I looked. Her arms flung, her legs spread. Her patch of pubic hair seemed too large for her skeletal frame. It was so bluntly exposed. Probably swarming with lice. Pubic hair and sunken eye sockets were the black areas that showed up most against all the masses of white torsos and limbs. There was something very disturbing, even I had to admit at that moment, in seeing so many naked figures so shamelessly exposing private parts that in life they would have shyly hidden. Had these same women been alive and healthy, seeing them naked and sprawled on a bed would have aroused me greatly. This motionless orgy of plaited cadavers, however, made me wonder how I would feel the next time a woman spread herself for me. Would memories of these images get in the way of my view? Would I fear that black nest of hair? Fear its smell of rot, and the lice hiding there in wait for me?
I grew irritated with myself. What effect was this delicate British fop having on me? Was I actually letting him stir feelings of guilt in me, with his admonishments?
My contempt for him at this moment gave me the perverse desire to exploit his interest in me further, to manipulate him as he was seeking to manipulate me. I reached out and picked a piece of lint from his jacket’s breast. He stepped back from me, a look of potential alarm in his eyes, but I showed him the lint before I blew it off my fingers. I then lightly patted the place on his breast where I had plucked the lint, as if dislodging some dust that actually wasn’t there.
“A handsome uniform, my friend,” I told him.
“Thank you.”
“It makes me embarrassed for you to see me this way. Filthy, sweaty. I take pride in my appearance. I wish I could talk to you clean and smelling properly, like a human being.”
“I’m sure I prefer you this way. I have no interest in seeing you in your SS uniform.”
“As I say, we both wear uniforms. We both do our jobs. But if we were both naked right now, we would both be the same, wouldn’t we? Not German, not English. Not demon and angel. Just two men. Together. Talking.” And I spread a slow smile for him, like the bearded smile between a woman’s legs.
I saw his adam’s apple bob once. It gave me a weird satisfaction. I felt more in control again, after my stumble of guilt.
“I know you despise me, my friend,” I told him, “but I, in fact, enjoy your company. I respect you and enjoy talking with you. Perhaps this evening after I have bathed and changed I could join you for a cigarette and some more stimulating conversation? Then I would feel less ashamed of my condition.”
“It sounds to me as though you mean to trick me, SS man, and take me off guard. Grab for my pistol. Hold me hostage and try to escape.”
“Oh, come now. Are you afraid of me? We can meet in full view of others. The guards, your men. But if you’d rather not, then so be it…”
“I’ll come and get you. I find you unpleasantly…educational. But if you try anything foolish I promise you I will put a bullet through your head.”
“Thank you. I look forward to conversing with you more as a gentleman.”
“You can bathe and change, sir, but you will still not be a gentleman, and you will still have every right to be ashamed of your condition.”
Yes, I thought, but you’ll still keep that date, won’t you? And your heart will be beating heavier as you come to search me out…
I had no intention of attempting escape. Of inflicting harm on him. As I told you, I just wanted to see if I could use him to my benefit. And I liked to see his adam’s apple bob.
* * *
My officer fetched me after dinner, after the sun had set. Lights washed the camp, leaving few dark corners, and he must have felt safe enough to stroll with me. Straight off he had given me one of his cigarettes, and while he lit it for me a soldier patted me down for hidden weapons. As we walked off I asked him, “Did your superiors ask why you were permitting me this pleasant liberty?”
“I told them you were talkative. They asked me to write down what you tell me in my report.”
I laughed. “Will you write about Rat Kings?”
“I may have to, but I was hoping you would tell me more in depth what your people did here and at the other camps. The death camps.”
“I have never been to one of these alleged death camps, sir.”
“Listen, I can take you back and let you be hanged with all your knowledge intact. Or maybe you can be cooperative and make things easier for yourself.”
Ah, so this was how he had justified our date to himself. He was going to question me as part of an investigation. He was going to probe the criminal mind. I remember how amused I was at his desperate attempt to rationalize or excuse his interest in me. As earnestly as I could sound, thus amused, I told him, “Sir, I am only a simple soldier. I acted on orders. The vision I followed was that of men far removed from me. But I can tell you what my responsibilities were, as that soldier. I can cooperate to that extent. But if I am to hang…well…what would be the point in helping you?”
“Your superiors will no doubt hang. I hardly think we will hang every last guard and soldier; we are not barbarians like you fiends are. I was only trying to frighten you.”
“Well, I am relieved. I will help you. But you have to promise to protect me. Please.” I stopped to face him, and he faced me. We were still within view of posted British soldiers, but were too far for anyone to hear our words. “Please protect me…”
“Write down a full report of your activities here. Everything you learned about operations, your superiors, anything you think would be valuable to us. You’ve seen the film crew. We need to make the world believe this horror really happened. Maybe in some small way you can exonerate yourself.”
“And you will take care of me?”
“I told you; I’ll do all I can.”
I took his hand and clasped it in both of mine. Squeezed it. He stood silhouetted against a flood lamp; had his adam’s apple shifted? “What is your name, my friend?” I asked softly, still holding his hand.
In a hesitant, uncertain voice, he told me. But I will not tell you what he said. He was a fine officer. A good man. I would not want to sully his reputation, even if he might be dead now. I was trying to corrupt him, confuse him. I was finding vulnerable places in him. It is my reputation that should be sullied. I am the one who should feel embarrassed.
We strolled on, smoked another cigarette. He walked, I noticed, so that his holstered revolver was on the far side of him. His nervousness, his tension, was electric in the air but I don’t think he was really nervous that I would assault him.
Why did we walk at last to the pit? Remember, I had become immune to much of the stink of Belsen, but my companion surely hadn’t. I think now that we ended up there because it was as deserted a place as the camp had to offer. It left us in intimacy. And thus far, the pits had been the place of our rendezvous. Like a garden where lovers meet.
This particular pit had not been filled to capacity, that evening, so it had not yet been plowed over by the bulldozers. It gaped as a huge crater, and was black except for the far wall, where one flood beam slanted into it. There were thousands of people down at our feet, and yet we felt alone.
“Here we are, drawn back to the nightmare,” I had to remark. “It fascinates you.”
“It horrifies me! I can’t comprehend it!”
“Yes. But it fascinates you. Just as you find me interesting. Perhaps fascinating.”