Hidden Away (32 page)

As tense as I was, my muscles coiled tighter when I missed a note.
Neither noticed.
“He appears to be decent German stock.”
“Yes. He just happens to be queer.”
The hands left me, and I turned back to the piano. The sick feeling lingered as my skin crawled from his touch.
“I’ve been told there are ways of curing them. Hormone capsules implanted in their—”
“It hasn’t worked here. Do you know of any successes?”
The leather squeaked again. “Hell, not even castration seems to work in most cases. Could you imagine having your balls cut off and
still
wanting sex in the ass? I suppose you have the brothels here as well?”
“Of course. They’re mandated.”
“Has he tried them? Perhaps he just needs a warm woman to persuade him.”
I thought of Peter and the guilt he harbored at being forced to be with one of the women. “I’m sure he has, but I don’t concern myself with prisoner’s treatments. I have a whole camp to run.”

“But think of the glory if you got it to work. We should take him down there and watch what happens. If nothing else, it should be good for a lark!”

“You must be very bored if that’s what you want to do. Perhaps it’s time my deputy takes you on a proper tour of the camp.” I was grateful when the commandant dismissed the suggestion and then quickly dismissed the other SS man.

When we were alone, he said, “Play Ernest Bloch.”

I hesitated and fisted my hands in my lap. “Play!”

His agitation sent electrified chills through me. I placed my hands on the keyboard, but the sound was awful. “Prisoner, you will play it
now
.” “I don’t know any, sir,” I said.

 

Within a moment, he was standing behind me, his body crowding and dwarfing mine. “Stand up.”

I rose, then flinched as he kicked the piano bench away. He’d never been violent with me, but I was scared. It seemed he was in a particular state today.

He pulled my pants down, and I gasped as he entered me. His hands were possessive. “You don’t want a woman, do you?”

I didn’t answer and earned a hard smack across my back. “No, sir.”

“You want me inside of you, don’t you?” “Yes, sir.”

While I could usually tolerate the intercourse, today was different. Everything seemed much more horrible. The way he slammed into me caused pain in my ribs. His hands gripped too tightly. Just as I thought he was reaching the height of it, he pulled out.

“Beg me. Tell me how much I excite you.”

My throat was dry. This new complication was too much to bear. I didn’t want to tell him anything. Couldn’t he just use my body like always? Why did he need to humiliate me deeper today?

The commandant pushed my face into the hard wood of the piano, and he made his demand again. “Please,” I said, hoping it would be enough.

Once more I was entered, teeth gnashing as he thrust into me without care or concern.
The door opened suddenly, shocking us both. It was the visiting SS officer. No one else would have dared enter the commandant’s office without expressed permission. His mouth hung open for a moment as he surveyed the scene before him. Then he said, “Oh, God. You’re—”
The commandant left me, and the sudden change jarred me, but I was frozen in fear. If the commandant was punished for homosexuality, I could only imagine what they would do to me. They would say I seduced him. I would be put to the post, hanging with my arms behind me for days until I died or they grew bored.
Tears slipped from me, but then the terror struck. The commandant was next to the officer in a second. His hands were on his head and twisted the other man’s neck. A sickening crack and a few popping noises filled the room and echoed in my head. I turned my focus back to the wood of the piano, wishing the dormant music contained within it would comfort me.
The body thudded to the floor, then the door slammed closed. I had no time to react to any of it because I was bent over again and entered. This time he asked no questions of me; he grunted his way to satisfaction.
When he was finished, I just stood there, waiting for whatever came next. After he’d taken care of himself, he squatted down and pulled up my pants.
“You know what will happen if you breathe a word of any of this, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now play.”
My fingers worked the keys automatically. I didn’t even know which piece they played. My attention was taken by the men the commandant summoned to the room. “Herr Schuller has had an accident. Take him to the camp.”
It wasn’t until evening roll call that I realized our captors could get away with anything, even the murder of one of their own.

The SS visitor’s body was laid out on the wooden platform. The shouting SS informed us that one of the prisoners had killed him and that we would stand here until the guilty party was found and punished.

