The Children's War (48 page)

She did, frightened.

“Ulrike, child, I don’t think you understand yet what dangers you’ve been playing with.” Karl looked at Elspeth, then back to Ulrike. “We feel responsible for that. We haven’t been careful enough. When we brought him into this household, we should have made it clear to each and every one of you how important it was to maintain our separateness. We are naturally superior, but even superior folk can be corrupted. Don’t you know what his people are guilty of?
Rassenmischung!
Decadence! Corruption! Weakness! Betrayal! They are
Volksverräter!
Not to be trusted! They are a sick people!”

That last comment caught Peter’s attention, and he stifled a sputter of derision, desperately turning it into a cough. Karl was not deceived and whirled around to confront him, almost shouting at him, “And they are evil!”

If there had been a chance for mercy, Peter knew he had lost it then.

“Evil,” Karl repeated, bringing himself under control. “Evil. But they’ll be around to do our work for us, and we must learn how to control them and maintain our own high standards. We are superior and stronger in every way, and once you realize that, it’ll be easy for you to learn to keep them in their proper place.” Karl stopped and let his words sink in. Then he turned toward Peter and hissed, “And as for you, even with your limited abilities, you should have known better. Spreading your poison in my family. Endangering not only yourself, but all of us! Are you so stupid you don’t even understand selfpreservation?”

“Papa,” Ulrike begged to be heard, “it was my fault, I asked him.”

“Nonsense!” Karl spat. “There is the weakness,” he said, pointing at Peter, “and you must learn to command it! You must learn not to trust them, not to view them as human, not to let slip your position in society! That is your responsibility as an
Übermensch!
Do you understand?”

Ulrike nodded unconvincingly.

“Now I will show you how to be a strong, true Aryan!” Karl said, then he turned away from her and, grabbing Peter’s arm, thrust him toward the door, ordering, “Move!”

“Karl,” Elspeth finally found her voice, “do you think it’s really necessary?”

“She must see.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Elspeth said. “It’s just that . . . You already, on Tuesday, you know . . .”

“We’ve already spoken about this. My anger on Tuesday was just that. This is . . .” Karl eyed Peter. “This is necessary, if we want to prevent such things from ever happening again. There is no place in this household for ingrates and malcontents.
He must learn!”

Peter’s limbs grew heavy with dread. Was survival really worth so much? He eyed the front door again. He could just walk away from it all. Just walk out the door. It wouldn’t take long after that. It would be so easy! It would all be over. To give up, after all this time, after all he had endured. To give up any hope of freedom, to give up his life, to just give up.

Karl pushed him. Making his decision, Peter went in the direction he was shoved, down the hall toward the kitchen and away from the door. Ulrike got up and reluctantly followed them out of the room, leaving Elspeth sitting alone in her armchair, stroking her chin thoughtfully.“More work for me,” she said to the empty room. “I’ll have to do everything myself today. Does he ever think about
that?”

Karl crossed the kitchen to the cellar door, pushing Peter through it, with an impatient “Go on.” Once the three of them were in the cellar, Karl ordered Peter to remove his shirt. As Peter complied, Karl wandered off to the storage cupboard and sorted through the electric cables and wires, eventually selecting one with a grunt of satisfaction.

Ulrike remained close by the stairs as if ready to flee at any instant. When she realized what her father was doing, she looked to Peter, panic in her expression, but he did not see her, he was watching Karl. His expression betrayed no emotion. He looked so calm, Ulrike wondered if he felt things the same way they did.

Peter’s dispassion hid a tumult of emotions: fear, outrage, a ridiculous sense of guilt, but most of all he was trying to determine how much danger he was in and weigh his options accordingly. Karl’s care in selecting his weapon was reassuring. Both of them were experienced, in their different ways, in torture, and he saw that Karl had selected as his whip a cable which would cause more pain than injury. A moment later, though, a sudden chill ran down his spine as he saw Karl unlock his tool cabinet and remove a pair of handcuffs. Handcuffs? The muscles of his face twitched as he continued to scrutinize Karl’s every move.

As Karl stood in front of him, grabbing Peter’s left arm to affix the manacles, he came to a decision and forced himself to say, “Please,
mein Herr.”

Karl closed the metal ring around Peter’s wrist and looked up with mild interest.

“Mein Herr,
I beg you to forgive me. It was a mistake, I understand now,” Peter pleaded. Struggling to master his expression, he forced himself to look contrite and continued, “Please believe me. I won’t do anything like that again. Please, I am slow and stupid and undeserving of your mercy, but I have learned. Please, this isn’t necessary. I
have
learned. Please don’t hurt me. Please have mercy on me.”

Karl looked him up and down meaningfully, then answered, “I
am
being merciful, and one day you may understand that this is for your own good.”

Peter realized that he had made a mistake by not going down on his knees, but it was too late. Karl turned away, pulling him by his bound wrist like a dog on a leash. They came to a stop, and Peter looked up to see a sturdy pipe running along the ceiling and attached to an overhead beam with two closely spaced supports. He stared at the thick pipe and the solid bracing and knew that it would, without a doubt, hold his full weight. He was still marveling at how Karl had walked right to the spot, as if it had been preselected, as his left arm was pulled upward and the loose ring of the handcuffs was threaded through the gap between the pipe and the ceiling. Then he remembered the rumors of a previous
Zwangsarbeiter,
one who had died suddenly. A sick feeling came over him as Karl grabbed his right wrist and shackled that. Had he made a deadly mistake? An uncontrollable instinct caused him to jerk his arms violently downward against the hard metal of the handcuffs, as if trying to free himself. The sharp edges of the rings bit painfully into his skin, and a trickle of blood traced a crooked path down his arm. He heard Karl snicker at his useless effort.

