In the Age of Angel Makers
Chapter 12
Zsuzsanna Fazekas was interrupted from reading a letter delivered that morning by a frantic knock. She was irritated; the letter from her former mentor detailed a promising new method of birthing known as twilight sleep, but the knock was persistent. She stood, grumbling a bit as she straightened her skirt and wiped her hands on a rag. The knock grew louder. She marched over to the door and swung it open harder than she intended.
A short, rounded pregnant woman stumbled back from the door. “Oh!”
Zsuzsanna recognized her from town and tried to school her fierce scowl into a professional smile. “Hello, Ildiko. I apologize for my abruptness; please, come in.”
Zsuzsanna swept the tiny woman inside and guided her deftly over to the chairs arranged in the back parlor Zsuzsanna had converted into an examination room. She was eager to conclude the visit. She had examined Ildiko only a few days prior and found nothing concerning. She would reassure the woman - pregnant women’s nerves often frayed as the time of delivery drew nearer - and then return to her study of the letter.
She sat down across from the woman. “Now, how can I be of assistance,” her voice trailed off as Zsuzsanna finally looked at the woman’s face.
A mottled bruise covered Ildiko's cheekbone and her bottom lip was split and cracked with dried blood. Her eyes were hollow as she clutched at her stomach with shaking hands.
Zsuzsanna drew in a sharp breath. “What is this?” she hissed.
The woman barely reacted to her anger. “It-it was my husband.”
“What did he do?” Zsuzsanna’s fury rose, heating her blood into a boil.
“He became angry during a conversation and struck me. I don’t think he meant to hit so hard, but I was flung back and landed on-,” the woman’s voice broke and Zsuzsanna saw red. “-on my stomach.” Ildiko drew in a shuddering gasp. “I was hoping you could check to see if my baby is still alive.”
The soft ticking from the parlor’s clock and the distant whistle of the wind faded. Zsuzsanna was aware only of the sound of the woman’s sobs and the feel of her own hands, clenching and unclenching into tight fists. She laid them flat on her knees to still them. “Has he hit you before?”
Ildiko hesitated. Zsuzsanna stared at her until the woman relented. “Yes,” she whispered.
Zsuzsanna stood, trying not to let rage puncture through her veneer of control. She could feel the woman’s fear seeping through the house, hiding in the shadows cast in the corners of the room. It heightened Zsuzsanna’s anger until her body shook from trying to shield it from the terrified young woman.
“Get on the table.”
Ildiko stumbled to obey, the skin around her bruise as white as the snow thawing outside in the winter sun. Zsuzsanna examined her gently, but as thoroughly as she dared. Her breath came in short staccatos as she carefully checked for signs of life in the abused woman’s stomach. Ildiko barely moved, keeping her eyes fixed on the ceiling as she waited with bated breath for Zsuzsanna’s verdict.
“I feel a heartbeat,” Zsuzsanna breathed out a sigh of relief, her sharp rage dissipating into a duller anger.
Ildiko let out a harsh sob, a shaky hand reaching up to cover her mouth. “Oh, thank God.” She cradled her stomach with her other arm.
Zsuzsanna frowned. “God had nothing to do with this.”
Ildiko looked up at Zsuzsanna’s words. “What do you mean?”
Zsuzsanna’s fists clenched once again. “Where was God when your husband beat you?” Ildiko’s eyes grew. “He was not there to save you when that man threatened your life and the life of your child!” Zsuzsanna was breathing hard. “He abandoned you when you needed someone to save you most.”
The woman sat up on the table and quickly buttoned her dress. She looked vulnerable. “What you speak of is blasphemy,” she said, her voice barely reaching Zsuzsanna’s ears.
Zsuzsanna bent at the waist to lower her face to the woman’s height. “God will not save you.”
Ildiko wilted under her intense stare. “What are you saying?”
“You must save yourself. All women must.”
Ildiko's face wrinkled with confusion. “Save ourselves?”
