30th November, 1943
Dear Jens,
I’m very happy to know you’re doing better. When you sent that letter a while back saying you had been shot, I think my heart stopped! I don’t think I could have gone on if I couldn’t look forward to seeing you again.
Today was a really bad day. We were attacked by the Soviets and I think Martin is dead. I have never been too good at imagining the future, but I never realized until today I might not make it out of this. It feels like I’m never going to come home.
I don’t want to write about all of this again—I know I’ve mentioned it before—but as time passes, it keeps crossing my mind I should have listened to you all those years ago in training. I should have run away. Why should I give up my life jus—
“Whatcha got there, Heulsuse?” asked Heinz, looming over Gunther. One of the other boys from their group, Lutz, was with him.
“Nothing.”
“Writin’ another love letter to your mommy? Or your little girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Don’t lie to me.” He reached down to grab the letter, but Gunther managed to keep it away.
“Leave ‘em alone, Heinz,” mumbled Lutz as he pushed open the door to the house and entered it. Worried, Gunther turned to watch him. During the distr-action, Heinz snatched the letter, and Gunther immed-iately sprung to his feet, attempting to wrestle it back.
“Dear Jens,” read Heinz. “Ohhh, you’re writing to a boy now, huh?”
“Give it back.” Gunther struggled with him, but was still no match in terms of size and strength.
“Oh, it feels like I’ll never come home,” Heinz read a line aloud melodramatically. “You’re such a pussy.”
“Stop calling me that,” Gunther growled.
“You two,” came a harsh order from someone nearby. “Stop fucking around.”
Heinz sneered hideously at Gunther, and spit onto the page before shoving it, spit-side-first, into Gunther’s chest. He marched off toward the house where Lutz had gone.
Gunther tore off the afflicted portion of the paper, which fortunately had not yet been used—he could finish on a separate sheet. Then, against his better judgment, he followed the two into the house. His heart pounded almost audibly as he approached the second bedroom and pushed the door open. Heinz was lying on the bed; his foot was hanging over the side and hovering just inches from the large dresser. The squeal of the hinges immediately caught Heinz’s attention and he looked over.
“Now what the hell do you want?”
Gunther swallowed. “I was gonna sleep in this room.”
“Yeah, well, so much for that.”
“There’s a nicer bed in the house next door.”
“Yeah? You take a shit in it or something? Fuck off, Heulsuse.”
Gunther remained in the room. Heinz slowly became more and more incredulous, yet some sinister part of him seemed to enjoy—almost revel in—the opportunity to have another fight.
“I said get out, you shit,” he hissed.
Gunther could still feel the beating in his own chest and his hands trembling nervously at his sides. He wasn’t about to leave the girl alone in the room with Heinz, and the result of his stubbornness would inevitably be ugly.
Lutz stepped in. “Hey, Heinz, you got some extra shee—” he cut himself off momentarily. “Oh, yeah….” He started to lift the sheet that had been shoved into the bottom drawer but had been pulled out by Heinz’s earlier rummaging. “Can I take this? Haven’t had a real fuckin’ bed sheet in months.”
“Fine with me.” Heinz shrugged.
The boy pulled the sheets up and started to leave the room. All that obscured the contents of the half-opened bottom drawer now were the four drawers pulled out above it.
“Unless you’re gonna stay and watch me jerk off tonight, Heulsuse, you better get the fuck out of here.”
Gunther decided to try a long shot, and invoke a bit of Heinz’s brand of crassness. He shrugged. “You’re already lying in mine from earlier.”
“In your—” it took Heinz a moment to process what had been implied, “—oh, ew! Fuck!” He rolled out of the bed and rubbed his hands on the back of his shirt, disgustedly, as though trying to clean himself off. The opened drawers of the dresser stood between the two of them, and could easily be disturbed if anyone tried squeezing past them, but leaving the room to draw Heinz out remained the best—and only—option at this point.
“Don’t run away from me, pussy.” Heinz immediately lunged after him, bumping, in his aggression, the dresser and causing it to shake. A hollow metallic rattle could be heard, and Heinz stopped.
