CYCLED SENTENCE - PART 8

THE CONTRACT

The German pulled some bread from his pocket, alongside a can of sardines. The crack of the sardine can put new life into me. The distinct salty fish smell filled my nostrils with such an attraction, that I was able to sit straight up and reach for them. He handed the sardines to me first. I licked the can clean before he could give me the bread.

“I was the best sniper the world had scene. Hitler personally wanted me in Normandy on the day the Yankees would invade, so that I may put a German bullet in each one of their American skulls the second their boots hit the sand. That’s exactly what I did. Not for country. I did it for Elsa. I thought that if I could kill armies of the enemy, if I could prove my loyalty, that perhaps Elsa and our unborn child would be sparred.”

I listened while washing the bread down with water from my tin cup.

“It turns out that I wasn’t the only German distraught with the party and the Fuhrer. The British Special Operations Executive had been keeping a file on me. When they became aware of my situation, they called for a German informant that I happened to be stationed with in Normandy, to advise me that my services were needed for a greater cause.”

With a mouth full of bread, I stopped chewing. My stomach turned in sickness. I knew where this was headed and what I did wrong all those years back in the war. I didn’t say anything or try to stop him. I knew I had to sit and listen.

“I met with the SOE a few kilometers outside of a German POW camp in Normandy near an abandoned American post that sat on the front line. Everything was to be top secret. Even the Americans had no clue as to what the Tommies were planning. Operation Foxley, they called it. They had it all worked out. In July of 1944, Hitler was to be at his chalet known as Berghof, located in the Obersalzberg of the Bavarian Alps.  Under the guise of a Berghof grounds guard, I was to infiltrate the compound on July 13^th, just before 10am. It was reported by a German POW who claimed he had been a guard at Berghof, that Hitler would take a 20-minute morning walk around the forest grounds of his chalet at the same time everyday just after 10am. With a little recon, it was proven the POW wasn’t lying. Not only did Hitler go for a little morning exercise, he insisted to take his walk alone, without the security of his bodyguards.”

He smiled a sarcastic grin and arched his brow in a way as to say, “Now do you feel like a dick?”

“I was to find concealment within 300 meters of his walking path and simply wait for him to find my crosshairs.  The assassination was to be done with a Wehrmacht standard, accurized Kar 98k. I would put a German bullet in Hitler’s skull, putting an end to his reign.”

“And I fucked it up.”

“Yes Mr. Blake, you did fuck it up.”

Blood started to flow from his eyes, nose, and mouth. Holes slowly appeared one by one, all over his face and uniform. He retook form of the bloody mess that I left him in.

“I had been briefed by the SOE and was given a brand new German guard’s uniform to match those worn at Berghof. I decided to try it on in the latrine to be sure of the fit. The chest was a bit tight, but nothing that would cause for alarm. I looked the part and being German through and through, no one would suspect me of sabotage.”

He looked over and stared at one of the cold steel walls of the Nest. It was almost as if he were looking right through it. Or perhaps he was somewhere far back in his mind.

“Elsa would be avenged.”

Blood from his reappearing wounds was running down his body in a flash flood of red.  Small streams merged into one major river on the floor, flowing in a direct path to where I was sitting.

“I was just about to change back into my pedestrian clothing, when I was struck with the urge to relieve myself of the tea and croissants provided so generously by my new British allies. It was the worst decision I ever made next to pledging my allegiance to the SS.  Moments later a trigger happy Yankee Doodle with a taste for Nazi blood, busted in the door and shot my plans of justice all to hell.”

“My platoon was told the post had been abandoned. The Brits weren’t supposed to be there. We thought maybe the post had fallen behind enemy lines and we were doing a quick sweep to clear it out. How was I to know? I, I…”

Bending down to one knee, he took a firm grip of my throat with his left hand and pulled a knife from his boot with his right. There was nothing I could do. I was powerless. 

“I don’t want your excuses Mr. Blake! My body went sixty days in that shithole before anyone found me. Sixty days, just like your sixty days in this solitary cell. Your gun fire scared off the Brits, believing your troop to be Germans, and nobody ever found out in all the confusion, that an act of “friendly fire” took place. Nobody came looking. I was found by some French children who proceeded in spitting and throwing rocks at my rotting carcass. I was listed as a traitor to my country and painted as an evil SS sniper in your history books. I lost to both sides and you were painted as a war hero.”

He put the tip of the knife up to my throat with enough pressure to barley break the skin.

“They say you were put in here for stabbing a man in the throat Mr. Blake. They say he had a big swastika tattooed over his Adams apple. You killed him without ever asking a single question, didn’t you Mr. Blake? Let’s say, perhaps you were to find out that he wasn’t what you thought him to be? Perhaps his ghost comes to haunt you one day like I haunt you now and you find that he had a rational explanation for bearing such a mark? An explanation like the one I offer you now. But how were you to know? You never gave him the chance. You never gave me the chance Mr. Blake!”