No one came forward, so we stood at attention performing hats on, hats off until the dawn. Finally, when a few men from other barracks fell from exhaustion, it was decided that they had committed the murder. We stood there another hour, watching the men be tortured for a crime they did not commit, then shot dead.

We all went to our work, dragging our tired bodies as we did. I worried for Peter as he was already weak. Standing all night might prove too much.

It was this worry and, perhaps, delirium that drove me to speak while I ate my midday meal. “There is another musician you might enjoy.”

“Pardon?”

“I know a man in the barrack who is an accomplished violinist; a better musician than I am. He was quite famous. Peter—”

“Waldenheim?”

 

“Yes! That’s him. He would be a great addition to the orchestra.”

 

“I’m aware of his talents, but we have a violinist and his father has asked for no leniency.”

I was filled with stupid confidence and curiosity. I knew where the curiosity came from, but not the confidence. Perhaps I knew that it didn’t matter anymore. These men would kill me when they were ready to kill me. I couldn’t control it.

I couldn’t control any of it. “Why?”

“He is a well-respected man. Having a 175er as a son has brought great shame on him and he has to prove his loyalty to the Reich.”

The commandant trailed his finger along my collarbone. “Why do you care about this queer?” “I-I don’t.”

 

“You do, otherwise, why ask about getting him better work?”

I doubled over as my insides seized. I’ve done exactly what I was never supposed to do: brought attention to my relationship with Peter.

“What is it?”
“Nothing,” I answer.
“Do you love him?”

“No. No! He’s just a musician and I thought —”

 

“Should I invite him to play the violin for us? The both of you could perform a duet for me.”

The way he said it made me think he wasn’t speaking about music. His hand on the inside of my thigh assured me that he was thinking in more sexual terms, and when he commanded me to play another Nazi song, I knew the duet of which he spoke excited him.

I struggled to get through the day. While he had never been like Konrad, the commandant had a new dimension to him. I’d seen him murder one of his own, then pawn the guilt off to those of us who had no power.

Before the commandant sent me away for the day, he sat down next to me at the piano. I could tell he was looking at me, but I didn’t dare turn my head to face him. His hand came into my vision, and I flinched in response.

“Shhhh.”

The touch of his fingertips to my cheek was tender and reminiscent of the first time. While it still curled my stomach and set a slithering itch underneath my skin, I preferred it to the past few days of anger and thin violence.

“Why do you do this?” he asked me in a whisper.

 

I didn’t risk speaking, so I bit my lip and waited.

“Why do you make me want you like this? Schuller was right. Perhaps I should find you a woman from the brothel to make you a good German again.” He nuzzled my cheek with his nose and lips. “I’m no queer, you understand. I have a wife, but you… you’ve burrowed into my mind. Sometimes I can only think of you.”

Warmth enveloped my earlobe as the commandant took it into his mouth. He turned my head and kissed my lips in a very foreign way. Only Peter had kissed me like this, but that had been so long ago.

The commandant continued as if I was responding, but I wasn’t. My eyes were open, my lips still. One of his hands was at my lower back, the other massaging the tender flesh of my inner thigh.

The work bell rang, signaling the end of the work day, and still he kept me. After long minutes, the panic within me grew to an uncontrollable peak. Finally, he pulled away and in a soft voice, he asked, “What is it?”

“I will be late for roll call.”