Gunther tried his previous tactic again, “Come on, you fuckin’ schwule.”
That did it.
Heinz froze. “The hell did you just call me?”
Heinz rushed after Gunther and gave him a hard shove, knocking him into a table, which flipped it onto its side. “Don’t you fucking call me that.”
“I’m not gonna fight with you.” Gunther stood up. “I just figured you wouldn’t want that room. I was trying to be nice—”
Heinz swung at Gunther, who managed to block it, though not painlessly. He held his arm where Heinz had struck him.
“Hit me back, schwule,” Heinz turned the accusation around onto Gunther.
“No.”
Heinz grabbed him and the two grappled. Lutz stepped out of the other bedroom. “Hey,” he shouted. “What’s wrong with you two? Knock it off.”
Heinz landed a strong punch in Gunther’s stomach, buckling him over, and then, with every apparent ounce of his strength, grabbed Gunther’s shoulders and slammed him into the wall so hard that the weak plaster and wood cracked. He nearly fell through the wall, and may have, were it not for the dresser on the opposite side stopping him. Gunther heard a bad sound: the weight of the drawers, coupled with the force of Heinz’s throw, caused the thick piece of furniture to tip forward and several drawers to slide right out. Lutz had started toward Gunther and Heinz to break them up, but stopped when he saw something in the bedroom.
“What the hell…?”
Gunther winced and tried to pull himself out of the crumbled plaster.
“Heinz, Heulsuse. Come here—now.”
Heinz seemed to want to ignore him, but stepped over anyway. “What?”
And then he saw the girl.
Gunther hobbled over as well, horrified and unsure of what to do as Lutz pulled away the extra drawers and exposed the girl who, even in the dark room, Gunther could see was older than he had expected, maybe eleven or twelve. Her skin was dark and her hair black. She had literally crammed herself into the drawer and it looked as though some of her pressured points had begun to swell. One of the apples had been partially eaten, as had some of the bread, and the water canteen was open and empty. She was quivering in terror. Heinz and Lutz seemed paralyzed as well, until Heinz turned to Gunther. “Did you know about this?”
Gunther stammered, “N-No.”
“I’ll go tell the Hauptscharführer.” Lutz started to hurry away.
“Wait,” called Heinz. He leaned down and spoke to the girl—she couldn’t understand a word, but Gunther did.
“Hey, what’s your name?”
No response.
“My name is Heinz. You hurt?”
No response.
“Hey.” He reached out and touched her arm. She tensed up, refusing to open her eyes. “I said, you hurt?”
“She’s not gonna speak German, Heinz.” Lutz said, annoyed. Heinz might have snapped back with some kind of retort if he hadn’t spotted the empty, very recognizable Wehrmacht canteen. He picked it up and turned to Gunther.
“Oh, you’re fuckin’ in for it.”
Lutz looked at Gunther as well.
“That’s not mine,” Gunther replied.
“You’re a liar,” Heinz snickered with amusement before turning his attention back to the girl. “Hey, so you don’t understand me, huh?”
No response.
“Alright, come on….” Heinz started to pull her out.
She resisted and whimpered, “Te rog nu mă omorâ.”
“Come on,” Heinz said again, as gently as he could manage. He carried the softly crying girl to the bed and sat her down. She was stiff and appeared to be in substantial pain along with her terror. Her arms fell from her dirty, tear-stained face while her eyes opened only long enough to briefly glimpse the three German soldiers before she crawled, sniffling, to the farthest point on the bed. Heinz sat at the foot of it, watching her, while Gunther and Lutz stayed by the door.
He turned to the two of them and wrinkled his face. “Little bitch smells like piss.”
“Gross,” replied Lutz. “She’s probably been hiding in that thing all day.”
“You think you were gonna keep her somehow, Heulsuse?” Heinz asked as he stood up and threw the canteen at Gunther. He deflected it with his arm.
“I didn’t know about her,” Gunther lied with tremendous conviction. “It must have been one of the others.”
“Yeah, right,” Heinz saw through it. “Hey… you keeping her to fuck her, Heulsuse? Maybe you’ve got nuts after all.”
