STALKER

Chapter 32 - 20th October 1942 Belgium Part 2

This is an extra long chapter.  I didn't want to split it into two.  It ages to write, there were so many versions of it.  I hope this works.  Let me know if something doesn't make sense.  Forget about the typos I will fix them eventually.

Just edited this again...the umpteenth time.  Hope it reads more smoothly now.

I felt more like I was being marched to the gallows instead of being escorted to the parlour for a friendly chat. The house was dark, the heavy curtains half pulled over the windows to keep in the warmth. There was a smoky haze in the air, but the comfort that the open fire gave was worth the stuffiness. I was dumped into a chair in front of an old sideboard covered in a lace runner, little porcelain shepherdesses covered almost every inch of the surface and a large wooden crucifix sat in the center with a candle burning in front of it. All the furniture was dark and crude, too much of it was squashed into a small space. Old paintings stained brown with smoke lined the walls and in one corner an overly sweet looking Madonna stared out with sad eyes, clutching her bleeding heart. John and Jules sat down either side of me like two very scary bookends.

Martin came into the room. He had taken off the huge coat and I could see he was about 5 foot 5 perhaps, slim verging on delicate. His hair and eyes were brown, unlike his uncle's family. He rolled up his sleeves and took a manly stance with his legs apart, arms folded next to Jules. I decided he was a pretentious prat. How old was he, perhaps only 15, if that. That dislike of him crashed and burned when I remembered what was to come. I had to give the kid a break, even the biggest dickhead didn't deserve to die. He was just a stupid kid....what the hell happened for him to be slaughtered.

From where I sat I watched Mrs.Willem...Martine standing at an old iron wood stove waiting for a battered tin teapot to boil. She had white chipped enamel mugs lined up and I saw her carefully rationing out teaspoons of coffee into each. Why did I bother with champagne I should have bought along something useful. Maybe there will be a next time. When I looked at John's expressionless face...I knew that probably wasn't going to happen. Martine was stout woman, with grey blonde hair in a loose bun. She looked picture perfect in her faded floral dress, apron and sensible shoes. She hummed as she moved around the kitchen.

I heard a door open and saw her turn and raise her arms. Next minute a huge man with a fur vest and cap appeared, bent down and fell into her arms. I recognised Jacques Willem, the patriarch of the family. He gave her a peck on the cheek, then stretched to his full height. He must have been about 6 4' and broad shouldered like his son. He pulled off his fur cap and a mop of white hair fell around his weather beaten face. His wife leaned up and whispered something in his ear and he turned abruptly to look at me. Why did everyone look at me like that, you'd think I had horns and a tail.

"Some warm milk for you, sweet boy." She cooed at Martin and I couldn't help but smirk. He saw me, awh poor didimz was annoyed. John and Jules took the mugs of coffee they were offered.

"Thank you." I smiled up at Martine as she passed me my cup. She appeared to be a gentle soul, her olive skin had seen better days but the smile made up for any imperfections. I took my coffee in my gloved hands eager to take a sip. My throat was dry, fear and the smoky haze in the room had settled there uncomfortably. She sat in front of the fire and then her eyes turned to me. A moment later Jacques sat beside her on a stool. All eyes were now on me, waiting for an explanation why a stranger had come calling. Dear God...I felt like a bug about to be squashed under someone's heel.

"What's your name?" Jules hand landed on my shoulder and squeezed hard. He leaned in, his face close to mine, his tone unimpressed and cold. I was distracted for a moment because I noticed he had cologne on again. Jules smelt good  He was handsome in a severe sort of way, his face all angles, with a superman chin. But at that moment he just looked like a tough guy.  He was probably thinking what was I...collaborator, spy, definitely a threat to his family. I can't imagine I looked anything remotely like a threat, more like a terrified piece of chickenshit, shaking in my boots. "Show me your papers, friend." He demanded. I'm sure he nearly choked on the word friend. He tugged hard at my satchel.