The air in the humid dank Nest turned to a type of cold that I was unaccustomed to. A cold that was worthy of a season all its own. I could see my breath, but the German made no exhale.  

“Is it not the bane of men to jump before we look, to act before we think and to find answers before we ask questions?! We are biased by nature Mr. Blake. Understand this as I understand this. It’s our biased ways of thinking that act as easy to spot beacons of light in the fog of misunderstanding, misconception and fear. Looking for the quickest comfort, the shortest solution, we are so easily fooled by these misleading beacons of light. For if we follow our first initial biased beacon out of the fog, if we set sail directly into its light, we may very well lead our ships into the jagged rocks that rest as its foundation. It is to be said that our biased beacons should set off alarms in our minds, asking us to question our path. Forcing us to be sure that we are making rational decisions, and not following blindly, that which only “appears” to guide us.”

He released his hand from my throat and brought it around to a quick jerk on the back tuff of my hair. Pulling my head back, he pushed the knife a little deeper into my neck.

“There is only one way for you to understand this lesson Mr. Blake. It is your turn to be on the end of a trigger reaction, like I was when you shot me down.  It is your turn to feel the helplessness of being on the receiving end of blind hate, like the man whose throat you slashed to hamburger.  Now you will be at the mercy of a biased decision born of a careless urgency, like the black man in the folding room.”

He took the knife and started to cut into my throat. It was deep, but I couldn’t tell if he wasn’t trying to kill me or not. He purposely held back from pushing it into my windpipe, but with each cut he made, I felt that the next might be for keeps. I didn’t dare try to pull away or grab for the dagger, besides I would have been more effective trying to blow it away with my mouth rather than using my withered arms.

A few more cuts in, he dropped the blade into my lap and pulled a glass inkwell full of black ink from out of the cold thin air. He opened the inkwell and forced me to cup my hands out before him, than he carefully poured the black ink into my trembling palms

“This is a contract Mr. Blake. You have a choice. Make a mark to seal your fate, or refuse to mark and choose death.  If you should refuse to accept the mark, simply release the dark black ink, the darkness of your life, to the ground beneath you. Then pick up the dagger from your lap and lead it to your heart. By choosing death you will be admitting your mistakes and taking responsibility for them. Your honor will be restored and your darkness will be over.  Or, you can choose to bear the mark and…”

He stood up and turned his back to me.

“…live out the rest of your life in shame, knowing the coward that you are. You will forever be haunted by the people you destroyed and you will never escape the darkness that surrounds your pathetic existence. All you have to do is take the black ink and rub it into the gashes of your throat, binding your life in darkness and putting it on display for all to see.”

            “I don’t understand.”

 “The sentence is yours to choose Mr. Blake, life or death?  You are the judge of your future. I know it’s a difficult choice, you are biased towards living; it’s all you’ve known. Nobody wants to die. I didn’t want to die, but don’t forget what I said about being biased.”

“What would you do?”

He walked to the solid steel door of the Nest. Without turning back, he said,

“I would be with my Elsa. Auf Wiedersehen Mr. Blake. I hope we don’t meet again.”

He shut the door behind him. I was alone. I sat there in the confined darkness of the Nest. I couldn’t tell where the black ink in my hands ended and the darkness began. I wasn’t ready for death. I had too much of a survivors will within me. Besides, I didn’t even have the strength to pick up the damn dagger; much less stab it into my chest. Most of all, I was afraid.

I wanted to cry, but I had no tears. The German was right. I had found sympathy for him and understood what this all lead up to. I was a coward. I had always been a coward. We are all cowards making our way through the dark.  I thought about picking up the dagger. I went through the actions in my head. Even after all that the German had to say, I still couldn’t find my way out of the darkness.

In all my stubbornness, in all my selfish desire to be right and stay alive, I took my hands to my throat and accepted the darkness to follow. If only I would have realized that by not accepting a sentence to death, I would be sentencing myself to something much worse.

****

“This concludes our Parole Hearing of Walter Blake, inmate number 0032186.  We will now take a lunch break and meet back here in one hour.”

            “Excuse Me?’

            “Is there a problem Mr. Blake?”

            “What happened? Where am…”

            “Your Parole has been granted Mr. Blake. You’re to return to your cell, collect your things and be ready for release within the hour. Are you having trouble understanding this?”

            “Yes sir, I mean, No sir, I just…”

            “Guard, please escort Mr. Blake back to his cell. Don’t worry Mr. Blake, we understand that you are feeling overwhelmed, but you have shown that you are ready to enter back into society and we have full faith that you will be just fine.”