“What?” Gunther was appalled. “That’s disgusting.”
Heinz sneered. “Huh, you don’t like girls?”
Gunther scoffed, “Let’s just leave her alone, guys… Come on.”
“Oh no, you’ve got me curious now, Heulsuse. I’ll bet you are a fuckin’ schwule.”
Lutz spoke up again. “That’s not even funny, Heinz. That’s sick. Heulsuse isn’t like that.”
“Yeah?” Heinz ignored him and turned to Gunther. “Who you been writing letters to? What was his name? Jens? Is that your little boyfriend?”
Gunther knew what to say in the face of such an accusation. “That’s sick, Heinz. You want me to kick your ass?”
“No, here.” He reached over to the little girl. She yelped and resisted as Heinz pulled her up and held her by her shoulders. “Come on,” he commanded. “Give her a kiss.”
“What in the hell is wrong with you?” Gunther was still horrified by all of it, but was trying to let disgust at Heinz’s insult—not genuine concern for the girl—be his most apparent reaction.
“Come on.” He was holding her like she was little more than a ragdoll. “Do it.” The girl started crying more audibly, and Heinz quickly put his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. “You better at least touch her tits or something so I know you’re not a homo.” Heinz demonstrated by grabbing one of the girl’s breasts. She cried out, though it was muffled.
Gunther felt wretched, but maintained his composure. “I don’t need to prove anything to you.”
“Heulsuse, I swear to God. Get over here or I’m gonna tell the Hauptscharführer you’re a fuckin’ homo,” he demanded. “Lutz will tell him, too.”
Gunther looked at Lutz.
“Just do it so he’ll shut up,” he said.
Gunther sighed. He wanted to grind Heinz’s face into the dirt, and it took every ounce of acting and deception he could summon to have his actions not betray what he was feeling. He did his best not to look at the girl as he stepped up to the two of them and planted a kiss on her forehead. She squirmed violently, but Heinz held her fast. Gunther didn’t want to press his luck, so he didn’t wait for a response from Heinz. He turned and started to walk away.
“Not so fast,” said Heinz. “That’s was nothing.”
Gunther, still trying his best to operate on Heinz’s level, responded, “What do you want? I’m not gonna rape some dirty Romani for you.”
“God,” Heinz said. “It all makes sense now. You’re a schwule. A fuckin’ schwule.” He had been idly caressing the girl’s chest, but now drifted down to her stomach and under the waistband of her skirt.
Gunther tried not to watch. “No, I’m not.”
The girl whimpered again, saying something, but her mouth was still covered, her voice muted by Heinz.
“She’s just a little kid. You’re the sick one.” Gunther turned to Lutz. “Right?”
Lutz swallowed, but offered no response.
Gunther looked back at Heinz. “I’m gonna tell the Hauptscharführer.”
“The Hauptscharführer’s just gonna kill her. Might as well get a good feel of pussy first.”
A sudden bright light shining into the room and a loud rapping on the window interrupted them. It was accompanied by a voice. “Hey—what’s going on in there?”
The three boys turned, stunned, as the light disappeared and they heard the door to the house open. Heinz shoved the little girl onto the bed and stood as though he had hardly even noticed her when one of the Einsatzgruppe officers barged into the room. He shined the flashlight on the three of them and then the girl.
“What the hell is this?”
“Sir,” Heinz spoke up. “We found one hiding.”
The Einsatzgruppe seemed suspicious, but ignored the boys and approached the girl. She was still shaking as the man knelt by the bedside and spoke gently. “Eşti bine?”
In between sniffles, shock could be detected—she understood the officer’s Romanian.
“Locuieşti aici, da?” he asked.
“Da…. Te rog nu mă omorâ,” she whimpered, her voice and body quivering.
Gunther watched, oblivious to what was happening. He hoped she would rat out Heinz, but he wasn’t sure that would make any difference.
“Eşti în siguranţă acum,” the Einsatzgruppe replied, standing up. He turned away from her and discretely removed a Walther P38 from inside his jacket. He looked at the boys who all stood motionless, watching. Gunther felt more ill than ever before.
* * *
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