The edge of his lips curled up. “But you are with me.”
“They will punish me.”
The grin disappeared. “I will punish them.”
I couldn’t help my trembling body. The SS would punish the rest of the inmates for the second night in a row. All because of me. I thought of Peter and how worried he would be if I did not show up for roll call. He would do something stupid and get himself killed. “I don’t wish to cause trouble. Please, sir.”
With my face cradled in his hands, he said, “Call me by my name.”
“Please?”
He finally allowed me to go. I raced to the square and found the rest of my barrack, just barely slipping in next to Peter before the counting began. I kept my eyes low and my back straight. After we were counted, Peter reached out for me. As much as I wanted to feel his touch right now, I batted it away. He would get us killed for sure.
Back inside our barrack, I watched him slurping up the cold soup, then nibbling the bread. “You have to be careful.”
“Are we going to France now?”
“No.”
“I can’t find my violin, Kurt. Someone’s stolen it.”
Placing my bread in his hands, I thought of his apartment in Vienna. The emotion I felt threatened to swallow me into a dark place. It was more than likely that I would never see Vienna again.
“No one’s stolen it. It’s safe under the floor boards, remember?”
His face brightens. “Yes. I remember now, but which floor board? I’ve looked and looked and I can’t—”
“Don’t concern yourself over that now. Eat your food and rest.”
After lights out, Peter hugged me to him. He hummed into my ear one of the songs he had played for me in his apartment. When he moved his hand low beneath the thin blanket, I relaxed back into him, even though I shouldn’t have allowed it to happen.
“I want to make love to you,” he whispered.
“No. There are too many people around.”
“Don’t be frightened.” He kissed me behind my ear. “I told you the first time that I would take care of you. I can protect you.”
He couldn’t. I knew he couldn’t protect me here, but I allowed him to continue. My skin rose in gooseflesh. We weren’t the only ones who were engaging in these acts, but after a moment, it felt as if we were all alone, back in his apartment. We were quiet through the love-making act. It was only after both of our releases that he tightened his hold on me and said, “I love you.”
Peter followed the statement with “I love it here in France, don’t you?” He shifted, propping himself up on his elbow. “Why are you crying?”
I shook my head. “I love you too,” I answered, but in reality, the tears were because we were
not
in France, and I feared we’d never go. They were also for the sharp loss of his sanity. His back was curved now, his hands gnarled. I doubted they would be able to play a violin should one be placed within them, but it was his mind and his wit that I mourned the most.
“We shall never leave this place. I’m so happy here,” he said. I knew he was speaking as though we were in France—the France he remembered, not the war-torn country it was now —but I couldn’t help but think he was right. We would never leave Mauthausen. His work was too hard, taking much too much from him physically, and my work was too taxing on my mind. How many other men would I be forced to be with, and what would happen when they grew bored of me? Or what would happen when a nicer-looking prisoner caught the commandant’s eye?
The next morning, I arrived in the commandant’s office to find it empty again. I sat at the piano, waiting for him. He stomped in, slamming the door behind him. “Queer, play.”

Nothing but silence followed until he asked, “Sleep well?” during the afternoon meal.

After that, my time with the commandant was increasingly confusing. Some days he was tender, others harsh. I could not find a pattern or rhythm to it; I could only react as it happened. His gentle days left me more disgusted with myself than when he was severe. On the days he touched me as a lover, I found the contentment disturbing, but I couldn’t help arching into his touch. I knew it wasn’t love. What I had with Peter was love, but this was the next best thing in a place such as this, even if I left his office appalled by it all.

On his brutal days, I could forgive myself for the infidelity to Peter by rationalizing that it wasn’t by choice, as evidenced by the bruises and welts. On these days, the pain became the comfort because I knew Peter would be able to see my sacrifice. Unlike with Konrad, I couldn’t give Peter the extra food, but I was working toward a better work detail for him. I would ask the commandant again for his placement with the orchestra soon.

Peter grew bolder every night, and I found myself unable to resist him. He believed we were in France, and I hadn’t the heart to spoil it for him. One night during our evening meal, Jules, the new kapo, pulled me to the side. “Please be careful.”

“Careful?”

“We’ve been asked to monitor you. If it was just me, you would have nothing to fear, but the room elders were asked directly. They are eager to rise up against me. The greens hate the reds. Tensions are high because we politicals are gaining in power.”

“And the room elders hate having to sleep with us queers.”

“Yes.”
“Monitor me? Why?”

He shifted his weight and let out a long breath before saying, “The commandant.”

He needed no more words. The commandant’s special interest in me brought attention to the barrack, to Peter, and to my actions. While I wanted discretion, I could not convince Peter to want the same, so we made love again.

The next morning, the commandant sat behind his desk and did not look up when I entered. “Prisoner, play.”

I began with Beethoven as always, and by midday I couldn’t take his silence, so I tried a Nazi propaganda song. He sat down next to me, but did not make any sexual attempts. “I had a thought.” “Yes, sir?”