Ultraviolence | Amon Goeth

Epilogue

1951-Argentina

It was a warm night, it had been hours ago since the sun went down behind the mountains. Flies circled around their heads. The only thing that was heard in the office was the buzzing sound of their wings, that and the repetitive, almost rhythmic clicking of the fast typing on a typewriter. Both of the men were seemingly absorbed by their work, doing so in silence and without much heed to their surroundings. Schindler would occasionally brush away a fly with the hand holding a cigarette.

Itzhak Stern took off his coat and continued to the next paper in the stack. Unconsciously, he wiped away pearls of sweat off his forehead in a shift movement, picking up the sheet to study it more closely.

They had been at it for some time now, working out the last of details in the suffocating heat. One thing that was clear on the documents before him, was that the Aires-Hamburg trade bureau was more or less bankrupt and Stern took it as his que to move out of the country. He had been meaning to for some time, and now Schindler had told him that he and his wife Emelie would pick up farming. He had smiled at the idea, kept his mouth shut and not said anything more than 'good luck'.

He peeked over at Schindler. The taller man sat by his desk, with a cigarette between his lips. Six years had passed since the war had ended, but the man hadn't changed all that much, perhaps some more gray stains in his neatly combed hair and some more wrinkles beneath his eyes. Stern opened his mouth, but soon he closed it again. His eyes dropped from the tall man, he gathered the sheets of paper on his desk one last time, setting them in order and straightened the pen beside it. Then he brushed off his own suit and stood up. The clicking of fingers on buttons was something Stern was so used to so that it was when it silenced he noticed it.

"It's getting late, Itzhak" Schindler viewed his watch and rose from the chair.

"Yes," he agreed. "I better get going, the flight leaves early tomorrow."

Schindler nodded, slowly. "I guess this is goodbye then, old friend, for now" he added and his eyes glinted.

Stern smiled and nodded curtly. Though he lingered a little where he stood, meaning to leave. "How are they?" The question clear and without any form of hesitation. He had not meant or planned to, yet now before leaving it appeared to him that he had to, especially now. The other man's confused gaze was on him, thought moved behind his eyes attempting to put the pieces together. Then it clicked, and he did not have to ask who, the familiarity of perception spreading over his features.

Stern's eyes didn't leave Schindler when he, too, stood up from his chair. It had been a long while since he last had risen and his legs ached from too much sitting. Only the buzzing of the flies was heard for a while. Schindler rested his hands in his pockets.

"They are doing just well," he finally said, voice roughened with tension, the tone was a little strange. "Helen's pregnant again and Adam, their child, is soon two years old. I believe the mother role fits her. She seems happy. And Amon seems to be doing alright too" he eyed his old friend, he looked a little relieved. "Something else you want to know?"

The Jew just shook his head. "No, I just wanted to know she's doing alright"

A few miles away, there was a hard knock on a door. A woman, with short brown hair and a round belly opened it with a puzzled expression. They weren't expecting anyone. Outside on the porch stood three men, all wearing tweed suits, and looking back at her. The man standing closest to her said, "Shalom" as he shoved past Helen, entering the house.