The Urban Writing Thread
- Thread starter ShiftyBagLady
- Start date
weltweit
Well-Known Member
I did a bit of writing last year. I only get the urge to write when I am feeling a little up and creative. I started just writing about some of my experiences, Found it quite therapeutic refining sentences and paragraphs and the like. But I am also reading and some of the books I have read do sort of highlight that I could never really be a writer as I just don't have the command of English that proper writers have! Shame..
Ta. Maybe I'll stop being a chicken and put it up again
I've been helping care for the elderly on an inpatient ward. Bays full of old women, almost all with dementia. Some quiet and still, some asleep, one lady rubbing her teeth with a tissue all day. Some talking to themselves, or calling out. It feels like a world of lost souls. The doctors and nurses are busy. All I can hear is a gentle voice calling repeatedly; can you help me, please help me, please can you help me. So I go to her.
She asks to hold my hand. She says I can bring the baby now, please, bring the baby now? She’s the oldest person I’ve ever met. She is so thin her joints are the widest part of her limbs. Her chest is flat, her skin hangs in soft folds over her frame. Her face is so wrinkled it's almost incredible, but open, her eyes clear. Nearing the end of her life, her past is what is present. Her memories and experiences, the people she has loved, the baby she calls for is the son she once held. These are the things she now speaks about.
I feed her her lunch, she smiles at me, I feed her tiny mouthfuls of pap and I stroke her hair off her forehead. I'd fight tigers to protect her, her vulnerability makes me feel fierce, alive. She says she is so tired. The winter sun comes across the mosque, through the terraces, on to the ward. And I think, this is one reality of life and death that I hadn’t prepared for. Not the crash call and running people. Just the quiet sunlight on an old woman living in her past.
yes it is, you daft bugger.weltweit a command of the english language isn't exactly my strong point either
Voley
🐭
Doesn't matter whether you have it or not. (You have fwiw). It's the feeling that's important. Jimi Hendrix couldn't read music. Didn't make the slightest bit of difference. I know I've already told you that I think that's a beautiful bit of writing but I don't mind doing so again. Hit me right here >< it did.weltweit a command of the english language isn't exactly my strong point either
them things don't matter no more.I meant wrt spelling and grammar
Voley
🐭
Right. I can spell. My grammar's a bit shit but I can google it. You need an editor. I can do that. 30% including all film rights and I'm yer man.I meant wrt spelling and grammar
Why don't you put some of your writing up here?Perhaps there is hope for me then!!
But but .. I don't even know what a split infinity is !! except that some people now seem to think it is ok to split an infinitive... I wouldn't know
weltweit
Well-Known Member
Might think about it. Not on the right computer atm.Why don't you put some of your writing up here?
I am sure my writing is pretty average but it might be interesting to see if it is at least readable.
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weltweit
Well-Known Member
Ok, here is something. Probably lots of room for improvement, let me know what you think.Why don't you put some of your writing up here?
( text removed to protect the innocent )
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weltweit
Well-Known Member
Glad you liked it
weltweit
Well-Known Member
I am not sure that was intendedThis bit in particular made me laugh
in the midst of my terror I made you laugh
weltweit
Well-Known Member
Yes it is intended to be funny - at the end especially - I didn't expect that middle bit you mentioned to be funny really but hey it is no matter .. true story though!
DotCommunist
So many particulars. So many questions.
its dusk at the Twilight of the gods. Barthing is amusing his customers with the latest tail trick. With one claw he throws a lime into the air and quarters it with his tail before it hits the bartop.
'Weak tricks Barthing! Weak!' cries an inebriated voice as it staggers through the doors and slumps on a stool
'Be proud of your skills he said' responds Barthing looking at the soaked fey n grey haired Angel in front of him 'I won't one up you he says'
Sighing the smiter of civilisations ran a hand over his face
'Rude of me yeah. Got any coffee B? Luak?'