“Dismissal, neglect, abuse. Women have been subjected to the worst men have to offer for centuries. Did God save any of them? Did He save you?" Zsuzsanna shook her head. "He has forsaken them in a time of incredible need. I have seen countless bruises like your own that speak of His neglect.”
Ildiko’s eyes sharpened. No more than a fraction, but Zsuzsanna caught the movement. “And how do you propose women save themselves?”
Zsuzsanna tilted her head. “There are ways to end the suffering. I have seen it done before.”
“How? How is such a thing possible?” Ildiko swayed forward towards Zsuzsanna as if reaching for her words.
Zsuzsanna paused. This one had potential but was not ready. Not quite. “There are ways, but none that come easily.” Zsuzsanna herded her towards the front door. “For now, try your best to avoid your husband’s hand and protect your child. It should be only a month or two now before she arrives.”
Ildiko still looked shaken but did not argue. “I will do my best.”
Zsuzsanna gave her a grim nod. “Do your best and more. Be careful.”
Zsuzsanna watched the woman walk away with a light waddle. She was stubborn, but protective. A combination like that could prove useful in such a woman. Zsuzsanna smiled fiercely. She would help the women of Nagyrev save themselves. No matter the cost.
End of Excerpt
"In the Age of Angel Makers"
Word Count: 80,400 words
Genre: Historical Fiction
Age Range: Young Adult, Adult Fiction
Target Audience: This novel is ideal for fans of "Circe" by Madeline Miller, "The Only Woman in the Room" by Heather Terrell, and other stories that highlight female experiences in historical contexts often dominated by men.
Author Bio: My name is Emily and I am a 25 year old UCLA alum who graduated with a degree in Molecular Biology and English Literature. I will be attending medical school in the fall and have been writing short stories and novels since I was young. One of my short stories was selected as a finalist in the Writer's Digest Short Story Contest in 2020. I love reading and writing about strong female characters and have always been fascinated by the untold stories of historical women from around the world.
Synopsis:
Evelina Toth rises with the dawning sun full of dread and spotted with bruises. Her mornings have repeated themselves in this manner since the start of her childless marriage five years prior. Until the day the able-bodied men of Nagyrev, Hungary are drafted into the war efforts and Evelina, along with her childhood friend Ildiko and hundreds of other Hungarian women, is left alone.
Her newfound freedom is sweetened by the stationing of Western European prisoners of war in Nagyrev, one of whom opens her eyes to the world beyond the small village in which she has spent her entire life. But the tentative joy that begins to rise within her is shattered when her husband returns, furious to discover his wife's budding independence. Evelina finds herself desperate to seek relief - even if it comes in the form of unforgivable evil.
Based on real events from the World War I era, "In the Age of Angel Makers" is a story of the overwhelmingly powerful influence of a desperate desire for freedom and love.
Forgiveness
The wind rustled through shadowed trees outside a small window as an old man, his face lined and sagging, sat up achingly slowly to face a man wearing a perfectly ironed, vaguely translucent uniform standing at the end of his bed. The young man with the toothbrush mustache watched warily as the old man gently patted the edge of his mattress.
“Come; sit and talk,” the voice was soft, but far from frail.
The young man’s figure briefly warped, wavering as if caught in the wind sweeping past the window. “You know who I am, nein?”
The old man smiled and patted the quilt again. The young man sat with a ramrod back and a pinched expression.
“I know who you are. And I find it curious you came back from the dead to visit someone like me.”
The young man turned his intense eyes to the old man. “Why do you find it curious?”
“I believe you already know the answer,” the old man gave a chuckle that devolved into a cough.
The young man silently stared until the coughing had abated. He was quiet a moment longer. “It has been many years since I died. I have had much time to reflect and now that I have been given the chance to visit the living, I find myself drawn to people like you the most.”
“And why is it you feel drawn here?”
The young man glared at the photographs of laughing children and smiling adults hanging on the wall.
“I am not here to grovel for forgiveness.” His voice lashed out like a whip.
“I would not expect you to.”
