War Crimes for the Home

by Liz Jensen

  —What for?

  —Not what for, says the Jill woman, walking in and closing the door. —Not what, who. Me, that’s who, Gloria. Bring it back for me.

  —She’s right, says Doris who has slipped in with her and the little girl from the lake trailing drips of weed and mud. —You owe it to her.

  Don’t blinking well see why, I’m thinking, but I can sense Doris getting ready to give me a rocket, and Dr K is looking hard into my eyes with his Jew eyes, dark and sparkling, and the Jill woman is just waiting. Waiting for her rightful property what is stuck inside me like a baby waiting to be born.

  —How?

  —The same way you lost it.

  —And how was that?

  —You know, Gloria, goes Dr K. —You remember that.

  And he is right, I do. Oh bugger this for a game of soldiers.

  —Will it hurt?

  —No, says the Jill woman quickly. —We can promise that.

  —We can, says Dr K. —I won’t allow anything bad to happen. And you’ll feel better afterwards, he goes. —Don’t be afraid. When you’re in the hypnotic state, you’ll be able to recall the memory. You can make your peace with it. Then if you want, you can let it go again.

  —Promise?

  —I promise. Close your eyes, Gloria. I want some shallow breathing. Gentle breathing, in and out.

  This is a bit of déjà bloody vu, this is.

  —Is she staying?

  —May I? goes the Jill woman.

  —If you keep your mouth shut and leave me bloody well alone, I go.

  —Thank you, she says. —All right with you, Dr Kaplan?

  —Are you sure it’s what you want?

  And she nods yes so we are stuck with her.

  —Now, Gloria, I want you to settle down on the bed, put your feet up. Can you do that for me?

  So that’s what I do and it is a blinking relief to shut my eyes and not see that Jill face on me that looks so like Marje, I can tell you.

  —Let your body relax completely. I want you to remember what happened when you had your baby. You won’t feel any of the pain, I promise. You’ll just watch the whole thing from outside yourself. Are you there, Gloria?

  —I’m somewhere.

  And I am, I have slid there smooth as warm chocolate.

  —What can you see?

  —Bugger all.

  —Just breathe some more. Don’t resist it. I want you to remember that day. It was the same day the war ended, Gloria. Where were you? Where were you when you heard about the war ending?

  —Leavesden Avenue.

  —Can you see yourself now, Gloria?

  —Yes, young.

  —In Leavesden Avenue?

  —Yes. Their house.

  —What are you doing?

  —Crawling.

  —Where?

  —Out of the living-room. Into the kitchen. Hands and knees. Dragging two cushions. Got an envelope in my hand.

  —Why are you crawling?

  —I want to be in the kitchen. For water maybe. I’m on the floor. There’s a mop.

  I can see it very clearly, this mop. It’s leaned against the wall. I’m down on the floor pulling the cushions about so they’re under me. Clutching my belly to stop the pain, but it don’t work because I am screaming.

  —You don’t feel the pain, says his voice. —You’re just watching.

  This girl who is me, she’s got no friends, no mum or dad or sister, where is the man that got her here?

  —Are you alone?

  —Yes.

  —And what’s happening, Gloria?

  —I’m screaming my head off.

  —Why?

  —Cos I’ve read the letter and seen the photo. So it’s official.

  —Are you having the baby, Gloria?

  —I can’t walk, I want to get out of the kitchen, I don’t know what I’m doing there. I’m ripping my dress off cos it’s in the way. There’s water on the floor. I’m yelling. I’m pushing. The mop’s got germs in.

  —Take it easy, Gloria. Stand right back from it. Breathe slowly . . . What now?

  —Still screaming and pushing. I’ve rolled on to my back and I’m pushing it out, but it won’t come, it’s stuck.

  —OK, Gloria, keep nice and calm and relaxed. We’ll leave out the rest of the pushing, we’ll go to the time the baby’s born. Can you see it being born?

  I am in her body now, doing it, pushing the thing out. No pain but the feelings, they’re choking me. And then I see it, I see what I am pushing out from my fanny.

  —This thing. Oh Christ, oh damn and blast, it’s alive.