'Your wish is my command'
In seconds the crowd had vanished. Only Hermes remained in the corner, cheating himself at solitare and getting angry
'Boss thats good stuff. Boss and his whole host including me its good'
'You'll have it on the tab I expect'
'as Usual. What the fuck do you want money for anyway'
Barthing laid down his towel, poured a light cordial made from minor venality and leant in with a conspiratorial demeanour
'Gonna bribe Mammon to let me into Hell'
'Well thats not going to work is it? are you the human CEO of a major corporation? I don't think so'
Barthing bristled
'My money is as good as anyone elses'
Death sighed.
'Barthing, he's not the gatekeeper. He has lines of access yes but you would need the wealth of a thousand kings to get him to help you. You would be a prince among fools in your homeland but Mammon is not going to help you. I stabbed him once you know. The fat bastard just laughed as other peoples blood flowed from him'
Barthing sipped at his cordial.
'You say that, but you are not my people, he'll listen to me. Anyway I have another 1000 years to go before I have enough money.'
Death shook his head then remembered to tie back his hair as it spilled from the plain black ribbon
'Whatever keeps you warm at night barthing. This coffee is excellent, can we make it Irish?'
'Bobby Sands Irish or Ian Paisely Irish?'
'I trust your judgment here you scaly enabler'
'sands it is. Sliante!' and with that he poured another shot of tortured spirit into Deaths glass.
'You are a gentleman barthing. Sort of. I had to talk with Pestilence earlier'
'Oh yes?'
'Yeah. Last time I saw him he was skulking around the 18th century english fens giving anopheles mosquitos a nudge. The malarial bastard'
'How is he keeping then?'
'Oh same as ever. Stinks of shit, surrounded by flies, every word from his lips would make a human dissolve into a puddle of pus'
Death paused and looked into his small cup of grievously adulterated cofffee
'But he said a thing' frowning 'He said that theres a storm coming and the Boss won't know about it. Not shaitan, Pestilence never liked him. Something else'
'Weak tricks Barthing! Weak!' cries an inebriated voice as it staggers through the doors and slumps on a stool
'Be proud of your skills he said' responds Barthing looking at the soaked fey n grey haired Angel in front of him 'I won't one up you he says'
Sighing the smiter of civilisations ran a hand over his face
'Rude of me yeah. Got any coffee B? Luak?'
'Your wish is my command'
In seconds the crowd had vanished. Only Hermes remained in the corner, cheating himself at solitare and getting angry
'Boss thats good stuff. Boss and his whole host including me its good'
'You'll have it on the tab I expect'
'as Usual. What the fuck do you want money for anyway'
Barthing laid down his towel, poured a light cordial made from minor venality and leant in with a conspiratorial demeanour
'Gonna bribe Mammon to let me into Hell'
'Well thats not going to work is it? are you the human CEO of a major corporation? I don't think so'
Barthing bristled
'My money is as good as anyone elses'
Death sighed.
'Barthing, he's not the gatekeeper. He has lines of access yes but you would need the wealth of a thousand kings to get him to help you. You would be a prince among fools in your homeland but Mammon is not going to help you. I stabbed him once you know. The fat bastard just laughed as other peoples blood flowed from him'
Barthing sipped at his cordial.
'You say that, but you are not my people, he'll listen to me. Anyway I have another 1000 years to go before I have enough money.'
Death shook his head then remembered to tie back his hair as it spilled from the plain black ribbon
'Whatever keeps you warm at night barthing. This coffee is excellent, can we make it Irish?'
'Bobby Sands Irish or Ian Paisely Irish?'
'I trust your judgment here you scaly enabler'
'sands it is. Sliante!' and with that he poured another shot of tortured spirit into Deaths glass.
'You are a gentleman barthing. Sort of. I had to talk with Pestilence earlier'
'Oh yes?'
'Yeah. Last time I saw him he was skulking around the 18th century english fens giving anopheles mosquitos a nudge. The malarial bastard'
'How is he keeping then?'
'Oh same as ever. Stinks of shit, surrounded by flies, every word from his lips would make a human dissolve into a puddle of pus'
Death paused and looked into his small cup of grievously adulterated cofffee
'But he said a thing' frowning 'He said that theres a storm coming and the Boss won't know about it. Not shaitan, Pestilence never liked him. Something else'
Johnny Canuck3
Well-Known Member
.
