isla's tiny one.

9 months, that's how old she must be.

Hot... Isla starts to scream and I watch Mary flinch - I can see her try to move away from the noise - I want to touch her - to finger the place that only my brother must have seen.

Some are for touching and some are for fucking. I hear Tobias's voice in my head.

I wonder for a moment if he'll ever do it again, if she'll be lonely, if she'll want company...the clock chimes and I catch myself - I'm looking at her breasts.

Hot - hot to the touch...Then cold...shivering with the cold.

Mother gives Isla back to Mary and pours coal on the fire - it starts to smoke and I feel the lived in tingle begin at the back of my throat, hot bath, a cold bath, a hot bath.

Cold bath, Mary's voice sounds like Mother's again, and she's hurrying out of the room, I hear the kettle clank on top of the fire and Mother's voice saying, Towels and sheets - we'll need plenty to keep her hot and cold as well.

Mother, mother, and her voice sounds like she comes from the other side of the river again, Mother, she starts to scream - high pitched, terrified, like the dock cat when she catches a mouse and plays with it, then kills it with a swipe of her paw. Her face, her face - the colour of her face, I can hear her screams through the wall, Mother's voice comes quick and fast, put her in – now. Then I hear Mother's slap – loud, crisp and clear.

Some are for touching and some are for fucking.

He and Kurt's eyes are looking at my own dressed in their uniforms.

It's brown, it's purple, look at her face.

Mary's crying now - small sounds - like Resin when I gave her my Billy do.

Mother's voice echoes through the house, get a grip - control yourself, she sounds like she does when the women come to visit her in the middle of the night, waking me up with their cries and tears, and later their screams, and later still with their smells and sounds as they leave.

But her body is blue. Mary sounds more in charge of herself now - more like the lady who leaves the house every Sunday wearing a hat and a blue coat with no smell to her - not like Martha or Mother smelling funny, smelling of lavender or rose water.

Her face is purple, her body's blue, she sounds like the Mary who comes back from the hospital every Sunday evening, who goes to bed early, not wanting the gin or cold meat Mother's left out for her, she sounds like the Mary who opened the telegram and read what Tobias had become - she sounds like the Mary who asked her Father to leave.

Rose pushes the door of the parlour open, and, as I see her give me a funny smile, Mary seems to throw herself into the room, how does she seem - does she seem like herself, does she seem tired, Isla isn't making a sound - nothing comes from her - she's like a stone on the dry part of the beach - Rose takes a step backwards, and I see her cheeks go red.

How does she seem, Mary's beginning to cry again and I feel myself want to touch her.

Does she look funny - touch her. Please Rose, see her...

I hear Mary gulp for breath, you haven't seen her all night, the front of her night shift is wet and I can see her breasts so clearly I want to walk across the room and touch one of them...

'Some are for touching and some are for fucking', he'd smiled at me after he'd said it, and touched me lightly on the cheek - but I didn't know what he'd meant.

Please, Rose, Mary's crying again, and I wonder where Mother is. I'm starting to feel like I'm not quite here - like I'm thick in the head - like I haven't had enough sleep.

Please - look at her, Mary's pushed Rose back against the wall, her head's trapped by the picture of my brothers before they went off to war and Mother's vase, Rose looks sacred, like I felt when I touched Father and realised he wasn't there.

She wants me to help her - I know I should help her - but I don't know what to do.

What's going on, Mother's voice comes into the room before her, and I feel my body slow down, Mary take that baby to the kitchen - hot, then cold, cold then hot. Rose stop crying.

Take her to your room. She nods in my direction and she reminds me of the big fat rat that lived in the pantry scaring the old woman who comes into do.

Is she O.K, Rose looks at me, and as she turns I notice she's got the blouse on that's not too difficult to undo.

Isla's ill.

I don’t want to spend time on talking – I want to spend time on fucking, but...I sigh inside – by now I’ve learnt the rules. I sit heavily down on the bed and feel all the weight shag out of it as it always does, but it’s good to have a room of my own – I can do what I wanted – as long as Mother doesn’t come butting in.

The Spanish Lady? Rose undoes her hat and puts it on the chair, then she takes of her gauze gloves and tucks them inside her hat, and I wonder where her mask is.

I shrug, I hope not, I wouldn't want Isla to die - a lot of people have died - alive one morning - dead the next - the factory working all hours keeping the shell casings turning out - me luckily to have had three days of.

Do you think, the Spanish Lady, she says it again, and this time she's using her slightly fucked of tone, like when I've forgotten something, or haven't asked her something.

