Flash Fiction Piece Karma
Desperation hangs in the air, malignant and suffocating.
Fritz sits at a small table covered with a faded red and white chequered tablecloth, its vibrancy well washed out long before the Nazi’s marched into their sleepy village. His black cap sits on the table; the deaths head badge captures the dimmed light. He turns his neck around to look out the cafe window, a snide maniacal grin on his face. Eyes of steel blue reflect the mayhem that is taking place out in the street.
He calls himself the rat-catcher, he knows how to storm their lairs, sending them running aimlessly towards the machine guns that strikes them down. He takes a deep breath as if to inhale the bouquet of death that he has instigated. Death gives him an appetite; he turns back to the other man, standing at his table.
“Jacques prepare me your finest” The salad that you made for me before, the ripe cherry tomatoes, crisp greens and roasted pullet”.
“And a carafe of white wine, I will be here for some time yet!”
Jacques, a tall, angular man, soft brown eyes melting tears on to his French moustache, struggles to compose himself. He watched as the Mayor crumpled in a heap on the footpath outside. The red pool spread out like a martyred halo behind his head. The mayhem ensued outside; Jacques knew it was only a matter of time before he met his maker too.
“Of course Kommandant... “It will take me a few moments.”
Fritz looked at Jacques with a teasing smile, daring him to try to escape, hoping he would. Jacques knew not even to try. He would have to find another way!
Jacques turned towards his kitchen; his posture full of dismay belied his thinking mind. I can survive, his courage rising in his belly “think Jacques think.”
Jacques thought about his mother, a brilliant cook, who could turn the most meagre rations into a feast. He remembered her ‘new condiment’ that she had concocted some years ago. It never really took off in this small village, too rich for a villager’s palate. Maybe the Kommandant would be more impressed.
Jacques prepared the meal and served it to the Invader.
“Herr Kommandant I would welcome your opinion on this dressing, an old recipe of my Mother’s...She called it mayonnaise, but it was too rich for villagers taste.”
Fritz savoured a morsel of meat dipped lightly in the mayonnaise, relishing the taste.
“You villagers do surprise me ...how did you come up with such a refined taste...exquisite”
He continued to savour every bite until his plate was empty.
“Jacques before I end your life ...can you write down the recipe for me “
Jacques got a pencil and started to write; he took his time feigning memory lapse on all the ingredients, slowly writing as he waited for the Kommandant to die, from the rat poison he has mixed through the mayonnaise.
What a fitting death!
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