The German Suitcase by Dinallo Greg

Author:Dinallo, Greg [Dinallo, Greg]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Premier Digital Publishing
Published: 2012-06-23T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTY

Max hurried down the corridor in the Officers’ Housing Unit, pulling off his greatcoat. He fumbled with the key to his room, got the door open, and charged through it, tossing the coat on his bunk en route to the lavatory. He bent over the toilet and vomited, then vomited again. He took a few moments to recover, then flushed it and, with his mouth and nostrils aflame with the sting of bile, went to the sink to wash up.

This wasn’t the first time this had happened.

The trainloads of prisoners had been arriving at ever shorter intervals. Max had done several more tours since his shocking initiation with Kruger. As with the first, anxiety and tormenting guilt gave way to dispassionate decision-making. After each, Max retched violently, slept poorly, and wrestled with his conscience fearing he was becoming not only desensitized but dehumanized. He continued to avoid his colleagues and spent off-duty hours in his quarters, working on designs for prosthetics, listening to music on the radio, and reading Hufeland’s book on medical ethics.

Max shut off the spigot and was reaching for a towel when he caught sight of himself in the mirror above the sink. He was stunned by the image that stared back at him. His face had lost its freshness, his eyes their aura of hope. He seemed to have aged ten years in not even as many days. Who is that person? he wondered. What is he doing here? How could he be involved in this—this evilness. It was as if he had created another person to cope with the discord the way abused children create another self who deserves the abuse. The inhumane nature of his assignment had been so disturbing that he retained the letter he had written to his parents, adding page after page on which he documented it.

A gusty wind was rattling the windows as Max addressed the envelope. He had just set it aside, intending to mail it at the camp post office in the morning, when someone knocked on the door.

“Hello, Max,” Captain Kruger said with a friendly smile when Max opened it. “Can I come in for a moment?”

“Of course,” Max replied, relieved after the way Kruger had acted on the ramp.

“I’m sorry about the other night,” Kruger said as Max closed the door. “But the ramp is no place for collegial chatter.”

“I know, Otto. At least I do, now. I’m the one who should be apologizing. I had no idea what was—”

Kruger put a finger to his lips and turned on the radio. The inexpensive Deutscher Kleinempfanger—German small receiver—had been distributed at the Führer’s order to German households and military installations by the millions. Its Bakelite cabinet had two knobs, and a speaker covered with coarse cloth. An Imperial Eagle, clutching a swastika in its claws, was perched above the dial. Kruger thumbed it and found Die Walküre from Wagner’s Ring, ever-present on Third Reich broadcasts as were the Führer’s rantings and those of his Propaganda Minister Josef Goebbels.

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