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The serving girl had been hand-picked by Schultz—a Hungarian peasant of some natural beauty, blonde and blue-eyed. As a stranger in a strange land, she might have passed for an Aryan. But, she was herded with the rest of her Jewish family and friends and rode the same rails to the camp. A soldier had drawn her out of the line for the ovens, knowing that Schultz—on the lookout for a maid of quality—would be pleased with her.
Now, Schultz brought her in. His early attraction to her had long ago worn off. She rebuffed him at every turn, never so outwardly defiant as to incite her execution. Instead, she faked strange epileptic fits. Whenever Schultz cornered her in the larder or against the icebox, she simply diverted her eyes, went rigid, and fell silent. Schultz had beaten her more than once—Karl himself had pulled his fellow officer off of her—but she was still present, still breathing, still, to some extent, favored.
Likewise, Karl knew that she snuck the boy scraps of food and deserts, sometimes coffee or milk. She even sometimes slipped into the basement and slept with him at night, a surrogate mother, singing softly to him in the dark, rocking him in her arms. Something in her affections gave the boy hope. Something in the boy’s need gave her strength.
Karl waved her near. “Come, girl. Here.”
She hesitated. Schultz shoved her. “Bitch, move!” he hissed.
Lemmler puffed on, bored with the impending spectacle.
Karl drew the girl near, firm, but trying to be as gentle as possible. It would do him no good to frighten her too soon. He looked to Schultz. “Now the boy,” he said. “Get him some bread and butter.”
Schultz, puzzled but ever up for a game, did as he was told. The boy waited, staring at the girl, seeming to silently ask if she needed help. Her steady gaze told him to stay where he stood, and do as he was told. Something in their silent questions and answers left a knot in Karl’s throat, and he forced his smile to broaden, even as his eyes narrowed and darkened.
“Schultz,” he said.
Schultz offered the boy his bread and butter. The boy stared, starving, but uneasy about accepting anything from the men in gray uniforms surrounding him.
“Hold him,” Karl said. “Make sure he eats. And keep him from running.”
Schultz screwed up his face, puzzled.
Karl’s fingers tightened on the girl’s bare upper arms.
The boy tried to run. Schultz had him in a fierce bear hug a moment later and raised the bread and butter to his lips. “Eat up!” he said, forcing a laugh. “As the kommandant commands! Eat up!”
The girl tried to go rigid. Karl spun her, struck her twice across the face with his open hand, and thrust her down onto a nearby sofa.
Lemmler stared, blowing smoke rings, his boredom continual. He crossed his legs as if he were watching a fine tennis match.
The boy screamed. Schultz shoved the buttered bread into his mouth.
The girl struggled, whimpering in her guttural tongue. Karl had his trousers undone in moments, penis rising, full and engorged. His smile never wavered. He struck the girl again, three times, twice with his hand open, and once with his fist. She gurgled and spat when his fist struck her. Blood erupted from her open mouth, two of her teeth now lodged in her throat.
“Christ, Karl, she’ll make a mess of you,” Lemmler said with distaste.
Karl rose, turned the girl over in one swift movement, pinned her arms beneath her, and tore up her skirt. She wore old, stained underpants. Karl tore them away, baring her narrow, pale buttocks to the world.
The boy tried to scream again. Schultz held him like an overzealous grandfather. Each time the boy opened his mouth to spit the bread out, Schultz shoved it in further. The boy choked and spat and coughed, trying to chew around his screams and sobs, wriggling to get free.
Karl gave the boy a final glance—a terrible, leering, wild-eyed look that suggested an imminent revenge, redress for some wrong the boy could never understand—then he drove into her. She screamed as he did.
“Mind your trousers,” Lemmler said, as if giving stage directions.
The boy’s struggles stopped. He was limp in Schultz’s arms, a doll with half-chewed bread and curdled butter hanging from his slack jaws. He tried to turn away, but Schultz held his head and turned him, urging him to watch, and watch carefully.
Karl glanced down at the girl. She stared at the boy, blood oozing from her open lips, a look of terrible shame in her eyes.