Holocaust - Khurram Bukhari

Holocaust 309For some moments she stared at me. Then she turned down theoverhead light. The only illumination in the room was from a finecloisonné lamp, courtesy of Eichmann. Marta kneeled in front of me,rested her golden head in my lap, put her arms around my waist.Her voice was ghostly. “Erik . . . sometimes I am afraid we will bepunished.”“Punished?”“All of us.”“You’ve done nothing at all. And I have been a good soldier. Un bonsoldat, as Eichmann would say.”“Those letters. The ovens. The pyres. The experiments. A river fullof ashes.” She looked up at me. Her eyes were dry. Her lips lookeddrained of blood. “That’s why they must all die. So no one knows.So no one is left to tell. So that no one can tell lies about you. Doyou understand?”I stared at her, drew her close. But our bodies were cold, and wecould not make each other warm.