Posted in 1940s, Historical fiction, Imre, Writing

WeWriWa—Difficult realities

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Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. I’m now sharing from Chapter 45, “Imre’s Revenge,” of my hiatused WIP The Strongest Branches of Uprooted Trees. This week’s snippet comes a bit after last week’s.

It’s November 1945, and Imre chose to stay behind in Budapest when his girlfriend Csilla and their friends were smuggled into Italy. Hoping to prove himself a hero, he went to Csilla’s hometown Abony to recover important possessions she hid last year.

Imre fled back to Budapest after a violent fight with the gendarme who took over Csilla’s house. He’s now at a nearby hospital with his mother. X-rays revealed he broke his entire left hand, his dominant hand. In the course of talking with the doctor, Imre mentioned Csilla might not be able to have kids, and the doctor asked why she thinks that.

Pasarét is a Bauhaus neighborhood on the hilly Buda side of the city, where Imre and his friends moved a few months ago.

Budapest 1945, the beautiful Pearl of the Danube 80% reduced to rubble

Imre clenched his unbroken fist. “The gendarme put live electrical wire into her uterus when he was torturing her.”

Mrs. Goldmark visibly cringed, and the doctor grimaced.

“That could certainly have a very negative impact on fertility, if the uterine lining were burnt off or damaged, but it doesn’t necessarily preclude conception. When you’re closer to marriage, she can undergo a few tests to see what’s going on. If she can’t have children, you can adopt some of these unfortunate war orphans.”

“May I please have some pain relief pills so I can be on my merry way back to Pasarét? I left all my things there, and I like my job as a waiter.”

“I’m not so sure it’s safe for you to go anywhere,” Mrs. Goldmark said.

Posted in 1940s, Historical fiction, Imre, Writing

WeWriWa—A crime of passion

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Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. I’m now sharing from Chapter 45, “Imre’s Revenge,” of my hiatused WIP The Strongest Branches of Uprooted Trees. This week’s snippet comes a bit after last week’s.

It’s November 1945, and Imre chose to stay behind in Budapest when his girlfriend Csilla and their friends were smuggled into Italy. Hoping to prove himself a hero, he went to Csilla’s hometown Abony to recover important possessions she hid last year.

Imre fled back to Budapest after a violent fight with the gendarme who took over Csilla’s house. He’s now at a nearby hospital with his mother. X-rays revealed he broke his entire left hand, his dominant hand. The doctor approves of Imre attacking someone to defend his girlfriend’s honor, though his mother is less approving.

Imre has just given more details about the incident and talked about how he can’t wait to start giving Csilla back her belongings as birthday and Chanukah presents when he sees her again.

Rubble-clogged streets of 1945 Budapest, the beautiful Pearl of the Danube a shadow of its former self

The doctor smiled. “This was a crime of passion alright. I suppose you intend to marry this lucky young lady.”

“You’d better, after you’ve possibly killed a man for her,” Mrs. Goldmark said. “You wouldn’t have done such a thing if you didn’t have serious feelings for Csilla.”

“I think I love her,” Imre admitted. “She might be unable to have children, and isn’t so sure she wants any children regardless, but I don’t care about that.”

“Why does she think she can’t have children?” the doctor asked. “Perhaps I can give my expert opinion, at least as far as I can without seeing her in person.”

Posted in 1940s, Historical fiction, Imre, Writing

WeWriWa—More details provided

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Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. I’m now sharing from Chapter 45, “Imre’s Revenge,” of my hiatused WIP The Strongest Branches of Uprooted Trees. This week’s snippet comes a bit after last week’s.

It’s November 1945, and Imre chose to stay behind in Budapest when his girlfriend Csilla and their friends were smuggled into Italy. Hoping to prove himself a hero, he went to Csilla’s hometown Abony to recover important possessions she hid last year.

Imre fled back to Budapest after a violent fight with the gendarme who took over Csilla’s house, Mr. Mészáros. He’s now at a nearby hospital with his mother, and has gotten the news he broke his entire left hand, his dominant hand. His mother is horrified to learn he may have killed someone, but the doctor applauds him for fighting for his woman’s honor.

Copyright Nevit Dilmen

The doctor looked at Imre a little more closely. “I’d never expect a fellow who looks like you to get into a violent fight that possibly ends in murder. You look like a soft intellectual or poet, not a man’s man who fights for his woman.”

“I punched the wall by mistake after he’d passed out,” Imre went on, ignoring the slight to his masculinity. “I was so angry, I didn’t realize he’d fallen. Then I kicked him over and over, and finished him off with a shovel to the head. I wasted no time in getting the hell out of there with my girlfriend’s valuables on her old sled. Boy, I can’t wait to start giving her back all these things. I’m going to surprise her in Italy with her old stuffed bat and scarf, and then gradually give her the rest for Chanukah and her birthday. She’ll be eighteen next month, and I can’t wait to give her the nicest presents she could hope for.”

Posted in 1940s, Historical fiction, Imre, Writing

WeWriWa—Conflicting reactions

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Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. I’m now sharing from Chapter 45, “Imre’s Revenge,” of my hiatused WIP The Strongest Branches of Uprooted Trees. This week’s snippet comes a bit after last week’s.

It’s November 1945, and Imre chose to stay behind in Budapest when his girlfriend Csilla and their friends were smuggled into Italy. Hoping to prove himself a hero, he went to Csilla’s hometown Abony to recover important possessions she hid last year.

Imre got into a violent fight with the gendarme who took over Csilla’s house, Mr. Mészáros, which may have ended in murder. He fled back in Budapest, and now is at a nearby hospital with his mother. X-rays revealed Imre broke his entire left hand, his dominant hand. When the doctor asked how it happened, Imre confessed he may have killed someone. His mother is horrified and assumes this was a Soviet soldier. Imre then gives a summary of what happened.

Ward of Budapest’s Hospital in the Rock, Copyright Ali1234~commonswiki

Mrs. Goldmark shook her head. “I thought I raised you better than to break into people’s houses, even if you were motivated by noble intentions. I won’t even touch the issue of resorting to violence.”

The doctor chuckled. “It’s the law of the jungle, Mrs.—”

“Goldmark.”

“It’s simple man-to-man justice. Just a moment ago you said you hoped he’d killed a Russian soldier to protect his girlfriend. Why is this any different? He was avenging a woman’s honor, like a real man.”

Posted in 1940s, Historical fiction, Imre, Writing

WeWriWa—Talking with the doctor

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Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. I’m now sharing from Chapter 45, “Imre’s Revenge,” of my hiatused WIP The Strongest Branches of Uprooted Trees. This week’s snippet comes a bit after last week’s.

It’s November 1945, and Imre chose to stay behind in Budapest when his girlfriend Csilla and their friends were smuggled into Italy. Hoping to prove himself a hero, he went to Csilla’s hometown Abony to recover important possessions she hid last year.

Imre got into a violent fight with the gendarme who took over Csilla’s house, Mr. Mészáros, which may have ended in murder. He fled back in Budapest, and now is at a nearby hospital with his mother. The doctor has just explained Imre broke his entire left hand, his dominant hand.

This has been slightly tweaked to fit ten lines.

© Nevit Dilmen

The doctor wrapped gauze around Imre’s hand and put it in a splint. Then, at last, the blessèd morphine was injected.

“Were you in a bar fight, son, or did one of those damned Russians attack you?”

Imre looked at the doctor warily. “Are you going to keep this information private? I don’t want word about this to get around.”

“Think of me like a priest. Everything we say is confidential, and can’t be used in court. What exactly did you do?”

“I think I killed someone,” Imre blurted out.