This calmed Manfred/Helmut somewhat. If the man knew he was a police officer then this was business and not random. He could handle business.
‘Okay. Then it’s me you want, not them. Why don’t you put the gun down and talk to me about what you need?’
Saul did not comply. Instead he pointed the gun at the woman. She was already scared but as the barrel of the weapon aimed at her head it was like he had plugged her in: her whole face contorted with horror.
Is this how we looked when they threatened us?
‘I asked a question.’
‘There is no one else here,’ she said. ‘Please-‘
Saul noticed a family photograph on the mantel piece. They were all smiling and overdressed in the way families were when they went to have a professional portrait taken. There was also a teenage girl in the picture.
‘Where’s the girl?’
‘She’s out with friends,’ stammered the woman.
And that’s how luck worked. You were at home or you weren’t, you took the train instead of the car, you turned left instead of right or you were a Jew or you were not. Easy and yet always underestimated. Saul knew he was lucky. Lucky to be a survivor, lucky to have a family, lucky to be wealthy. Even with the dementia he knew he had lived a charmed life none of which was in his control. Bookstores were full of the biographies of rich and powerful men all of whom attributed their status to hard work and talent and never said a word about being lucky. Why could they not admit the part luck played in their lives? Instead they told the world that if only everyone lived by their principles, they too could be rich and powerful. Self-selection if ever he had seen it. Where were the biographies of all the hard workers that never made it because they did not have luck on their side?
With his free hand Saul reached into his jacket pocket and tossed the boy a pair of handcuffs.
‘I want you to cuff your father to the radiator.’
The boy watched the cuffs as they bounced on the carpet but made no move to retrieve them.
‘No.’
Saul was impressed by the boy’s defiance but he was also ready for it. When dealing with a situation like this it was best to escalate so fast and hard the other party was stunned into obedience: he had learnt from the best.
‘I’ll kill your mother if you don’t.’
‘That’s enough-‘ piped up Manfred/Helmut.
Of course, escalation meant nothing if you could not follow thorough.
‘Five, four, three-‘
‘No,’ screamed the wife.
‘Please stop!’ said Manfred/Helmut.
‘Two,’ continued Saul, pulling the slider.
‘Okay!’ said the boy cracking. He stood, picked up the handcuffs and looked at his father.
Manfred/Helmut did not move.
‘Fuck you,’ he spat at Saul.
Another challenge to Saul’s authority, which he could not let go unpunished.
‘Come here boy,’ he said.
The boy hesitated and remained rooted to the spot.
‘It’s fine,’ said Saul. ‘Don’t worry. Come and stand next to me.’
The boy started walking towards Saul who was amazed at the ease of slipping back into the cycle of lies and deceit: calm, reassure and placate. When the boy was close enough Saul pistol-whipped him sending him spiralling down to the floor, spilling his blood on the carpet. Saul kicked him for good measure and heard the mother feel her son’s pain. He kicked again. The parents screamed their protests but were defenceless against the gun.
‘Stop! You’ll kill him. I’ll do it,’ said the wife, tears flowing.
Saul immediately stopped and left the boy moaning on the floor.
The wife wiped her eyes, stood up and collected the cuffs from the floor. Manfred/Helmut remained disobedient, glaring at Saul.
‘Get up,’ she said to her husband.
He refused.
‘Get up! Or do you want him to kill our son?’
Manfred/Helmut stood:
‘You’re a dead man,’ he said.
Saul took a step back in case this monster tried anything. Manfred/Helmut however, did nothing but walk over to the radiator and sit down by the pipe. His wife cuffed him.
‘Are they done properly?’ said Saul.
Manfred/Helmut pulled hard to prove that they were indeed fast and metal clinked against metal. Saul relaxed a little now Manfred/Helmut was chained. He knew what atrocities this beast was capable of and was certain the wife or the boy would not be a problem.
‘Take care of him,’ said Saul meaning the boy on the floor. ‘And turn the music off.’
Without Mozart the room was plunged into a vacuum and they all waited for something to take its place. When nothing did the woman got to work on her son, struggling with his weight, but managing to get the boy back on the sofa. Saul handed her a bottle of water from the table and she poured some on the boy’s face. Boris boy reacted almost instantly by regaining consciousness and looking around wide-eyed.
Saul was visibly relieved. He had no wish to kill any innocents but he was also determined that this madness should end tonight no matter what the cost: he would not end his days rotting in jail framed for the murder of his friends. Yet it was more than this. His people had allowed injustice to happen to them before, but this time he could and would fight for the honour of all those this maniac had killed. He would not be able to save anyone or bring them back but standing in the living room with the monster squirming at his feet felt very right. To Hell with what Marcus Aurelius would say and to Hell with the Stoics.
Every man’s life is sufficient.
This was all the sufficiency Saul needed. The wife was talking now:
‘Why not let us go? It’s obvious your problem is with Helmut not us.’
She took a cover off one of the cushions and held it to her son’s head.
‘Because I want you to listen to what Manfred has to say for himself,’ said Saul.
‘Manfred? My husband’s name is Helmut. I think you have made a mistake.’ She sounded relieved.