  —Where is it?

  It is out now, first the head and then the shoulders.

  —On the floor between my legs.

  —What’s it doing?

  —Crying.

  —Why?

  —Cos it’s a girl.

  And now I’m pushing again and it hurts like hell and out comes some liver on a string, with the other end attached to the baby.

  —And what are you thinking, Gloria?

  —She looks like Marje. Kill her. Strangle her like a chicken or a rabbit. Do it now while she’s hardly lived, then it won’t count as no crime, just more like an accident. Longer you leave it, worse it’ll be. So I’m holding the cord and picking up the little Marje baby. I don’t love it, you know. How could I love it when I know what Ron’s been up to with my sister? When I’ve known all along? The photo lying there. Look at them. Look at her in her silk parachute dress she made for Bobby.

  —So what are you doing?

  —Putting the cord round the baby’s neck but it keeps slipping. I’m trying to strangle it. But it’s all slippery. It’s like a fish.

  —And now?

  —There’s people coming. Someone calling me. Got to finish it quickly. I’ve got the cord round its neck and my hand over its mouth to stop the crying, and I’m yanking at the cord. And the crying’s stopped and the baby has gone blue.

  —Is it dead?

  —Yes. The baby’s dead. It’s blue. It’s stopped crying.

  And good riddance to bad rubbish. When you strangle a small creature such as a rabbit or a baby with its own cord, it’s like God’s given you the murder weapon. He meant for it to happen, if you believe in Him, which I don’t, but I do believe in nature. Tools for the job. What else is it for. The means of giving life also being the means of snatching it off, stands to reason, easy-peasy lemon squeezie. Easy-peasy lemon –

  Slippery as a fish, and blood on it, mother’s blood. The cord is blue, they don’t tell you it’s going to be blue or rather mauvey-purple, and that the small creature such as a rabbit or a baby, it’ll turn blue too. Or rather mauvey-purple. And the room will go black afterwards, and very quiet.

  They don’t tell you anything. Which is a crime in itself.

  —You see, says Doris. You are doing the right thing and when it is over you will feel a lightness and you will be allowed to go, Glor. That’s how it happens. Not to everyone but you are lucky.

  Lucky? That must be the worst joke I ever heard.

  —Gloria? Can you hear me? says a man’s voice through the warm chocolate feeling.

  —Just.

  —Are you still there? What’s happening now?

  I look about. The kitchen floor, the mop, the swirl of blood, the small hump of flesh that is my flesh, my flesh and blood. Shouting, and two people bursting in.

  —Oh bugger it, the man’s there. And so’s she. Zedorro’s got the baby and he’s slapping at it, and the Slut Fairy has got me and she’s holding my shoulders and screaming at me.

  —Dead, says Zedorro. —I’m afraid it’s dead.

  —What do we do? says the Slut Fairy. —Did she . . .?

  And they look at me, full of hate.

  I must’ve passed out or something because when I wake up he’s doing things. He’s taken a big scrap of sheet from the cupboard, looks like Marje’s wedding dress but it can’t be cos that’s in America, ain’t it. A
nd he’s wrapping the hump of flesh in it.

  —And what are you doing now, Gloria?

  —I’m lying there thinking: I did one good deed today.

  And the man’s gone white and his lips are thin and he’s holding the bundle and he’s saying —Do you realise what you’ve done, Gloria?

  —Let me see it, I go. —I’ve never seen a newborn baby before, or a dead one for that matter.

  He goes and gets the wrapped-up thing. Opens it up, and there’s its face.

  —Happy? Happy with what you’ve done?

  It’s Marje all right.

  And yes, I am happy, as a matter of fact. But not for long. Because all of a sudden I am getting another huge almighty whoosh of pain, and I’m screaming again, screaming to high heaven.

  This isn’t fair.

  It was s’posed to be over.

  Along the street she wheels a perambulator,

  She wheels it in the springtime and in the month of May,

  And if you ask her why the hell she wheels it,

  She wheels it for a soldier who is far, far away,

  Far away, far away, far away, far away.

  She wheels it for a soldier who is far, far away.

