The man started to struggle and plead. He could not hold back his tears now and he screamed with fright, “WAIT NO! Wait, not me! I don’t know anything! Wait, not me!” as the German soldiers dragged him down the hallway
The other guard followed and spoke to Officer Bakker loud enough that the men could hear him laugh a disgusting laugh from his gut. Officer Bakker did not translate the last sentence; he just turned away and walked out and shut the door. The lights turned off again. It was pitch black. For a while no one said anything. And the water did not drip. It was just as silent and as dark as outer space.
About a minute passed before Tex spoke loudly, “That motherfucker broke my nose. When I get out, I’m going shit on his grave.”
Joe blew up. He had had it with Tex’s arrogance. “Shut the fuck up, Tex! Just shut up!”
Tex, taken aback, tried to speak but was cut off by Joe again. “No, just shut the fuck up! Can’t you see you’re not helping?”
Tex did not respond. The men just sat in the dark silence for some time.
The young man sitting next to Tex spoke. “I wonder what he said before he left the room.”
Tex said, “Who cares? He’s fucking pussy.”
Joe spoke under his breath. “He said, ‘Let’s see how your weak do.’”
The young man shifted. “He said what?”
Joe spoke louder. “He said, ‘Let’s see how your weak do.’”
The men sat in silence for 15 minutes or so. The only noise heard was the water dripping and a small stint of cursing under his breath from Tex when he reset the bone in his nose.
Then a loud bang. It echoed throughout the halls, ricocheting around the cavernous room in a loud cacophony that startled Joe and the other men. It was a sound they’d heard a thousand times. The distinct sound of a gun being fired.
Then suddenly the lights switched on again. And the door swung open. This time, the older SS officer stepped in.
He spoke in very broken English, “You will give us your name, rank, and location of your regiment.”
He motioned to the guards, who walked in and threw the young man on top of the other dead body, making the same splat that only a body drained of muscles and bone can make.
Tex raised himself up again. “Fuck you! Fuck you, bastards, you will pay!” Then almost breaking down, about to cry, “You will pay, you bastards!”
The officer motioned to the guards, who walked over and grabbed Tex under the arms. He squirmed and jerked his legs.
Yelling, “Fucking don’t touch me! Get your fucking Kraut hands off of me!” Tex tried biting and spat at the officer, but even though Tex was 195 lb and had been an all-state middle linebacker, he was not strong enough in his weakened gaunt state to fend off the two guards. They dragged him towards the door.
Joe saw this, with fright in his eyes, and yelled, “Wait!” but the older SS officer turned around and walked out the door with Tex.
Then Joe yelled in German, “Warten!” (“Wait!”)
As soon as the older SS officer heard the German word “warten,” he turned and looked at Joe with an intrigued look. He whistled at the guards. One had punched Tex in the stomach and was about to knee him in the face. The guard heard the whistle, looked, and saw the older SS officer shaking his head. He motioned to the officer with a flick of his head. The men then brought Tex back into the room screaming and locked him back to the wall. They grabbed Joe, who did not resist.
Tex, locked against the wall, screamed, “Joe, NO, don’t do it! Take me, you Kraut fucks! TAKE ME!” But they had already escorted Joe into the hall and slammed the door shut and turned off the light.
Chapter 3.
September 15th, 1995
Henry arrived with Lisa, Andrew, and Paul, parked the car and walked up to the entrance. A portly African American woman in a blouse just a bit too tight for her figure, as the thread holding the buttons had been stretched to their utmost point, was on the phone, not saying any more than just repeating, “Uh-huh.” Henry stood in line behind a skinny frail gentleman who had a cardigan that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since the 70s when it was knitted by most likely his mother or grandmother.
Henry was in a hurry and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet as the woman continued to ignore both him and the Mr. Rogers fellow in front of him.
Finally, the woman said, “Ah, sir... sir,” firmly to get his attention, but then pulled the phone from her ear and hung up, whispering under her breath, “Oh no, he didn’t just call me that.”
The old man, not seeing his opportunity, just stood there, which annoyed Henry, so he attempted to jump the queue. He walked up to the lady and asked, “Excuse me, ma’am. Can...” but was cut off by the rotund lady. Not only was her figure on the larger size but her personality was too. She did not take kindly to those who didn’t follow the rules of the line.
With an angry face, she barked, “Excuse me, sir, but that gentleman was in front of you.”
Henry wasn’t expecting this, but not wanting to make the situation worse, he apologized and stepped back in line behind the stinky Mr. Rogers and rejoined his children.
He stood and continued to rock back and forth on the balls of his feet, checking his watch and letting out grunts of frustration and whispering under his breath, “Gosh, what is taking so long?” But he could only imagine what this old codger was talking to the receptionist about. He guessed it was something trivial such as parking validation or what kind of muffins are in the café. He noticed his two boys were starting to push and tease each other, so he quickly grabbed Andrew by the arm and told him to behave.
He asked his daughter, “Lisa, can you please look after you brothers?”
At that moment, Henry heard his name being called from behind him. He swiftly turned around to find his wife Gwen walking frantically towards him with a worried look on her face. He went to move towards her but was at that moment stopped by the shrill voice of the portly receptionist.
“Excuse me, sir. You’re next.”
Henry motioned for his kids to run over to their mom and walked up to the receptionist.
“Sorry about that, ma’am. My father has been brought here in an ambulance. His name is Joe Harper.”
She acknowledged his apology by feigning a smile and looked down at her computer and typed the name. As soon as the information was available on the screen, she looked it up and read it with little more emotion than a robot. It was obvious she only showed emotion when yelling at strangers.
“He’s in the intensive care unit. Level 3, E wing. Take the elevator over there on the left.“
Ding! The elevator bell rang as the family arrived on the 3rd floor. The doors jerked open with a slight vibrating movement common to older elevator doors made in the 70s. The Harpers stood for a second to make sure the doors were all the way open and then walked into reception. Henry looked to see a sign pointing to the left to intensive care. He turned and walked decisively, and the family followed just behind him. He arrived in the stale-smelling waiting room lit with neon office lights that formed rectangular panels in the suspended ceiling. The light lit up the white walls with minimal hangings on the walls. The few wall decorations were awkward oil paintings of stiffly posed people of interest to the hospital, like ex-CEOs and philanthropists, presented as if they were important pieces of art but really no one noticed them at all, and most of those individuals painted hadn’t set foot in this department unless they were there to meet their maker. The beige linoleum flooring was showing severe fatigue patches, especially around the reception counter. This hospital had definitely