Spawning

Spawning The children, in the street near the factories, looked unfriendly avoid them, and my brother said their mothers where whores spawning Nazis during the war. Their mothers had haircuts at the police station, bald as eggs serves them right they and their children should be sent back to Germany. The street, also ours, was typically working-class no gardens no colour anywhere like living in a maze of greyness and damp. My brother had his knowledge from listening to the adults, men who had done nothing under the Nazi occupation except trading with the enemy for cigarettes and booze and using their wives as bait. Now they were heroes pulling the headdress of the unlucky calling them whores, but like so many things that too ended. Hair grows back beautiful women in the street, and the Norwegian are blessed with short memories.