The old man waited patiently in the heavy pause.
“I want to explain.” The young man abruptly stood and began pacing from corner to corner, a soft light trailing along behind his faded form. “I was wronged countless times throughout my life. When my brother died, I was left to fend for myself against my father’s fists. My artistic dreams were shattered by pretentious fools who lacked true vision. I was wounded by shrapnel, blinded by mustard gas, and forced to languish in hospitals filled with national heroes moaning in agony and bleeding to death.” His voice grew in volume until his last word seemed to echo throughout the room as it had carried over seas of soldiers and loyal Germans.
The old man merely smiled. “I know. I have long understood the difficulties you faced. But do you know of mine, I wonder?”
The young man kept his proud face turned away from his companion.
“My family was herded from our home when I was a young boy. My sister and mother were ripped from me and my father was killed soon after our arrival to the camp. Over the years, I watched dear friends disappear, one by one, until my own brother entered a gas chamber and never walked out. When I was finally released, I wandered the earth like the ghost you are now, adrift in my grief and lost to reality.”
The young man kept his gaze aimed at the window, but his jaw was locked and his shoulders were just a bit tighter.
The old man stood and slowly made his way to the dresser by the bed, atop which was a large black and white photograph of a young woman smiling toothily back at the camera. “It was not until I met my Rebecca, that I was able to lift away the despair weighing down my soul. Despite her own sorrowful past in the camps, she filled my life with laughter and children and joy. She taught me that forgiveness can deliver release from any burden, even one as painful as the sea of death I drowned in all my life.”
The young man’s eyes shot to the old man. “You have healed?”
The old man smiled. “Over the course of many long years, I have learned to accept my losses and enjoy life once more.” He reached into the top drawer of the dresser and gently moved aside piles of folded sweaters that had long since faded to mere echoes of their cheery colors.
The young man’s intent stare seemed to glitter with a cautious hope. “You have accepted the past? You have forgiven me for all that I caused you?”
“Well now, I said Rebecca taught me about forgiveness.” The old man turned to face him, a hard grin on his face. “I never said I took her lessons to heart.” The old man lifted his arm, his steady hand wrapped tightly around a loaded gun. A sharp click sounded.
A flicker of shock registered on the face of Hitler’s ghost before an explosion burst from the handgun and a bullet shot through his translucent form. It crashed loudly into the wall and lodged itself deep within the house. Hitler’s form flashed brightly before disappearing, leaving behind a faint stream of smoke and broken plaster.
The old man stood with his arm still holding the gun aloft. His grin stretched further across his face. “Rebecca wouldn’t have just forgiven me for that; she would’ve pulled the trigger herself.”
unseen souls
Wading through a sea of people bubbling with confessions and dreams and inconsequential nothings - some you perceive as your closest confidants and keepers of your secrets; others simply faces that swirl in and out of your world like leaves swept away by the wind. But do we ever truly peer into each other’s innermost spirits? Or are we forever doomed to feel trapped and alone and overlooked in the jagged edges and weepy hearts of our hidden souls?
Death Repeated
The smoke detector’s shrill call shot through my dream, startling me awake in a cold sweat. I sat up in a panic as I took in the glow of flames framing my bedroom door and the ashy cloud of smoke billowing across the floor towards my bed. My breath quickened and my heartbeat thudded as the fire spread further into my room and the smoke detector kept up its blaring alarm. The flames had licked across the floor and menacingly kissed the edge of the rug under my bed before I was finally shocked into action. I leapt to my feet atop my mattress and had just opened my mouth to scream for help when my door swung open and my roommate limped in with a disgruntled yawn. I froze as the flames disappeared in a wink.
“You gotta replace the batteries,” she mumbled with her hands covering her ears. “It won’t shut up ’till it gets new batteries”.
I blinked at her and sank to my knees. “Yeah…yeah I’ll run to the store and pick up some now”.
