Read Online Broken for You by Stephanie Kallos - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stephanie Kallos
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It's as if she is sickening with an insidious and fast-moving plague that turns human skin the color of ash. Vi dk un starts to approach her from behind; she senses him, snatches a butter knife, whirls around, and points the knife in his direction. She stares for a few seconds and slows her breath; when she speaks again, her voice is calm.
"Vidkun. I'd like some toast, please. Brown toast with no butter. I would also very much like some time alone with my daughter."
Margaret is astonished. She cannot remember her mother ever expressing such a desire.
"Very well, madame." He walks backward into the kitchen, his receding face the color of flour paste.
"Here it is." She slams the opened newspaper on top of Margaret's eggs and sausages. "Your father is always showing you, teaching you, and now I have something to show you too. Something to teach. You won't find it on the front page, no no no, you'll only find it here, right down here. Look, Margaret, look! In very small print, buried at the bottom of this page. Read it. Read! That expensive education your father is providing should be good for something!"
Margaret hears Papa O's footsteps thundering down the stairs, coming closer. She has never known her father to move this quickly.
"Please, Margaret, please." There are tears in her mother's eyes. "Read, darling."
Margaret isn't able to read much, and what she does read makes little sense. The article is about shops in places whose names are unfamiliar. Breslau, Munich. It is about men with beards. Judges, lawyers. There are other things in the story she does not understand. Storm troopers? Boy cots? And some people it says are tearing the beards of the men. What does that mean?
Papa O arrives. Vidkun and Clara emerge from the kitchen. Margaret's mother sits down at Papa O's place at the table and, with a perfectly composed attitude of decorum, shakes the linen napkin onto her lap. "Has your mother been troubling you, Margaret?" It is the only time Margaret has ever seen her father angry. She knows he is angry, even though he is not yelling, because his face is purplish red and his voice has sharp edges. "Look what she's done to your lovely breakfast." He removes the newspaper from Margaret's plate and pummels it into a ball. "Mother is sorry. Mother is not feeling well."
"Actually, I'm feeling very well," Margaret's mother says. "I just ordered toast."
Papa O moves across the room. His footfalls are so heavy that the china and fine crystal quiver against one another and make timid ringing sounds. "Mother has one of her headaches and will be going to bed."
"No," Margaret's mother says. "I'm hungry."
"Clara, put this newspaper out with the trash, and please see that Margaret gets a new plate. Come with me, Cassandra."
Margaret's mother and Papa O stare at one another, like a pair of stone lions. And then, without warning, Margaret's mother slowly plucks her linen napkin from her lap and starts stuffing it down her throat.
Papa O rushes toward her. His bulky body blocks her from Margaret's view, but Margaret hears gagging, grunting. Her mother's pale thin arms encircle her father and flail against his massive torso. The shape they make is like a gigantic beetle at war with itself. Vidkun rushes in and is absorbed into the creature. The table jumps up and down, the crystal glasses tip, roll, shatter. Clara hoists Margaret out of her chair and bulldozes her from room to room until she is out the front door and on her way to school.
Margaret's mother did not appear at dinner that night, nor at any meal ever again. Shortly afterward, Margaret arrived home from school to find Papa O's Mercedes-Benz and the doctor's Oldsmobile outside the house and a gathering of somber faces within. Cook put her arms around her and led her to the kitchen. She set her down before a cup of warm milk and ginger snaps, and then gently informed her that the maid who regularly awakened Madame Hauptmann to deliver afternoon tea had found the
"Vidkun. I'd like some toast, please. Brown toast with no butter. I would also very much like some time alone with my daughter."
Margaret is astonished. She cannot remember her mother ever expressing such a desire.
"Very well, madame." He walks backward into the kitchen, his receding face the color of flour paste.
"Here it is." She slams the opened newspaper on top of Margaret's eggs and sausages. "Your father is always showing you, teaching you, and now I have something to show you too. Something to teach. You won't find it on the front page, no no no, you'll only find it here, right down here. Look, Margaret, look! In very small print, buried at the bottom of this page. Read it. Read! That expensive education your father is providing should be good for something!"
Margaret hears Papa O's footsteps thundering down the stairs, coming closer. She has never known her father to move this quickly.
"Please, Margaret, please." There are tears in her mother's eyes. "Read, darling."
Margaret isn't able to read much, and what she does read makes little sense. The article is about shops in places whose names are unfamiliar. Breslau, Munich. It is about men with beards. Judges, lawyers. There are other things in the story she does not understand. Storm troopers? Boy cots? And some people it says are tearing the beards of the men. What does that mean?
Papa O arrives. Vidkun and Clara emerge from the kitchen. Margaret's mother sits down at Papa O's place at the table and, with a perfectly composed attitude of decorum, shakes the linen napkin onto her lap. "Has your mother been troubling you, Margaret?" It is the only time Margaret has ever seen her father angry. She knows he is angry, even though he is not yelling, because his face is purplish red and his voice has sharp edges. "Look what she's done to your lovely breakfast." He removes the newspaper from Margaret's plate and pummels it into a ball. "Mother is sorry. Mother is not feeling well."
"Actually, I'm feeling very well," Margaret's mother says. "I just ordered toast."
Papa O moves across the room. His footfalls are so heavy that the china and fine crystal quiver against one another and make timid ringing sounds. "Mother has one of her headaches and will be going to bed."
"No," Margaret's mother says. "I'm hungry."
"Clara, put this newspaper out with the trash, and please see that Margaret gets a new plate. Come with me, Cassandra."
Margaret's mother and Papa O stare at one another, like a pair of stone lions. And then, without warning, Margaret's mother slowly plucks her linen napkin from her lap and starts stuffing it down her throat.
Papa O rushes toward her. His bulky body blocks her from Margaret's view, but Margaret hears gagging, grunting. Her mother's pale thin arms encircle her father and flail against his massive torso. The shape they make is like a gigantic beetle at war with itself. Vidkun rushes in and is absorbed into the creature. The table jumps up and down, the crystal glasses tip, roll, shatter. Clara hoists Margaret out of her chair and bulldozes her from room to room until she is out the front door and on her way to school.
Margaret's mother did not appear at dinner that night, nor at any meal ever again. Shortly afterward, Margaret arrived home from school to find Papa O's Mercedes-Benz and the doctor's Oldsmobile outside the house and a gathering of somber faces within. Cook put her arms around her and led her to the kitchen. She set her down before a cup of warm milk and ginger snaps, and then gently informed her that the maid who regularly awakened Madame Hauptmann to deliver afternoon tea had found the
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