Ashes in the Snow by Oriana Ramunno

Author:Oriana Ramunno [Ramunno, Oriana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollinsPublishers
Published: 2022-06-20T17:00:00+00:00

19

Hugo went to his room, the whole day’s exhaustion on his shoulders. The pain radiated into his lower back again and his numb arm caused him to swear through gritted teeth.

Not much could relieve the pain except morphine. He’d given all his cognac to the SS officers in the brothel and had only three cigarettes left. Once these ran out, he’d have to get someone to find him another packet.

He put the leather coat on the bed and went to the desk, the camp searchlights slicing like cold shadows through the coarse wood and illuminating a rectangular box that hadn’t been there earlier – popped out from heaven knew where. He stroked the grey label and read the red letters, rubbing them with the fingertips of his healthy hand: Eukodal.

‘Consider this a Christmas present,’ he read out loud.

It had started to snow again and the flakes were crashing against the windowpane. He imagined Berlin with festive decorations, like before the war, with dressed trees, Christmas markets on the banks of the Spree and the air filled with the fragrance of mulled wine.

He pictured himself in front of the fireplace at his home, with the rotary candle holder going round and round, and an Advent wreath on the dining room wall.

The chill in the room brought Hugo starkly back to reality.

He sniffed the note and felt its texture, then opened the drawer and compared it with the one found at the Kanada. They were alike, only one had been typed and the other handwritten in an elegant, precise hand. Anita Kunig’s, evidently.

He stood looking at the box and the cylinder-shaped tablets for what felt like infinity. He knew he’d become addicted to all this stuff. He’d started on Pervitin when almost the entire German population was using it. It had allowed him to stay awake for days on end while writing his criminology manual and given him an energy he would never experience again. He hadn’t been surprised when these tablets were administered to the army: no doubt it was purely thanks to this methamphetamine that German soldiers had been able to beat Poland and France to the punch, marching night and day with an energy and speed the enemy could not match.

Then the pain of the illness had come and Pervitin had no longer been enough.

Doctors had suggested adding morphine. He’d once tried to stop and ended up in the university lavatory, teeth chattering and breaking into a cold sweat in the month of August. It was revolting. So he’d realized that stopping would be much worse.

Hugo looked at the little box, as grey as Auschwitz ashes.

Anita Kunig was offering him the chance of a carefree, pain-free Christmas Eve. Tomorrow, he’d have the strength and lucidity to go to Solahütte, where he’d been invited for Christmas dinner at what had been described as a pleasant retreat for SS officers, located by a lake and surrounded by mountains. There, he’d be able to talk to everyone he wanted to question.

Hugo opened the box and took out a tablet.

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