  —This is killing you, says Doris.

  —Like you said. Don’t worry, Doris. I knew. Don’t want no more, I don’t, I had enough.

  —You sure, Glor?

  —Yes, sure as eggs. That’s me done.

  The girl from Gadderton is watching us, bleeding away behind the curtain.

  Jill is sitting there crying and rocking in her chair, arms wrapped round herself like she is her own baby.

  —It’s what they want, I tell her. —It’s what she wants, Jill and the little girl with the beads. She wants revenge cos she looked like Marje and I –

  Well.

  Doris don’t say anything.

  —And then? goes a man’s voice. —What happened after that, Gloria?

  The Slut Fairy, she was grabbing Zedorro’s arm. Shaking him.

  —My God, she says to him. —Look.

  —What? he goes.

  And I see them both staring at me.

  —It’s happening again, I go. I need to push.

  Above the shelf her father keeps a shotgun,

  He keeps it in the springtime and in the month of May,

  And if you ask him why the hell he keeps it,

  He keeps it for a soldier who is far, far away.

  Far away, far away, far away,

  He keeps it for a soldier who is far, far away.

  Oh Jesus, damn and blast, what is this nightmare. I turn my head away, and heave down like I am shitting, and force the little horror out of me.

  Jesus fucking Christ. I have all the bloody luck, I do.

  There is no way I am looking at this second damn thing or the afterbirth neither.

  When it’s all over I watch from the corner of my eye as the Slut Fairy tears up more of the sheet and picks up the second bundle that’s alive and hugs it to her and starts snivelling, and the bundle cries, and they’ve all forgotten I’m there, haven’t they, they’re so happy, with their little bundle of afterbirth rubbish.

  —She knew there was something missing, see, says Doris.

  We are looking at the Jill woman who is still hugging herself like her own baby and rocking, rocking. Don’t make no noise though cos she has class, don’t she, Lady Muck. She looks up, her eyes are red, they are streaming like it is hay fever but no, it’s grief. She looks so like Marje after Bobby died, when I found her crumpled up on the floor with the sewing all around her.

  —It’s what I knew inside me all along, she says. —I knew that the missing thing, it was more a part of me than a mother or a father or a brother.

  And she starts her rocking again.

  There is a long silence that is screaming out to be filled and it is me meant to fill it.

  Doris knows too because she says. —Say it now. Say it to her now, Glor.

  Even if it kills me, which it will. So here it comes. The words they’re wanting.

  —Sorry. I am sorry.

  No answer. Silence. She just rocks and rocks in her chair. Not enough.

  —You’ve got to mean it, says Doris. —Do you mean it, Glor?

  Well, it hurts so probably I do.

  —I took a bit of you away, I go to Jill. —And I took all of her away. I am sorry to her and I am sorry to you.

  Did I say it aloud in words or did I just think it?

  —Forgive me, then?

  I said that.

  —It’s not so bad here, says Doris. —It’s this green underwater feeling. The sky’s always blue and you can sleep all the time if you feel like it. Or pay people visits, see how they’re doing. It’s like a slow green underwater forgetting feeling. Like a dream. You would like it here, Gloria. You can come along any time. Just say the word.

  A black hole in space, it’s never been properly understood, said a man on the telly. It don’t make proper sense. It holds more than it is, it takes up more space than anything but it can be tiny as a golf-ball. The most powerful golf-ball in the universe, the most powerful and the most dangerous and the most hungry, but you wouldn’t know nothing to look at it, because when you do, it practically ain’t there. It’s just like any other ordinary-looking bit of space. Bit darker at the edges, is all. You have to be an expert to spot one. You and me, if we tried spotting one, we’d get nowhere. We’d be looking for a needle in a haystack. In the dark.

  So there are Zedorro and the Slut Fairy, fussing over their crying little piece of rubbish and washing the blood and gore off it and ignoring me, and I’m thinking: oh no you don’t. You don’t leave me here like this with what I have done.

  That’s when the idea comes. Funny, but this idea I’m having, it’s almost like the little rubbish afterbirth has come up with it, not me.