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mansonroad
New Member
A poem I wrote a few months back, basically a reflection on the aggressive gentri/yuppification happening across the UK and particularly in London. It's called Heygate Requiem, written from the perspective of the gentrifiers.
Broad and panelled towers can sever us from noticing.
We can live inside a sense of self,
And chew and shit and kiss as
Plumage in a wasteland.
Taxi screech and retching will be shadowed to submission.
Children in the market will stutter
As we pass under.
They'll soon be out the picture.
Broad and panelled towers can sever us from noticing.
We can live inside a sense of self,
And chew and shit and kiss as
Plumage in a wasteland.
Taxi screech and retching will be shadowed to submission.
Children in the market will stutter
As we pass under.
They'll soon be out the picture.
frogwoman
No amount of cajolery...
OK so years ago I wrote a book which Belushi and upside down walrus (RIP) read, it was about fascists coming to power in the UK, I tried to write the sequel but gave up because it became really violent and depressing and I was a bit disturbed by the things that I was writing, I had some creativity the last few days though and have decided to write the sequel from scratch. Shall I paste what I have done here?
DotCommunist
So many particulars. So many questions.
is harper still languishing in the realms of unfinished narrative? 
frogwoman
No amount of cajolery...
So on a whim I go into the tiny wooden church on Eminescu Strada. It's in the middle of a field; it looks and feels like it was made for a children's art project. The ceilings are too low; the stairs creak and it definitely wouldn't pass a H and S inspection. I stare at the pictures on the walls; I never saw art like this before. Those people were obviously Jesus and Mary.
There is a woman lighting candles in a headscarf. I realise suddenly that I know her; the dark hair, the trousers.
I walk over to her. she is deep in concentration; she says something to her candles.
'Svetlana,' I say.
She turns round. She looks nervous; like she's not pleased to see me. she tenses up. I haven't seen her in over six months.
'Talisha,' she whispers. 'This is the church.'
'Yeah, so?' I say. 'Who's going to stop me talking in here, God?'
'I say my prayer in here,' she says. 'Then we talk'.
I wonder how Mark competes with God Himself. I had forgotten how fiercely religious Svetlana was. I wait for her for a few minutes, then I step back outside. There's an outside toilet here; chickens, stray dogs. I move towards one; try to kick it, thrn feel a sense of shame as it hangs back.
She steps out of the church ten minutes later. I ask her if she wants a coffee. Nothing here really costs more than a few quid. She looks around, then agrees as we walk past a guy trying to get tourists to take photos of him with a stuffed tiger.
'Hey, is Kosovo still the holy land?' I say.
'Yeah,' Svetlana says. 'but here, Moldova, to me here also is holy like Kosovo. It is good to us. Good to my family and to me.'
'Moldova looks like a shithole,' I say. 'From what I have seen of it.' And smelt; its hard to miss the all pervasive stench of the Chisinau drainage system. the traffic jams, the minibuses held together with bits of string, the power cuts. I hadn't had any idea places like this existed. not really.
'Like Belgrade of my childhood,' Svetlana says. I decide not to push it further.
'Where's Mark?' I say.
She shrugs. 'Working,' she says. 'Always work. In refugee centre.'
'And what do you do here?'
'I teach in that centre Russian language. I have day off today.' She opens the gate and steps into Eminescu Strada. The paving stones are ripped up. There is rubbish by the fence. she doesn't look pleased to see me.
'Do you want to have a coffee?' I say.
'Sorry, no, I will go to the park,' she says. 'I should be alone.' we walk past a trolleybus stop, a group of people on the pavement dressed incongruously well trying to push their way on. it's hot here; it must be at least 30 degrees. The girls are dressed in short skirts and low cut tops; the old women are dressed in shawls and scarves. Quite a contrast.
'Is there something wrong?' I say.
'It's a sad day for me today,' she says. 'it's the day my mum and sister died. So, I need to be alone and talk to my God. I speak with my brother and father later.'
'I'm sorry,' I say.
There's a different look in her eyes; more confident, not broken, not afraid like before. Something else though. I walk alongside her; she says nothing.
