Forbidden Liaison: They lived and loved for the here and now by Patricia I. Smith
Authors: Patricia I. Smith
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Schmeisser in my hand and taught me how to kill.’
‘For Fatherland, for freedom, for fuck all,’ someone said standing to attention.
‘You could be shot for that,’ Heinrich warned.
‘Let them,’ was the man’s retort.
Heinrich sighed. That’s all he needed, mutiny in the ranks. He had enough to worry about, especially after picking up his mail first thing that morning and reading the contents of a telegram from home.
Heinrich took himself off to do his morning duties immediately after finishing every morsel of the scrambled eggs and toast Busch had made. One of his duties that day was to carefully supervise then scrutinise the food tally rosters. He was down at the town’s slaughter-house making sure every animal slaughtered checked off with the farm it came from, the weight written down on the tally – allowing for a gram or two - its breed and eventually a vet’s chitty to say it was free from disease. He found it boring, but necessary, not only for the Germans, but for the islanders, too, as it maintained a standard. Only healthy meat - what little there was around - was sold in butchers shops, and every bit of the animal was used, even the bones, for soups and stews.
Izzy finished her chores and had taken the milk to the dairy. Under the front passenger seat of the lorry was hidden a basket of vegetables. As usual she went around to the back door of her aunt’s house to take them in. The door was locked and Margaret was nowhere to be seem. She lightly tapped on the window. No response. There was always a key hidden on top of the cistern in the outside lavatory, so Izzy stood on the lavatory seat to get to it. Unlocking the door she immediately put the vegetables under the sink where Margaret kept them out of view. As she put the basket on the table she shouted, ‘Aunt Margaret.’
The house appeared empty.
Izzy walked into the communal kitchen which was also clear of soldiers, before trying the door to her aunt’s living quarters. That door was locked, too. Curious as to what she might find, she walked up the stairs trying the other doors on the landing. They, too, were locked. Lastly, she came to the large bedroom at the front. It used to be the best and most expensive of the guest bedrooms. She thought it might be Heinrich’s room. She tried the door and to her surprise it had been left unlocked. She tentatively walked in, not quite closing the door behind her, and stood in the middle of the room which still had in a double bed and all the expensive Walnut furniture. It had not changed since before the invasion. Only now it was strewn with Heinrich’s belongings. She stepped towards the chest of drawers to find a picture of two small, blonde-haired little girls. This was definitely Heinrich’s room, and she was intruding on his privacy. But he had not told her about his children. She was the invader now, and she felt like one, seeing Heinrich’s personal things. She knew Heinrich the man, but this space was about Heinrich the person: the husband: the father: and she suddenly felt she knew nothing about him, even though they had been so very intimate the night before, and especially that morning. Her eyes now roamed to the small round table by the window. An unlined letter writing pad sat on it, opened, with a pencil resting by its side. Izzy looked down at it wondering if he was writing to his wife and children. But all she saw was a pencil drawing of a woman. She stood stock-still for a while looking at it until the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs startled her. As they came closer she ducked behind the door.
‘Is that you Mrs Wilfred?’ She heard Heinrich ask. And pushing open the door, he said, ‘If you’ve not finished cleaning I will wait downstairs.’
Izzy stepped out from behind. ‘I’m sorry, I was looking for Aunt Margaret.’
Heinrich smiled. ‘What a lovely surprise,’ he said.
‘You have two daughters,’ Izzy suddenly
‘For Fatherland, for freedom, for fuck all,’ someone said standing to attention.
‘You could be shot for that,’ Heinrich warned.
‘Let them,’ was the man’s retort.
Heinrich sighed. That’s all he needed, mutiny in the ranks. He had enough to worry about, especially after picking up his mail first thing that morning and reading the contents of a telegram from home.
Heinrich took himself off to do his morning duties immediately after finishing every morsel of the scrambled eggs and toast Busch had made. One of his duties that day was to carefully supervise then scrutinise the food tally rosters. He was down at the town’s slaughter-house making sure every animal slaughtered checked off with the farm it came from, the weight written down on the tally – allowing for a gram or two - its breed and eventually a vet’s chitty to say it was free from disease. He found it boring, but necessary, not only for the Germans, but for the islanders, too, as it maintained a standard. Only healthy meat - what little there was around - was sold in butchers shops, and every bit of the animal was used, even the bones, for soups and stews.
Izzy finished her chores and had taken the milk to the dairy. Under the front passenger seat of the lorry was hidden a basket of vegetables. As usual she went around to the back door of her aunt’s house to take them in. The door was locked and Margaret was nowhere to be seem. She lightly tapped on the window. No response. There was always a key hidden on top of the cistern in the outside lavatory, so Izzy stood on the lavatory seat to get to it. Unlocking the door she immediately put the vegetables under the sink where Margaret kept them out of view. As she put the basket on the table she shouted, ‘Aunt Margaret.’
The house appeared empty.
Izzy walked into the communal kitchen which was also clear of soldiers, before trying the door to her aunt’s living quarters. That door was locked, too. Curious as to what she might find, she walked up the stairs trying the other doors on the landing. They, too, were locked. Lastly, she came to the large bedroom at the front. It used to be the best and most expensive of the guest bedrooms. She thought it might be Heinrich’s room. She tried the door and to her surprise it had been left unlocked. She tentatively walked in, not quite closing the door behind her, and stood in the middle of the room which still had in a double bed and all the expensive Walnut furniture. It had not changed since before the invasion. Only now it was strewn with Heinrich’s belongings. She stepped towards the chest of drawers to find a picture of two small, blonde-haired little girls. This was definitely Heinrich’s room, and she was intruding on his privacy. But he had not told her about his children. She was the invader now, and she felt like one, seeing Heinrich’s personal things. She knew Heinrich the man, but this space was about Heinrich the person: the husband: the father: and she suddenly felt she knew nothing about him, even though they had been so very intimate the night before, and especially that morning. Her eyes now roamed to the small round table by the window. An unlined letter writing pad sat on it, opened, with a pencil resting by its side. Izzy looked down at it wondering if he was writing to his wife and children. But all she saw was a pencil drawing of a woman. She stood stock-still for a while looking at it until the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs startled her. As they came closer she ducked behind the door.
‘Is that you Mrs Wilfred?’ She heard Heinrich ask. And pushing open the door, he said, ‘If you’ve not finished cleaning I will wait downstairs.’
Izzy stepped out from behind. ‘I’m sorry, I was looking for Aunt Margaret.’
Heinrich smiled. ‘What a lovely surprise,’ he said.
‘You have two daughters,’ Izzy suddenly
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