Saul looked at her properly for the first time. She must have been ten or fifteen years Manfred’s/Helmut’s junior and still very attractive but now too old for him he was sure, hence the visits to the whorehouse. Her hair had a natural wave to it and despite all the commotion it was still neat and in place. But those were items that were not on Saul’s agenda today: what caught his attention was the look of absolute conviction on her face.
‘Tell her,’ he said to Manfred/Helmut, without taking his eyes off her.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Manfred/Helmut.
Saul looked him in the eyes.
‘Tell us your real name Manfred.’
The man paused, gathering himself.
‘My name is Helmut Wunsch and I am a police officer. Now you still have not really hurt anyone and I can promise you that you will be fairly treated.’
‘Fairly treated…like how you treated us in Auschwitz?’
‘I served in the army. I was never in Auschwitz,’ he said. ‘It was a long time ago, how can you be sure it is me you want? Look, I can see you’re a good man: you’re no criminal. I understand that bad things have happened to you, but look at what you’re doing? Look at my family. Do they deserve this?’
Saul began to waiver. Looking at the boy and woman on the sofa the full horror of what he had done hit home. What if he was wrong? What real proof did he have? For the second time that day it dawned on him that if this man was not Manfred Fuchs that left one possibility. Was it feasible he could have done all those things and not remembered? The nightmare visions of him murdering his friends popped into his head again and seemed as vivid as ever.
I am not a killer, I am not -
The sound of the doorbell anchored him in the real world. He turned to the woman:
‘Answer it. And don’t forget I’ll kill your-‘
‘I
won’t forget,’ she said not needing the reminder.
She stood, fixed her face and dress in preparation. The doorbell rang again and she left the room giving Saul a wide berth. Saul heard the front door open and a muted conversation begin.
‘Ask who it is,’ said Saul to Manfred/Helmut.
‘Who is it?’
‘It’s one of your colleagues,’ she shouted back.
‘Invite him in,’ said Saul.
‘Ask him in,’ said Manfred/Helmut.
More muted conversation followed by the sound of the door closing. Saul tucked himself behind the door and made ready for the intruder.
First in the room was the woman, followed closely by Steffan who barely had time to comprehend the situation before Saul spoke:
‘Don’t move. I have a gun.’
Steffan froze.
‘Saul, this is not the way.’
‘Drop your gun on the floor and go sit by your boss.’
Steffan regarded Helmut on the floor cuffed to the radiator and the rest of the family on the sofa. The boy’s face was bloody but he knew it looked worse than it was: cheeks bled like there was no tomorrow. He instantly regretted coming alone, but had favoured tact over storming his boss’s home and up until ten seconds ago he was convinced he made the right choice. She could have given me a signal, he thought.
As he reached for his weapon it crossed his mind that he might be able to spin around and get the drop on Saul – if he even had a gun – but thought of his two boys and stopped that line of thought dead: those kind of moves had their place and that place was television. The gun bounced once as it hit the rug. Steffan was already moving to find his position on the floor.
‘Cuff yourself to the radiator and give me the keys,’ said Saul. ‘What’s the new theory Steffan? You think I’m so guilty I killed my friends? Or am I just crazy?’
Steffan cuffed himself to the radiator and tossed the keys to Saul, who bent picking them and the gun up.
‘Who gave you the gun?’ said Steffan. ‘Rudi?’
Saul made no reaction but it was enough for Steffan.
‘Listen to me Saul, you’re being set up,’ continued Steffan.
‘How so?’
‘That tooth we found was not Isaac’s. All of his were accounted for at his home. You’ll be killing for Rudi and you will get the blame for the murders. Can’t you see-‘
‘Quiet! I’ve trusted you enough.’
‘For God’s sake who else could get his hands on teeth?’
‘I said shut up,’ said Saul. ‘Do you think I’m stupid? They might not be Isaac’s but later you’ll say I murdered someone else.’
‘Saul-‘ said Steffan.
‘I know who the killer is. Take off his shirt.’
‘Why?’
‘He will have a scar near his left armpit. A result of having a blood group tattoo removed. Only the SS were given these.’
‘And if he doesn’t have it?’
‘He has it.’
‘And if he doesn’t, you come with me?’
Saul thought it over: if this man was not in the SS then he himself was the murderer. It was time to find out the truth. He nodded.
Steffan turned to his boss and stretched out his free hand ready to comply.
‘Get your hands off me,’ said Manfred/Helmut.
‘This will prove-‘ started Steffan.
‘Do it or I’ll kill the boy,’ said Saul.
‘He won’t,’ announced Manfred/Helmut to the room. ‘You’re no killer.’
‘You watched as we led our families into the gas chambers,’ said Saul. ‘You think I won’t kill yours?’
He swung the P6 towards the boy and pulled the hammer back.
‘He has the scar! Don’t kill me,’ screamed the boy.
‘Shut up!’ said Manfred/Helmut.
But it was too late. The announcement plunged the room back into a vacuum.
Saul had won. He had found his killer but realised he had no idea what to do next. The victory he thought would never be his was suddenly, unceremoniously upon him. It crossed his mind to shoot Manfred, who, perhaps sensing this was the first to break the silence.