'How come you're here?' I say.
'Sweden is at war,' she says. 'They come to Sweden now. They think we people from England are spies, some were and all Swedish are afraid. The fascists come to Sweden now. Both sides. we cannot stay.'
'You wouldn't go back?'
'I cannot,' she says. 'He will know if I go back home as he expects me there, he knew I looked to go back. He came to Sweden to help all fascists and spies in Sweden. I cannot put my family in danger.' We walk past a pizza restaurant. It looks awful.
'I saw him,' she says. 'He not see me. I saw him there.' She looks around. She's right; nobody would ever look for her there.
'France, Spain, Norway, all are taken,' she says. 'in Sweden, war. Italy, war.' she shakes her head. 'Moldova, nobody would ever come in Moldova.'
I laugh. 'Say that again.'
'Talisha,' she says. 'I ask you one thing please. Perhaps you listen what I say.'
'Yeah?'
'Talisha, I know you respect what I am saying you,' she says. 'So please.'
The air around me turns chilly suddenly; The atmosphere changes. She takes a step away from me. Her face is tense. nonetheless she looks straight at me and when she has finished I feel like the world is about to end.
'I want you stay away from my sister in law,' she says. 'She is not yours no more.'
I have to pinch myself to know that I am not in some terrible dream. I feel dizzy; as if the world is moving around me. A guy whizzes past on a motorbike; my head is splitting. Suddenly I can't breathe.
'Why not?' I manage.
'You tortured people, I see it in your eyes,' she says. 'you hurt people when you didn't need.'
I am stunned. suddenly I feel cold. an emotion that I have not felt in a very long time comes back to me.
'Lou is going to come back to me,' I said. 'She needs time. She lost her memory. They gave her something. When she remembers who I am, she'll come back...'
'She remembers us now, Talisha,' she says. 'It is you now. It is you that don't remember what you are.'
'No,' I say. 'No. she's going to come back to me. When she remembers properly.'
Svetlana shakes her head. 'She won't,' she says firmly. 'She has met someone else. I am sorry. We didn't know how to tell you.'
'Lou asked me if I wanted to kill Pavac,' Svetlana said. 'I said that I didn't because I am Christian. I didn't tell you all reasons why. you want me, I'll tell you'.
'Tell me,' I say.
'I think my - my aunt's husband did some things in Croatia,' she says. 'He said he was innocent. But the way he talks. How he speaks about this people. I don't know, sometimes I feel ashamed.'
'Right', I said.
'I didn't want to kill,' she says. 'I didn't want to be like such guy. And when I look at you you are changing. it scares me, I tell so you... You understand me. You make me think of him and... And Pavac. it's too easy for you.'
'I saved your life,' I yell at her. 'you should be fucking grateful because without us you wouldn't fucking be here! You are safe over here. It's fine for you to tell us how to behave! You all depend on us! don't you dare say I'm like Pavac, don't you dare, when I am trying to do the right thing!'
I think of the scab in the bathroom. I think of what we did, me and Jack, our terrible pact. To try and get Lou back and for what?
'I never said that you are like Pavac,' Svetlana says. 'But you are changing, Talisha. You are changing too much. You cause pain too easily. You frighten me.'
Betty, crying after I had hit her for questioning me, for having a rich mum, for not being Lou. Pavac's dog Franjo, who I had kicked a few too many times and still seemed to love me. All the murders I had done. Jesus, Talisha. the old man in the bank.
What the fuck is wrong with you?
I stepped away from her; I almost tripped on a crack in the pavement. 'Don't come near me again,' I gasped. I didn't see her walk away. I bent double with nausea.I sit down in the middle of this dusty road and start crying. I don't know how long I am there for; time seems to stop. I wish I could call someone. There's nobody I can call. an old woman in a flowery skirt with a big stick in her hand yells something to me in Russian which I can't understand. I can't stop crying.
There is a woman lighting candles in a headscarf. I realise suddenly that I know her; the dark hair, the trousers.
I walk over to her. she is deep in concentration; she says something to her candles.
'Svetlana,' I say.
