UNSPEAKABLE EXCERPT The large room where the young brunette waited was too warm, too still, but not oppressive. She stood, even though her back was complaining; she had never been given permission to sit down in this office. She could only stand and wait, rub her back a little, feel the cool polished wood of the floor against her bare feet. She paced the floor very quietly. She now understood, and scrupulously observed, the absolute rule against making any noise. Talking above a whisper was absolutely forbidden. The doctor--if that's what he really was--would return to the room within a few minutes, and the torment would begin. She hoped he would not hurt her much. She would not really resist him, but he would probably hurt her anyway. She was now quick to give token resistance and the impression of suffering so that he would not go too far--that was the trickiest part, to show enough pain to satisfy him without actually getting hurt too badly. If he would only do things normally, it would not hurt. But that was not his way. Though he would do things to frighten her, he was probably not dangerous. Once he had cut some of her clothing off with a dagger, yet he had been so careful that he had not so much as nicked her skin. In spite of his sadistic desires, he seemed afraid of himself. She assumed that tonight would be the same. He would frighten her if he could; he would really hurt her if she couldn't fake pain convincingly. He would clearly take pleasure in what he did with her, but with a sense of his own fear, too. For her, this was now pretty much routine, and it would be hard to seem really frightened. When the door opened, she got a new surprise. The doctor had removed his usual white frock and was wearing a uniform. Although she had heard him addressed as Colonel, he had never worn military garb in her presence before. There were so many kinds of military--so many uniforms. In addition to the regular army there were at least two kinds of police and at least two private armies marching around in Bavaria. No one could keep it straight, least of all a sixteen-year-old farm girl. This uniform was not regular army. He wore what appeared to be civilian trousers tucked into laced military boots. His brown shirt showed no insignia except for that odd, but now familiar, white circle with its black political party symbol on the red armband. Not a communist--they had a different armband. He wore a standard issue military garrison cap. Her immediate impression was that he looked silly--a middle-aged boy playing soldier. Though he wore no holster, he held a pistol in his right hand, pointed casually at her. She would not have to feign fear this time. "Stand straight!" he demanded. "Look straight ahead." She took a sharp breath and stood as he had requested. Would he actually shoot her? Would he strike her with the pistol? An involuntary tear began to trickle from one eye. The colonel stood admiring her and relishing the moment that she had seen the pistol. She had been truly afraid--not the charade that this one had adopted recently. He marched around her slowly, maintaining a distance of about two feet. At intervals he stopped to run his eyes over her as if inspecting his troops. That memory mixed its pleasure with this moment. He had felt power during the war with men at his command. Since then, he had missed it until recently. "You ate well today?" he asked quietly. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, sir," he said, gesturing with the pistol. "Yes, sir." Tears were in both of her eyes now. He felt a visceral thrill as her tears began to roll down her little cheeks. "Did you exercise?" "Yes, sir." "Everything that you were shown?" "Yes, sir," she spoke aloud. He stepped forward and struck her lightly on the cheek with the pistol--a blow more cold than painful, a sharp contrast to the heat of the room. It made her gasp and tremble. "Yes, sir," she whispered faintly. "Always remember." "Yes, sir," she whispered again. The colonel wondered for a moment if he could make her beg--really beg from the heart. "And you bathed?" he said from behind her, placing a guttural emphasis on the last word. "Yes, sir, this afternoon," she whispered. She could feel the pistol barrel pressing lightly against the small of her back as his hot breath began inches from her ear. "Was it a nice bath?" She was too frightened to answer. What would the bullet feel like? All she could think about was the steel poking at her back. Tears began to stream down both cheeks as she stood silent. "I asked if it was a nice bath. You should know better than to ignore my question." He pressed the gun barrel against her buttock hard enough to hurt, noting with some pleasure how the steel cylinder made her flesh yield. "Yes," she whispered, "it was a nice bath." He stepped back from her, removing the touch of the gun, and walk around to face her. "Let me see." She understood immediately and hurriedly began unbuttoning. When her fingers had reached her swelling waist, he stopped them with the pistol barrel. "Take your time," he said. She whispered, "Yes, sir," as she began to tease the remaining buttons open. She shuddered as he eased the cloth off of her shoulders, pushing it with the gun barrel as if the pistol were the only right hand he had. The simple cotton dress fell around her ankles. She could not help noticing that he actually had his finger on the trigger of the gun. "Turn away from me. Walk over to the table." He stopped her with a touch of the gun to her bare back before she had quite reached the table. "Stop there. Lean over and put you hands on the table." Then the cold pistol barrel acted as an indecent finger, the front sight hooking the cloth of her undergarment, dragging it downward, scraping her flesh. Tears streamed down her face and pooled on the polished oak, but she did not cry out. She was terrified for a moment that the gun would explode as she realized what he was going to do. She stared silently ahead, clenching her teeth against the pain. The colonel wanted to extend this moment as long as he could--her realization. She would beg for him in a minute--anything but this. He pressed on the pistol. Then, quite unexpectedly, quite accidentally, the Luger exploded with a muffled, popping sound. The girl crashed against the table, arching her back, rigid, still suppressing a cry. Then her knees buckled, and she died before she hit the floor. The colonel stood in shocked silence, the crimson-tipped, smoking Luger still held out in front of him, pointed downward slightly. "Mein Gott! I didn't mean..." he said in a trembling voice to the empty room. His first thought was the thankful realization that the gun hadn't made much noise. His next thought, and immediate terror, was of Adolph Hitler. © Dennis Burges Read an historical overview of the time period in the book.