Hitler's Boat by Turgeon Pierre

Author:Turgeon, Pierre [Turgeon, Pierre]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Cogito America
Published: 2014-08-14T16:00:00+00:00

We were camping in the basement of our villa, Lizbeth and I. A candle was molding the shadows in conniving and moving arches. Our breaths became entwined. The world above us is exploding, meine Liebe. Her breasts tensed under the silk, she was eating a potato as she read my palm.

“It seems you will meet a great love, I think!” Lizbeth said with a sad smile, soon to be stuffed in the museum of eternity. We would all go through, and quickly. No matter how much we stuck our chests out, in the pit and curtain! No problem.

I did not want her to know that the Gestapo had seized my latest recording. For what purpose other than to decipher the code I was using during my transmissions to Perceval? Who had ratted me out? They would come to arrest me within the next few hours. And I did not want Lizbeth to be around at that moment.

“Look at what my brother Friedrich gave me!” She took a grenade out of the chest drawer. She primed the grenade and looked me right in the eyes. Nothing. The detonator did not work. It took us a few minutes to settle down from our fit of laughter.

I climbed up to the very last stair that led to the villa’s garden. “Go see your brother, I told her. He has to be told about the tunnel under the bunker. They have to blow it up. No one must escape.”

She was sobbing. I rested my forehead against the wall. She passed behind me and brushed my dangling right hand. “Auf Wiedersehen!” she said. I did not answer. She was walking away in the devastated garden, skipping between the beams and the slate tiles that had fallen off the roof. I had always believed her face would be that of my death.

I went back in. An immense outcry brushed against my skin. Rent your own name, prostrate yourself before it. Know that the mirror shows only a minute part of your face. Deprived of purpose, I was becoming a monster. I couldn’t breathe without my love. Do not deceive me, oh my torturers! It was dawn. I was waiting for you. I wanted you to dispossess me. I wanted you to make me into a man without a history.

The sky was becoming overcast with planes, the windows were shaking, squares were being pulverized and blocking the sun, followed by a moment of peace. The undisturbed chirping of sparrows. Brakes cringed. Two Gestapo policemen in civilian clothes slammed the doors of a black sedan in front of our villa. Where were they still finding gas? I went to meet them. “Where is your wife?” I shrugged. They pushed me on the backseat like a lifeless body.

We drove through the ruins, two motorcycles escorting us and a half-track behind us, following a complicated trajectory, bumpy, with sudden stops that hurt me since I could not protect my face with my hands that were shackled behind my back. My

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