‘That does not prove a thing. I was shot. It’s a bullet wound.’He pleaded to his family but by the looks on their faces they were not buying.
‘It’s a bullet wound I tell you!’
Silence.
Steffan spoke to Saul gently.
‘Okay, you have what you want. Now will you let us go so I can investigate your claims?’
But Saul was shaking his head.
‘No. I want him to say it. I want to know why after all these years he’s still killing us.’
‘I have not killed anyone.’
Saul turned to the boy, ‘He’d have let me kill you.’ And then back to Manfred/Helmut, ‘Wouldn’t you? What kind of animal are you?’
Saul picked up a cushion from the sofa and shot Manfred/Helmut through it. The move was so fast no one saw it coming, let alone had time to protest. Unlike the movies the cushion did not seem to muffle the shot, the loud report making everyone jump.
Manfred/Helmut screamed and clutched his knee with his free hand, the other straining to join it. The radiator pipe bending under the strain and Saul thought the man might even break free.
The woman got up to run to her husband but Saul kept her in check with a move of the gun.
‘Saul! Stop this madness,’ pleaded Steffan.
Manfred/Helmut was squirming in agony sweat pouring off him, a pool of blood growing on the hardwood floor.
‘Let me call an ambulance, Saul,’ said Steffan. ‘You have to let me go now.’ Steffan knew the first shot was always the toughest. From now on it could get very nasty very quickly. ‘Un-cuff me, Saul.’
But Saul had raised the gun again: this time pointing at Manfred’s/Helmut’s groin.
‘No more little girls for you,’ he said.
Manfred/Helmut looked for a beat as if he was going to reply, but then decided against it, his body stiffening. With an air of nobility, he lifted his head to face his executioner.
Saul prepared to fire. In that instant time stopped dead for Manfred/Helmut. His mind bereft of all thoughts but one, his whole being acutely attuned to the point of threat. He watched as Saul’s fingers tightened on the trigger, saw the tendons tensing in his wrist, noticed the look in Saul’s eyes harden as he prepared for the report. And in the time it took for that universe to be created, Manfred/Helmut crumbled:
‘Stop! I admit it.’
Saul lowered the weapon.
‘You admit you were at Auschwitz?’
Manfred/Helmut looked at his family.
‘I was there.’
‘And why kill us know?’
‘I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,’ for a man with one kneecap the rage was phenomenal. ‘You were there too. Don’t come the innocent.’
‘What?’
‘I saw you Jews lie, cheat and beat your own people into the chambers.’
‘We had no choice.’
‘I saw people find their own families and not even blink when they shoved them into the furnaces.’
‘We were beaten and killed for not working fast enough. We were victims. We were forced.’
This was not the reckoning Saul had bargained for. He wanted a confession and now he found himself defending his actions to the SS man as if he were guilty. The fire raged within him and the two men shouted over each other.
‘All to save your own skins.
You had a choice all right. The choice any decent human would have made.’
‘We had to live. What if there were no Jews left, who would have been able to tell the world your crimes?’
‘Your crimes too,’ said Manfred finally.
Rattle.
Rattle.
Saul heard the noise clearly: it was in the room and he turned to find the source but
the noise stopped before he could pin point it.
‘We kept records,’ he whispered. ‘We buried…’
Cool earth and muddy fingers.
Saul tried hard to concentrate on the task at hand but this nagging feeling kept bothering him. He let the tide carry him unable to fight the current anymore, the room faded away.
‘I saw enough of you behave like the subhumans they said you were-‘
‘Shut up, Papa.’
At the sound of the gun hitting the floor they all turned to Saul, who had left the room but somehow forgotten to take his body with him. The shell that remained stood petrified save for his lips, which muttered incoherently and the fingers of his right hand that rubbed themselves together. Only Steffan realised what was happening and it filled him with a sense of dread. Is this what happened before Saul decided to kill everyone in the room? The others remained stunned, while Steffan tried to see if he had a spare set of keys on him.
As for Saul, the room had indeed vanished. He had traveled back into his own past and was living the scenes in his head as if they were his reality. He skipped days, months and years as easily as switching television channels, but unlike television he had no control over where and when he was: the dormitory; the gas chamber; in the yard collecting white stones from the pile of ash; he held the tin in his hands and felt the mud on his fingers. Rattle, rattle, opening the tin to see shiny white teeth not stones and sheet of paper…
‘The professor,’ he said.
The others in the room saw him smile.
For his part Saul noticed that Mark and Isaac were either side of him. Saul held the conversation with them while the others simply heard Saul’s side of the story.
‘What’s funny about that?’ asked Saul.
‘You could be serious just once,’ Saul heard Mark say.
Steffan could find no key.
‘Saul,’ said Steffan.
But Saul was not there for him. Where Saul was, Steffan was not even born yet.
‘We need to bury this,’ said Isaac.
‘Bury,’ the others were chilled to hear Saul speak the word.
‘Evidence,’ Saul heard Mark say, ‘Someone might find it’.
‘We buried,’ said Saul and he was back in the play ground with his granddaughter watching three grown men bury something in the sand: A tin.
Rattle, rattle.
The White House Page 19
