Corporeal Josef Krause sits before the embers of his fire in the black pot-bellied stove, thumbing his copy of Mein Kampf to give the illusion of use, at the same time incessantly probing a sore molar with his tongue. His mind is on Maria, the adolescent daughter of one of the Jew scum. He’d not yet had the opportunity he so wanted, but patience, he feels sure, will finally see him out. He glances through the window at the drab, sheet metal sky, catching his own drab reflection on the cold pane of glass. Never again would he sweep another floor, swab another toilet. At night his dreams are of fire.