  —There’s a way of fixing this, I tell Zedorro. —For me, for everyone.

  I’ll stop this in its tracks, I will, is what I am thinking.

  So with the cold part of my head, I tell him what I want.

  —I can’t, he says, when I’ve explained, which don’t take long because it’s as simple as anything.

  —You’ve got to, I tell him. —You have the power. I’ve got the want. So do it.

  Zedorro looks at the Slut Fairy. The Slut Fairy looks at him, and they have a conversation with their eyes. She holds the little snuffling bundle to her chest and then finally she gives a nod that says, Right, if that’s what the price is, yes, but I don’t like it.

  And turns her back and walks out.

  —OK, I’ll do it, Gloria, he says. —But you must know that these things aren’t done lightly. Best to wait a week or two, settle into it. There are risks. You might find that later on –

  —No. Now.

  He sighs, looks a bit frantic, like he’s wrestling with something. The clock ticks.

  —Look, just do it, I tell him. —Just do it now, and you can keep it.

  He mumbles something.

  —She’s right, your wife. It’s the price you have to pay. She knows that.

  Another long silence with the clock ticking on the wall, ticking away the minutes since death and birth. The two of them never even met, I’m thinking. That is a tidy way of doing it.

  —Now or never, I tell him slowly. Because I know that a little bit of power is mine. —Think about what happens if it’s never.

  He thinks. Don’t like it. But sees my point, don’t he, he ain’t stupid.

  —I said you can keep it, I go. —If you do it now. If you don’t, maybe I won’t be so sure.

  There is a long stretch of time. I shut my eyes and breathe. Then he speaks.

  —Not ‘it’. He says it softly. —Not ‘it’. Her.

  Hypnotism works like this. You get a man, it is usually a man, who has a way of looking into your eyes that reaches right clear to your soul. He tells you to do a thing you want to do anyway. You do it.

  And when it’s done,
who takes the blame?

  Him?

  You?

  The war?

  No one?

  Just him and me now. Me and Zedorro and a little bundle of flesh-rubbish lost in time. All the time in the world we have, it feels like. That’s how relaxed he’s got me, it is magic, it is a blessed feeling washing over me, warm chocolate, because soon I can be free again, I can feel the empty feeling I am searching for coming towards me.

  We are not up there on the stage no more and there is going to be no sawing in half and no bowl of oranges and no rod of steel. His brown eyes look into me like two pools. We have all the time in the world to do what we are going to do.

  But it don’t take long. In the end it don’t take no time really. The results go on and on but what you do, the act itself, it’s nothing, it’s a relief, it takes a minute only or perhaps a second.

  —I want you to close your eyes and imagine a stretch of water, Gloria. A big clear lake, that’s very deep. Can you see it?

  —Yes.

  —I want you to go in. You won’t feel the cold. Take the bundle in your arms, and walk into the water as far as you can go.

  And so I do, because like the last time, his plan, it don’t seem so unreasonable.

  —The bundle is heavy, Gloria, because you have weighed it down with stones. Can you feel its weight?

  And yes, course I can, it weighs a bloody ton all of a sudden, but before it was just like the weight of a cat or a big rabbit. The bundle is some flesh-rubbish or some flesh and some stones, heavy stones, and the wrapping is like the parachute silk of Marje’s wedding dress. I am staggering with how heavy it is, but not scared, not going to fall. I am up to my waist and then my neck.

  —Go deeper, Gloria, keep walking, he says. —Go right in and keep going.

  And so I do, because I know what we are going to do. It is greeny and silver and underwatery and I keep going, there is no danger, only safety here, me and my bundle walking to the middle of the lake where there are dark weeds and the mud is thick and sleepy on the bottom.

  —Now, Gloria. Do it.

  So I do. That’s where I put it down, with its heavy stones all wrapped in Marje’s dress.

  And right away the weight is gone and I am free.

  —She’ll stay at the bottom of the lake, Gloria. She’ll stay where you put her because she’s weighed down with stones, and when something’s weighed down like that, it doesn’t resurface. Ever. It will stay there, Gloria, and you will come back, leaving it behind.