She turns round. She looks nervous; like she's not pleased to see me. she tenses up. I haven't seen her in over six months.
'Talisha,' she whispers. 'This is the church.'
'Yeah, so?' I say. 'Who's going to stop me talking in here, God?'
'I say my prayer in here,' she says. 'Then we talk'.
I wonder how Mark competes with God Himself. I had forgotten how fiercely religious Svetlana was. I wait for her for a few minutes, then I step back outside. There's an outside toilet here; chickens, stray dogs. I move towards one; try to kick it, thrn feel a sense of shame as it hangs back.
She steps out of the church ten minutes later. I ask her if she wants a coffee. Nothing here really costs more than a few quid. She looks around, then agrees as we walk past a guy trying to get tourists to take photos of him with a stuffed tiger.
'Hey, is Kosovo still the holy land?' I say.
'Yeah,' Svetlana says. 'but here, Moldova, to me here also is holy like Kosovo. It is good to us. Good to my family and to me.'
'Moldova looks like a shithole,' I say. 'From what I have seen of it.' And smelt; its hard to miss the all pervasive stench of the Chisinau drainage system. the traffic jams, the minibuses held together with bits of string, the power cuts. I hadn't had any idea places like this existed. not really.
'Like Belgrade of my childhood,' Svetlana says. I decide not to push it further.
'Where's Mark?' I say.
She shrugs. 'Working,' she says. 'Always work. In refugee centre.'
'And what do you do here?'
'I teach in that centre Russian language. I have day off today.' She opens the gate and steps into Eminescu Strada. The paving stones are ripped up. There is rubbish by the fence. she doesn't look pleased to see me.
'Do you want to have a coffee?' I say.
'Sorry, no, I will go to the park,' she says. 'I should be alone.' we walk past a trolleybus stop, a group of people on the pavement dressed incongruously well trying to push their way on. it's hot here; it must be at least 30 degrees. The girls are dressed in short skirts and low cut tops; the old women are dressed in shawls and scarves. Quite a contrast.
'Is there something wrong?' I say.
'It's a sad day for me today,' she says. 'it's the day my mum and sister died. So, I need to be alone and talk to my God. I speak with my brother and father later.'
'I'm sorry,' I say.
There's a different look in her eyes; more confident, not broken, not afraid like before. Something else though. I walk alongside her; she says nothing.
'How come you're here?' I say.
'Sweden is at war,' she says. 'They come to Sweden now. They think we people from England are spies, some were and all Swedish are afraid. The fascists come to Sweden now. Both sides. we cannot stay.'
'You wouldn't go back?'
'I cannot,' she says. 'He will know if I go back home as he expects me there, he knew I looked to go back. He came to Sweden to help all fascists and spies in Sweden. I cannot put my family in danger.' We walk past a pizza restaurant. It looks awful.
'I saw him,' she says. 'He not see me. I saw him there.' She looks around. She's right; nobody would ever look for her there.
'France, Spain, Norway, all are taken,' she says. 'in Sweden, war. Italy, war.' she shakes her head. 'Moldova, nobody would ever come in Moldova.'
I laugh. 'Say that again.'
'Talisha,' she says. 'I ask you one thing please. Perhaps you listen what I say.'
'Yeah?'
'Talisha, I know you respect what I am saying you,' she says. 'So please.'
The air around me turns chilly suddenly; The atmosphere changes. She takes a step away from me. Her face is tense. nonetheless she looks straight at me and when she has finished I feel like the world is about to end.
'I want you stay away from my sister in law,' she says. 'She is not yours no more.'
I have to pinch myself to know that I am not in some terrible dream. I feel dizzy; as if the world is moving around me. A guy whizzes past on a motorbike; my head is splitting. Suddenly I can't breathe.
'Why not?' I manage.
'You tortured people, I see it in your eyes,' she says. 'you hurt people when you didn't need.'
I am stunned. suddenly I feel cold. an emotion that I have not felt in a very long time comes back to me.
'Lou is going to come back to me,' I said. 'She needs time. She lost her memory. They gave her something. When she remembers who I am, she'll come back...'