“Mein Herr,
please. Please don’t—”

“Shut up!” Karl snarled.“Not one more word, or I
will
kill you! Understood?”

Peter nodded mutely and stood there trapped with his arms not quite fully extended above his head. Karl walked away from him, but he dared not look to see what was going on. He tried to prepare himself for the inevitable, but there did not seem to be much he could do. He looked up at his bound wrists, then dropped his head to stare grimly at the floor as he waited.

“Papa,” Ulrike’s soft voice cut through the tense atmosphere; there was a tremor in it. He twisted around to see Ulrike and Karl’s reaction to her. “Papa, he said it was a mistake. He said—”

“Don’t try my patience. That’s exactly the sort of thing I was talking about,” Karl snarled in response.

Ulrike appeared to accept the logic of this; she made a simple appeal instead. “Please, don’t hurt him. I know what he said was wrong and evil, but he’s been punished already.” She continued, her words sounding sincere, “It’s not really his fault, he can’t help what he is. I think he believed what he told me; he doesn’t know any better. I know it was wrong, but please don’t hurt him any more.”

Karl’s voice lost its edge. Patiently he explained,“He has to learn his place and so do you. We all make mistakes, but we have a duty to learn from them. It’s for his own good, but if it bothers you to see him hurt, just remember that the next time you decide to be foolish. A young German prince had to witness the execution of his best friend because of his own foolish actions. Because he learned from that, he became a great king. So, too, do your actions have consequences for you and for others. Now just sit there quietly and see the results of your folly. It’s the least you can do.”

“It’s all I can do,” she answered, turning her eyes, brimming with tears, toward Peter.

Karl resumed his stance and without further warning swung the cord.

Peter heard the whistle of the cable, gasped in surprise as he felt the sharp, cutting pain. Once he was warned by the shock of the first stroke, he steeled himself to accept the following ones in silence. Initially, he was successful, accepting each lash with barely a sound, but as the beating progressed and new blows fell on old ones, his response became less controlled. His face tightened, his mouth stretched into a grimace, and his throat emitted small noises with each stroke.

At one point, seeking some solace from his agony, he turned his head to look at Ulrike, but she had disappeared. She must have slipped away sometime earlier, abandoning him to his fate. Karl followed his glance and, noting Ulrike’s absence, muttered something, then struck Peter with furious vigor again and again. His determined silence broke into uncontrolled cries of pain; each wave of agony was followed by another so rapidly he could not even catch his breath. He felt his flesh tearing, boiling, burning. He felt a sudden overwhelming nausea and his vision went black with each pound of his heart. He writhed, wildly trying to avoid the blows, his feet, slipped on the accumulated sweat and blood, and his
entire weight fell upon his wrists. He struggled to pull himself back to his feet, but Karl kept flogging him. The blackness of each heartbeat grew longer, the bright flashes of vision grew more and more unfocused, and a dizziness prevented him from being able to work out which way was up. He tried again to stand, then closed his eyes against the pain and let the blackness claim him.

Karl walked over to his victim, placed two fingers on his neck, and found a pulse. Perfect! He could not prevent himself from smiling at his expertise. Firmly holding on to one of Peter’s arms, he unlocked the handcuffs, quickly grabbed the other arm as it dropped, and carefully lowered the body to the floor.

He looked at it for a moment, nudged it with his foot, but there was no movement. Then he washed his hands, put away the cable, and picked up the handcuffs. He ran his thumb along the bloody edge; the metal was cheaply cut and surprisingly sharp. Poorly made, like so much else. He thought about getting a better pair as he pulled out a cigarette. He put the cigarette to his lips, then realizing that he did not have a match, he returned to the body lying on the floor, gingerly reached into a trouser pocket, and found a lighter. Lighting his cigarette, he pocketed the lighter and stood over the lifeless body, smoking quietly. His hands were trembling from the adrenaline rush; he could hardly hold his cigarette still. He was exhausted as well—it had been strenuous work, but it left him feeling fulfilled. He missed the old times: nowadays, it was beneath his dignity to interrogate prisoners directly. What a pity!

There was no reason to remain in the cellar, yet he was loath to leave. He wanted to savor the moment: it had been a long time in coming, too long. He should have done this ages ago, the day he had brought the insolent bastard into the house; that would have prevented a lot of nonsense. But now, now it seemed almost too late.

He felt trapped. Despite his threats, he knew he could never recoup the replacement costs if he traded in Peter’s contract. Who would take such a useless worker? Only industry, and they never paid enough. And he would never be so lucky a second time in extorting a contract out of someone the way he had out of the Reusches. It hadn’t been so bad when he had had a reasonable income stream, but recently he’d been losing his protection rackets to Schindler and others. The bribes had been drying up as well. When he had failed to secure that arms deal, that had been the last straw. His influence was waning, they were all grabbing it away from him; damn, he was nearly destitute, dependent almost entirely on his salary!

Peter groaned and twitched, and Karl thought he might awaken, but there was no further movement. What a disappointment! It wasn’t fair! First those stupid fines, then that woman stealing his money, and now this worthless piece of shit. Always scowling and sneaking around and skiving off. Sarcastic, disrespectful, lazy. Always questioning orders, always mouthing off. Half the time he couldn’t even open the door on time. The worthless shit! Worse than worthless! Feeding that load of rot to Ulrike. What if she had repeated it? God in
heaven, she might have been arrested and then the family would have been ruined! All his work, all his effort down the drain, and all because some stupid, worthless servant couldn’t mind his own business! Better if he had tried to sleep with her.