I dunno, I was tired but I was going to play the game if it got me a fuck.

I hope not, and Rose smiles - and for some reason I feel pleased.

They call it Spanish Influenza, me mates at work, I say, tapping the bed beside me, stumbling slightly over the word, comes from Spain you see, I feel big and strong, as good as Tobias when Rose smiles at me and her head nods, and for some reason I want her to carry on listening to me - well...if it will get me a fuck.

Those bloody Tommies hate us - think we've given it them, I don't often read a paper - but lying in bed was boring and I'd needed something to do.

Rose smiles at me again - and I notice she's crossed her legs.

Tablets, I mutter feeling uncertain, then remembering more of it, aspirin, Bayers products.

I take a breath - god I want that fuck so much...

They think Bayer's meant to have put the Spanish Lady into aspirin so they all get poisoned - bloody Tommies, I breath angrily and think of Tobias.

I feel the bed move slightly and Rose's hand touches my leg, I'm sad for you, for all of you, and I jerk my hand away.

I can't speak - I want to smash the Tommies with one of their guns - I want to hurt the Tommies until they're all dead. I want to take one of my bullets and shove it where the sun don't shine.

They...won’t...let...me...fight.

The words seem to have squeezed themselves out of me, and I feel red and hot - and worse of all I think I'm going to cry.

It's where you work, I can hear Rose say it from what feels like a million miles away, bullets are important - just think how many you've help kill .

The crying goes away - and I want to fuck again.

Them bloody....bastards, say we sent it to America with our boats - bastards.

I feel her hand back on my leg.

Or with the gas - the mustard one.

I feel red again - Kurt got hit with gas years ago, when the war just started - he couldn't see for two whole months.

Rose is smiling at me again now - every now and then she nods and I know I'm on a winning streak.

You've had her, haven't you - the Spanish Lady. I'm not interested - it’s just another way of getting into where I want to be.

She nods and shakes her head. My brothers, my father, my cousins from Berlin.

The people from next door have died.

You? I haven't seen her for a week - a whole long week without a fuck.

She shakes her head, I had it in spring.

And me. We all had it - Mother, Mary, Martha, not Isla though, I remember the sound of Mary and Tobias through the bedroom wall - he'd told us the war was coming to an end - bloody bastard Tommie’s - Isla was too little, we thought she couldn't get it.

I wasn't too young to get it - 16, I laugh and shrug - talk, talk, talk - I want to get straight to the fuck.

And us, Rose says putting her head to one side, I watch her, stifling a sigh, Mama, Father, me, Ulla, I see her and Ulla in bed together and I feel my heart thud under me skin, all got over it though, off for a week and over it in three.

Whole street had it, she goes on, while I try not to yawn, only Mrs. Amsel died, 102 through, could have gone at any time, she blows on her fingers, and smiles and I want to reach hold of them and suck 'em one by one. Everyone apart from that lot next door - dead this time round - funeral tomorrow, all of them - the baby, she stops, frowns and goes on, her, him, her sister, the brothers home from the war. I wish this talking would stop so we could fuck. Makes you think doesn't it.

I smile at her - if I kiss her I might be able to fuck her.

Those lot over the river have got it bad, all the theatres are shut, the shops only open once a day, the bodies are piling up, so many, not enough to mourn them, let alone bury them.

Same as here, I say flushing, as if 'em lot over there are better, people dying here as well. There no better than us, I say feeling red and hot inside.

Get your belongings, you're coming home with us.

Mary's screaming back at her Father, I'm staying here.

Some think it's the war you know, Rose says leaning back against the wall wrapping her legs under her, so as she does so I see a glimpse of thigh, all smoke and fumes - doing something to us you know.

No, yes, yes, so I've heard, I'm mumbling, I'm not really listening, I'm watching the gap in her blouse where I can see through to her stays.

I cough and clear my throat, I drag my eyes back to her face, people are dying all over - a few of our men - and loads of their’s, I laugh, cos that's how I feel, loads of their's.

She frowns and touches the small sliver cross round her neck - it never comes off, even when everyone was out at the talkies and I had her on the bed naked for the first time. I can hardly see her face, all there is memories of me and her - against the wall, in the fairground, in the alley.

From a long way away I hear a cough, are you feeling O.K, and somehow I can hear her voice.

She holds up a small box, safe, she says smiling, adding, frowning, her face growing still, I need to...I've got to...I have to, suddenly Mary's screaming loudly, like the pig who was trapped down the alley before the men finished her of, and Rose stops talking.

My heart beats quick, fast, and I find myself leaping up from the bed.

From the next room comes the sound of coughing - I