'She remembers us now, Talisha,' she says. 'It is you now. It is you that don't remember what you are.'
'No,' I say. 'No. she's going to come back to me. When she remembers properly.'
Svetlana shakes her head. 'She won't,' she says firmly. 'She has met someone else. I am sorry. We didn't know how to tell you.'
'Lou asked me if I wanted to kill Pavac,' Svetlana said. 'I said that I didn't because I am Christian. I didn't tell you all reasons why. you want me, I'll tell you'.
'Tell me,' I say.
'I think my - my aunt's husband did some things in Croatia,' she says. 'He said he was innocent. But the way he talks. How he speaks about this people. I don't know, sometimes I feel ashamed.'
'Right', I said.
'I didn't want to kill,' she says. 'I didn't want to be like such guy. And when I look at you you are changing. it scares me, I tell so you... You understand me. You make me think of him and... And Pavac. it's too easy for you.'
'I saved your life,' I yell at her. 'you should be fucking grateful because without us you wouldn't fucking be here! You are safe over here. It's fine for you to tell us how to behave! You all depend on us! don't you dare say I'm like Pavac, don't you dare, when I am trying to do the right thing!'
I think of the scab in the bathroom. I think of what we did, me and Jack, our terrible pact. To try and get Lou back and for what?
'I never said that you are like Pavac,' Svetlana says. 'But you are changing, Talisha. You are changing too much. You cause pain too easily. You frighten me.'
Betty, crying after I had hit her for questioning me, for having a rich mum, for not being Lou. Pavac's dog Franjo, who I had kicked a few too many times and still seemed to love me. All the murders I had done. Jesus, Talisha. the old man in the bank.
What the fuck is wrong with you?
I stepped away from her; I almost tripped on a crack in the pavement. 'Don't come near me again,' I gasped. I didn't see her walk away. I bent double with nausea.I sit down in the middle of this dusty road and start crying. I don't know how long I am there for; time seems to stop. I wish I could call someone. There's nobody I can call. an old woman in a flowery skirt with a big stick in her hand yells something to me in Russian which I can't understand. I can't stop crying.
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frogwoman
No amount of cajolery...
is harper still languishing in the realms of unfinished narrative?
Yeah but I'll finish him mate, you'll be the first to know!
frogwoman
No amount of cajolery...
'Lou's got someone else,' I sob. 'She told me that. She told me.'
Jack puts down his rifle and looks at me for a long time. The flat is just as dingy as it was when I left it; it's probably not my imagination that I can hear crackles coming from the TV, which Jack always keeps on. The window is open because the heating is on and the government haven't decided to turn it off despite it being the middle of fucking summer.
'She said that I was getting like Ante Pavac,' I say. 'And that I should stay away from Lou.'
Jack looks at me. He says something that I don't catch.
'What, Jack?' I say. 'What did you say?'
'What did the Pavac creature do to this woman again?' He says. He looks at his rifle again. His face is set.
'He was a soldier in the Croatian army. He raped her,' I say. 'He made her watch when they killed her mum and sister. Her housemate became an exemptive when she was living with her. He used the housemate to spy on her with the camera they put inside her.' I remembered when I had met her that time, hysterical, wanting to know whether there was an exorcist who could help Kara.
Again Jack said something inaudible. his expression hardly changes but I see him clutch his gun tighter.
'Speak to me, Goddamnit,' I yell at him. 'Speak to me!' I start crying again. 'She's crazy, isn't she? She's crazy. She had an eating disorder! He sent her crazy, didn't he?'
'Perhaps when she tells you something like that, it's time to listen to her,' he says quietly.
'You enjoyed what we did to the prisoners,' Jack said. 'I saw it in you. You were so full of anger and hate. And you enjoy power.'
I open my mouth to challenge him. I can't. Because he is right.
'Remember what we are fighting for,' Jack said. 'We're not animals. We don't hate. We are fighting for freedom. Don't let them take that away from us.'
'I saved her life,' I say. 'Principles don't come into it, Baljinder had those, see how far they took her.'
