Richard won a hand and collected his winnings — four small rations of stale bread, which, when put together, would have equaled the size of no more than a slice of bread.
“Don’t bite down too hard on that bread,” George joked. “You might break a tooth.”
“I think I already have,” Richard retorted.
Richard turned to Wayne and asked him, “How’s life in the quarry treating you?”
“Like shit,” Wayne said.
“I’ve done worse,” Richard said. “When I first got here, they had a squad of us busting our asses building these free standing walls, only to have us later tear them down. Pointless shit, man!”
George added, “You think that’s bad? When I was working on transportation detail, a bunch of us would be harnessed, as if we were fucking mules or something, to a heavy wagon piled up with stones. We’d then be forced to pull it while singing at the same time. The guards would laugh and call us their singing horses.”
Wayne said to his new friends, “You guys all seem to work on real smooth, cushy details — mess hall, print shop, carpentry. How’d you guys hook up?”
“Time,” Richard responded. “We’ve all been here a long time. You make connections after a while.”
“C’mon, cut the talk.” Samuel said sharply. “Let’s concentrate on the cards.” He was down on cigarette rations, and, being a heavy smoker, the thought of losing his precious fixes of nicotine was too much for him to handle. The reason Samuel enjoyed playing cards at all was that he was usually good enough to win a few extra cigarette rations.
Wayne did think about telling the men about what he had done to change the course of world history and about how he was responsible, at least indirectly, for them living their lives as slave laborers in Hollenburg. The notion of doing so quickly left his mind. He realized that what he said would have sounded crazy to them. Wayne had heard about how the prisoners whom had cracked under the work strain, or simply from living the strained life of a slave laborer, had “disappeared” never to be seen again. He had a good idea of what had happened to them and he decided against taking any chances on having rumors of nuttiness concerning him spread around camp.
Wayne, holding three aces and two kings, won his fifth hand in a row.
Samuel asked, “Where’d you learn to play cards like that?”
“Atlantic City.”
“Atlantic City?” Samuel thought for a moment and said, “Ain’t never heard of it.”
All of the guests at Captain Himmelmann’s birthday party had brought with them gifts for the guest of honor. These were not average birthday presents, such as a silk tie or a pair of gloves would have been, but more like major offerings. At the Captain’s previous birthday party, an SS-Scharführer (staff sergeant) with the last name of Neumann presented the Commandant with a painting by one of his favorite nineteenth century artists. Two weeks later, Staff Sergeant Neumann was promoted up to that of Sergeant Major Neumann — a significant promotion. Himmelmann had used his numerous connections in Berlin to have the man moved up in rank. With the memory of that incident still fresh in their minds, every party guest wanted to make certain that their particular gift to the Captain would be one that made a deep, lasting impression.
Captain Himmelmann opened his presents with the enthusiasm of a child on Christmas morning. He unwrapped a gift, which turned out to be an expensive bottle of a fine red wine and read the attached card.
“Ah, one of my favorite wines, vintage 1896,” the birthday boy stated, clearly pleased with the gift. “Thank you, Herr Rueger,” he said in gratitude to the SS Lieutenant, also an old friend, who had given him the gift.
Captain Himmelmann grabbed a small wrapped box out of the large pile of presents and tore off the covering. He opened the box up too reveal the shrunken head of a woman, complete with miniature locks of brunette hair covering the tiny skull. The party guests let out an admiring gasp.
“I had that one made especially for you, Herr Commandant,” Medial Officer Kunz proudly said. “It should make a fine addition to your fabulous collection. It is of Bolshevist origin.”
“It’s splendid. Thank you, Herr Kunz,” Captain Himmelmann said and took a swig from his glass of brandy. He snatched another present from the pile of gifts and, with excitement, begun to unwrap it.
Wayne continued with his winning streak at poker, accumulating a stockpile of cigarettes, bread rations, as well as several socks and a shirt, which Samuel had bet and lost. Wayne did not plan on keeping any of his winnings and was going to return them to the other men when they were done playing. He did not want any hard feelings felt towards him by his fellow inmates for taking their few measly belongings. The laughs he had and the diversion from the regular camp routine made the game worthwhile to Wayne.
“Are you sure Jack is keeping an eye out?” Adam asked Samuel.
Samuel replied, “He better be — I gave him a cigarette.”
It was Richard’s turn to deal the cards. As he dealt a hand out, he said, “You guys ever wonder what would happened had Adolf Hitler lived and not died so early on? I mean, would the course of history have been the same? Would we be sitting here right now?”
“Not the what if Hitler lived discussion again. Spare me, Richie,” Samuel said. He viewed his cards and clearly did not like his hand. “Damn it!”
“I think, that had Hitler lived,” stated Walter, who was of a Hungarian bloodline, “and hadn’t kicked the bucket so early on, he would have made war against his neighbors and with America. In Mein Kampf that’s what he said he would do once he had full control of Germany. He wanted to fight so the Germans would have more breathing space.”
“I don’t know about that,” George said. “Who knows if he would really have done what he said he would in his book or instead just gone and lived happily like a fat cat as head of Germany?”
Samuel won his first hand in fifteen minutes. He collected seven cigarettes and pocketed them, making sure he would walk away with at least some smokes for the next day.
“What do you think, Wayne — what would’ve happened if Hitler lived?” Richard asked.
A chill shot through Wayne when he heard the question posed to him. Did anyone suspect the truth about him? How could they possibly? No, the conversation, he decided, was a strange coincidence.
He fumbled for words, not really sure of what to say, though he knew he would have been able to tell them in great detail what he knew would have been, and should have been, the course of human history. “Well, I’ve never given it any thought.”
The loud thump of three knocks against the washroom wall was heard. Samuel, Walter, Adam, Richard, and George instantly threw down their cards and made a big rush to exit the washroom. Wayne was left sitting alone.
“What the hell?” Wayne said and wondered what was going on. He picked up the cards and the rations of bread and cigarettes that had been left behind and stuffed them into his shirt and pants pockets. Wayne stood up and went to exit the room, walking dead smack into SS Block leader Kammler.
Kammler shoved Wayne with so much force that Wayne thought, when his body made contact with the aged wooden wall behind him, that he might have actually gone through it, and fallen into the right wing of the barracks. Kammler frisked Wayne, finding the cards and his winnings.