skull_bearer | Cookie Series two (Reply)

Happy friggin' Hallowene folks. Here's an appropriate story for the occasion, second in my Cookie series. I wrote it for my Uni, and got a six (highest possible is one, lowest twenty) the highest score in my class.
Happy Hallowene! I'll see if I can pics of my custome up. I'm in my black coat, platform black boots, gloves and gas mask.

Close Your Eyes

The far side. The place Schwartz most hated patrolling. It was darker here, the only lights those of the fence and the watchtowers. Isolated, open to the cold wind, and the place he had to be most watchful. Since it was the furthest away from the guards, it would be the most likely place for an escape. Even the place’s one redeeming feature- the striking view- was not there at night, the light from the fence barely penetrating the wall of branches. Schwartz didn’t bother turning his torch to search the trees, keeping it pointed at the fence. Part of his patrol was to check for any damage to the barbed wire, and he didn’t want to dawdle here any longer than he had to.

Most of guards used this time- halfway through the patrol- for a cigarette, but Schwartz didn’t. He saved it until after he turned to corner of the fence, so he could have something to look forward to after this stretch.

But tonight, Schwartz was in no hurry to get back to the smoky warmth of the mess room. He needed time to think.

He didn’t like it here. Of course, he couldn’t say that out loud, or he could bid promotion farewell, but he didn’t. He knew he was relatively lucky; if he wasn’t here, he could have been sent to Russia, and if it was cold here, Schwartz didn’t want to imagine what it was like over there.

But still, to be still here, a glorified prison guard, still patrolling the same grounds he had when he’d been a Bewerber while those he’d trained with moved on. It should be an honour, he knows it is, but part of him would gladly trade his high ranking position here for a lower one in the east. His friend’s letters are maddeningly vague, but something is definitely happening over there, something Schwartz longs to be part of. At the very least, he’d be keeping the peace in the occupied countries, rather than here. Keeping the peace in Weimar of all places. What a joke!

It’s not just that though, he’s really starting to hate it here. He knows the KZ are probably all the same, but he hopes the Kommandants aren’t all like Koch. He knows it’s none of his business what the man does, and it would certainly not be up to him to question the man, but…

He can’t condone his behaviour, and especially not his wife’s. Schwartz can admit to himself that this is the real reason he wanted to patrol tonight.

He had been on watch in one of the towers when he saw Frau Illse Koch crossing the Appelplatz. He’d tried not to pay attention to her, it wasn’t what he was here for, but it was hard to ignore her behaviour. She was dressed provocatively, and her behaviour…

Well, Schwartz had tried not to pay attention to that. It wasn’t his job. His job was to keep an eye on the inmates and make sure they worked. What the Kommandant’s wife was doing was neither his problem nor his business. But still, when he saw her walk up to one of the inmates, he found it hard to drag his eyes away from her. He shouldn’t be watching, it wasn’t his business, and besides, he was engaged himself. It had been the thought of what Eshe would say if she saw him staring at Frau Koch’s exposed legs that finally made him tear his eyes away and turn his attention to the perimeter fence. Only to snap back at the sound of a gunshot.

Illse Koch was standing over the body of one of the inmates, a young women. She wore a black triangle- probably a prostitute- but even with the cropped hair and ragged clothes of a camp inmate, her beauty was obvious. Frau Koch had shot her between the legs. It had been the shock of seeing a woman with a gun that made his hands tremble, it had to be, and not the look of unspeakable shock and agony on the woman’s delicately sculpted face.

But even in memory, the image made Swartz shudder.

He rounded the corner, starting on the last stretch back home. It was getting colder, and Swartz drew his coat closer around himself as he made his way past the last watchtower. If he didn’t already know the route by heart, he’d know it was almost over by the smell, the nauseating stench of offal and burnt flesh from the crematorium and from the zoo Kommandant Koch had built for his own amusement. He didn’t know which smelt worse, the bear or the burning bodies.

But then, he had been biased against the idea of the zoo from the beginning, it seemed like such an impossible luxury, considering the situation. The Fatherland was at war, and all Koch could think of was his bear pit. The exorbitant amount spent to build and maintain it could surely be spent more productively elsewhere, to expand the camp perhaps. Or at least maintain it; some of the fences on the far side were starting to show spots of rust- and if he’d seen it, he was sure the prisoners had made careful note of it.

The last thing he wanted was a breakout to tarnish the name of the camp- as though Illse Koch and her husband weren’t doing that job for them.

Swartz shook his head as he started back towards the gate. It must be getting late for him to be thinking like this. What the Kommandant and his family did was none of his business. It was not his job to question what they thought, or what those who’d put them here thought. He was in Buchenwald to do his work; he was here to make sure the Reich would not be corrupted by undesirables. It was as important a job as any on the front, or in the east, and it should be enough for him. It should be enough for anyone.

I came up with this while I was doing exactly the same thing as Schwarz, sixty years on. It's one hell of a long walk, and it's way too cold.