'What kind of world do you want,' Jack said. 'Their world, where the way someone looks or where they've come from makes them worthy of death. Where people like Pavac and Charlotte Gould and Rob Sinclair are allowed to decide who lives or dies. Or ours? You killed people who had done nothing wrong.'
'So did you,' I said.
'I did what was necessary,' Jack said. 'I never forgot what I was there to do. The people I killed were exemptives.'
'Not all of them,' I say. 'You were in the IDF. were all those Palestinians exemptives too? Exemptives didn't fucking exist then!'
'Shut up, I never killed anyone in the IDF,' Jack yelled. 'I never killed anyone! Never! I did what I had to do. I was a kid!'
'I'm a kid,' I yelled. 'I never had a chance to grow up!'
'I'm sorry,' Jack said. 'Hey, sit down.'
'It can't be true what she says about Lou,' I say. 'I can't believe its true. She'll come back.' The words sound as artificial as they are. Something I have to say. 'She's only saying it because she's worried and she thinks that I - for some reason...'
'Look at me,' Jack says. his face has returned to that stiff expression he had before.
'It can't be true,' I say. 'She loves me. Ten years, Jack. she wouldn't - I don't believe it.'
Jack shakes his head. 'I'm sorry, Tal.'
Jack puts down his rifle and looks at me for a long time. The flat is just as dingy as it was when I left it; it's probably not my imagination that I can hear crackles coming from the TV, which Jack always keeps on. The window is open because the heating is on and the government haven't decided to turn it off despite it being the middle of fucking summer.
'She said that I was getting like Ante Pavac,' I say. 'And that I should stay away from Lou.'
Jack looks at me. He says something that I don't catch.
'What, Jack?' I say. 'What did you say?'
'What did the Pavac creature do to this woman again?' He says. He looks at his rifle again. His face is set.
'He was a soldier in the Croatian army. He raped her,' I say. 'He made her watch when they killed her mum and sister. Her housemate became an exemptive when she was living with her. He used the housemate to spy on her with the camera they put inside her.' I remembered when I had met her that time, hysterical, wanting to know whether there was an exorcist who could help Kara.
Again Jack said something inaudible. his expression hardly changes but I see him clutch his gun tighter.
'Speak to me, Goddamnit,' I yell at him. 'Speak to me!' I start crying again. 'She's crazy, isn't she? She's crazy. She had an eating disorder! He sent her crazy, didn't he?'
'Perhaps when she tells you something like that, it's time to listen to her,' he says quietly.
'You enjoyed what we did to the prisoners,' Jack said. 'I saw it in you. You were so full of anger and hate. And you enjoy power.'
I open my mouth to challenge him. I can't. Because he is right.
'Remember what we are fighting for,' Jack said. 'We're not animals. We don't hate. We are fighting for freedom. Don't let them take that away from us.'
'I saved her life,' I say. 'Principles don't come into it, Baljinder had those, see how far they took her.'
'What kind of world do you want,' Jack said. 'Their world, where the way someone looks or where they've come from makes them worthy of death. Where people like Pavac and Charlotte Gould and Rob Sinclair are allowed to decide who lives or dies. Or ours? You killed people who had done nothing wrong.'
'So did you,' I said.
'I did what was necessary,' Jack said. 'I never forgot what I was there to do. The people I killed were exemptives.'
'Not all of them,' I say. 'You were in the IDF. were all those Palestinians exemptives too? Exemptives didn't fucking exist then!'
'Shut up, I never killed anyone in the IDF,' Jack yelled. 'I never killed anyone! Never! I did what I had to do. I was a kid!'
'I'm a kid,' I yelled. 'I never had a chance to grow up!'
'I'm sorry,' Jack said. 'Hey, sit down.'
'It can't be true what she says about Lou,' I say. 'I can't believe its true. She'll come back.' The words sound as artificial as they are. Something I have to say. 'She's only saying it because she's worried and she thinks that I - for some reason...'
'Look at me,' Jack says. his face has returned to that stiff expression he had before.
'It can't be true,' I say. 'She loves me. Ten years, Jack. she wouldn't - I don't believe it.'
Jack shakes his head. 'I'm sorry, Tal.'
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