Winfred

vi

Freidrich Von Steubon, Captain, SS

The visit was entirely motivated by anger. Who was this man? How dare he make me question everything? How dare he rob me of my sleep? How dare he make it so that I found myself unable to even eat?

I entered his cell after turning on the electric light whose switch was situated outside the door.

Slamming the door behind me, I turned to face the man. He was leaned against the far wall.

He looked up weakly as I entered, barely raising his head.

I realized that he had been given nothing for the wounds on his back, and that he was weak enough that he would most likely die soon, if some intervention was not made.

All the better, I thought. I will be rid of him.

"Have you come to...mock me?" said the man, his voice raspy from disuse and pain.

"Stand up!" I commanded him.

He tried, but could not. I crossed the small room in two steps, yanking him to his feet, resulting in a cry of pain when his dislocated arm was jostled. Blood was already seeping down his back, but it began to flow more quickly when he was stood to his feet.

He swayed, and I took his arm. He looked up in surprise, almost as though it were a kind gesture.

It was not a kind gesture. I steadied him so that he could provide a better target for my fists. I hit him, again and again, several times.

At the end of this, I stopped, and he coughed, spitting up blood. "Who are you?" I hissed, holding him up by his thin shirt, only my strength keeping him on his feet. "Who are you that you should make me feel so guilty? What did you do? Did you pray to your god that he would make me feel this way? What kind of man are you?"

He did not answer, so I hit him again, and then slammed him against the wall, where he fell to the ground. "Why do you take it? Why, now that your wife and son are gone, and you have no one to impress with your foolish boldness, do you close your eyes and let it happen? You fought so hard before; why stop now?" I demanded, yelling now.

"Fight me! I am inviting it! Hit me! Let me feel your hatred! At least then I will feel something other than this horrible feeling of guilt! It gnaws at me! It will not let me escape! I cannot sleep; I cannot eat. It was better when I felt nothing!" The man did not move, still. "Attack me!" I demanded, more loudly. "You hate me! It should not be that difficult to try to hurt me! I will take it!"

The man shook his head, spitting blood once more from his mouth. "Do you not see?" he said. "I do not hate you." He looked up, meeting my shocked, disbelieving eyes. "I hate the things you do, yes. I hate the things all of you do. They hurt people. They hurt me...my family. But I do not hate you."

I looked at him in disbelief, before laughing harshly. "You are even more of a fool than I thought you were!" I said. "You are just a fool, old enough to be my father! You are crazy!"

The man shook his head. "I am not crazy. You are crazy. You promised me ten lashes, but you only gave me nine. When your soldier told you of your error, you could have given me the final lash, but your pride kept you from admitting your mistake. Your pride is keeping you from seeing through your guilt and realizing your bigger mistake. You are a prideful man, as are all the Nazis. Just remember that pride goes before a fall."

I shook my head, laughing darkly. "You are a fool, gambling your life, to speak to an officer this way."

"If you wanted me to say nothing, you would not have come."

I raised my eyes, glaring at him. "You are going to die. You have bled too much. Your wounds are dirty, and no one will clean them. You will die here, in solitary confinement, and you will be alone."

"I am never alone. God is with me. And if I die, I will see my son again. That is enough for me."

"You comfort yourself with that thought, if it helps you sleep at night."

I turned to go, but his voice stopped me.

"I just wanted you to know that I did not pray to God that you would suffer. I prayed for Him to give you peace, for you seem troubled. I saw it in your eyes that first day when you watched your soldier humiliate and mock me."

I shook my head. "Your god certainly has a strange way of granting peace."

I started to leave once more, but stopped at the door, hand poised to open it. "And what you said earlier? About me counting incorrectly the night you were beaten?"

The man was silent, but I could tell he was waiting for me to finish.

"I do not make mistakes like that. I counted correctly...and then I made the decision to stop...at nine."

I exited the room then, not waiting for a response.