The Wind and the Rain by Martin O'Brien

Author:Martin O'Brien [O'Brien, Martin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-05-28T22:00:00+00:00

Tragic Overture

Sunday, 4 May 1986

One last slug of scotch before bed. Today has been a strange day. My head has been swirling with past remembrances. I knock back the whiskey and it catches the back of my throat and I stifle a gag. Dark memories poison my mood.

Oh my, I must be drunk. It’s not often I am in this state. What was it that set me off today? I can barely remember but something infiltrated my thoughts and has been causing ruminations ever since. A phone call? I’m not sure. Oh, my accursed brain is once more letting me down.

I catch a smell of cooked meat and for a few moments I think I’m having a stroke. Did I cook Brathendl today? I try and remember, I close my eyes and my head spins. I’m trying to piece together my day and recall what I cooked for dinner.

Instead, a memory stirs from my final days before I left Germany, in the final knockings of the Greater German Reich. It was a muggy late autumn day and the air hung heavy with the threat of rain and the stench of burnt flesh. Most days I wouldn’t notice the malodour after a morning scotch or two followed by a brisk walk to my office.

This day was different, the camp itself was strangely quiet. The numbers being pressed into work parties had declined over the last few months. News was flying around the officers’ quarters about the Russian recapture of Tallinn.

My research assistants Werner and Klaus had failed to turn up to work on time yet again citing illness. A hangover was more likely, they spent more and more days in a state of inebriation with the SS guys. The stench would not escape my nostrils. I knocked back a couple more drinks and felt myself beginning to drift away to sleep.

To prevent this, I stood up, downed another scotch and walked back out into the camp. I saw Werner walking in to camp and ordered him to follow me to find the girl I had worked with last week. After the last experiment had finished, the young girl I was testing had the impertinence to speak to me. A little, filthy gypsy girl dressed in clothes that were no more than rags. I ordered Werner to bring her in to the treatment room and tie her down and cover her mouth.

He asked me to repeat what I said. I lost my temper and shouted at him that if he didn’t do what I asked, I would personally arrange for him to return to the Eastern Front. Werner finally tied the girl to the trolley using soiled gowns. The miserable little creature was constantly muttering “Proszę nie, proszę nie,”. I still couldn’t evade the smell of cooked flesh, it was clinging to my nostrils and sending me crazy.

I told her to shut up and not to speak her backward language in my presence. I demanded Werner tell me what she was saying.

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