“Good”. She shuffled over to my desk and swiped up my noise-cancelling headphones. “In the meantime, I’m taking these”. She stuffed them on over her curly hair and disappeared back to her room. I let my head drop into my hands and took a raggedy breath. The flames were gone. The fire was not a threat.
When my heart had slowed, I stumbled to our crumbling bathroom and closed the door against the deafening smoke alarm. My haggard reflection stared miserably back at me from the dingy mirror above the sink, giving an emphatic sigh when I did. I half-heartedly began brushing my teeth but froze when a gurgle sounded from the bathtub. I turned to see water suddenly storm from the bathtub facet, causing the already full tub to spill over the sides. I dropped my toothbrush and gaped as the water began to quickly fill the room and climb up my leggings. I ran to the door and frantically tugged on the handle. It stuck fast and a cry fell from my lips. The water roared and flooded to my hips and still the door refused to open. I turned to push my way to the tiny window when my phone sent out a bright chirp from the counter.
I stood facing the window for a moment, staring as the water spun around the room as if caught in a whirlpool and raced towards the drain. My phone bleeped again as the water rushed down the drain and finally disappeared, leaving my legs and the tile floor dry. I brushed back my unruly hair and grabbed my phone, taking in the message spread across the cracked screen.
“Prescription ready for pickup,” it read. I barely registered the words before spinning into action, returning to my room and throwing on my coat and shoes. I shot the smoke alarm a finger and raced out of our apartment to the symphony of its earsplitting call.
The cold wind hit my face in stinging needles, and I tugged my worn-down wool coat closer to my torso against the numbing pain. I joined the throng of cocooned people pushing their way against the wind down the frantic downtown street, each of them with their faces turned to the ground and their hands enclosed in thick gloves.
I was a block from my destination when I caught a light. I stood at the corner stamping my feet and clenching my jaw to stop my chattering teeth when the light changed. I started across the street. Suddenly, a shockingly loud screech sounded to my right. My hair whipped around my face as I turned to see a city bus careening towards me. My body tensed as the massive vehicle sped closer and I locked eyes with the driver, his face white with panic and his arms locked as his hands braced against the steering wheel. My stomach rose and my heart ran wild in my chest while a scream tore out of my throat. My limbs felt heavy and sluggish and a deathly chill ran up my spine. The bus was inches from me. My mind went blank with fear. A warm hand pushing on my shoulder shocked me out of paralysis and I stumbled a few steps forward.
“Move, psycho,” a deep voice from behind me snarled.
The man sidestepped me and continued across the street. My lungs heaved with quick breaths as I gulped and looked wildly around me for the runaway bus. People continued to swerve around me, a few shooting me annoyed glances as I finally shook the webs out of my head and blew out a shaky breath. No bus to be seen.
I half floated in relief down the final block and blew into the pharmacy in a trance. I stumbled over and blinked wearily at the smiling woman across the counter.
“You’re four days late,” she chided gently, gliding to the wall of medication behind her.
I heaved a sigh, “I know, I just forgot to stop by, I’ve had a lot on my mind”.
She slid my prescription across the counter with an elegantly raised brow. “The hallucinations will just worsen every day you don’t take it”. She pulled it back when I reached for the bottle. “You look exhausted, dear, I know it’s been awful, but you have to be timely. Do not be late next month”.
I glanced down at the label reading “Haloperidol” in a reassuring bold font, opened the bottle, and immediately shoved a pill into my mouth with a grimace. “I’ll be better for the next refill”.
The teenager at the register lazily snapped his gum as I dug through my old wallet, searching for a final crumpled bill. The supposedly soothing elevator music grated in my ears, but my heartbeat stayed calm and my hands were steady when I handed him the last dollar with a grin. His eyes gave an ever-so-slight roll as he mockingly counted the money and slapped it into the chock-full register. The bell above the door gave a cheery jingle and a hooded man walked in. The teenager shoved a mile-long receipt at me. I snatched it out of his hand, shoving it into my tattered bag, and turned to find myself staring down the cold barrel of a gun.
“Hand over the cash or I shoot”.