---

 

This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “Aurora” Down in the Dirt, v168 (the Feb. 2020 Issue) Order the paperback book:

Order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology Foundations the Down in the Dirt Feb.-April 2020 issues collection book		get the 322 page Feb.-April 2020 Down in the Dirt 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Order this writing in the book 2020 in a Flash the 2020 flash fiction & art collection anthology		get the 296 page flash fiction & artwork & photography collection anthology as a 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

The Interrogation

John McLennon

    Helmut Machtan chewed a toothpick at the side of his mouth. He was a big man with a square head and a granite face. Dressed in mufti, Helmut slouched over his desk and hollered, “Next!” When a young woman walked in and stood before his desk, she looked like a little bride made of marzipan on a wedding cake. He straightened his back to sit at attention. “Name?”
    “Golly Grunberg, Herr Detective Superintendent.”
    Helmut checked her name off his list, then looked up. She was small enough to put in his pocket.
    Referring to a paper on his desk, he said, “You’re scheduled for deportation on Tuesday.” Helmut spoke with a heavy Berlin accent that many Germans found incomprehensible. “Do you get what that means?” he said.
    “No, Herr Detective Superintendent.” She brushed a strand of hair from her eyes.
    What sweet little fingers. “It means you’re on the downgrade. Seeing you’re a young bird, probably a work camp, but the East is not all tea and sugar cookies. It’s a ticklish lot for anyone, especially a Jew. ‘Dust thou art,’ if you get my gist.”
    Her eyes moved uncertainly. She avoided looking directly at him. Helmut liked that.
    “But this can change,” he said. “There are ways to get off the deportation list, but you gotta have connections. That’s where I come in. You can help yourself by helping me. I won’t beat around the bush with you. I’m just going to empty my mug. No one can smell out a yid like another yid. You know what I mean? With us, it’s more the muscles and bones that count. With you, I need the gray matter. Give me what I want, and I’ll pay you a hundred Reichsmarks a head. As a Jew, you should like that. A fellow has to get something out of life sometimes. That’s what I say.
    “Since you’ve lived on the lam, you know how the Hebs survive and the places they hang out. You’ll be free to roam the city as you please. No escort. No need to wear the star. You can take the streetcar. It won’t cost you anything. I’ll give an identification card stating that you’re in with the Gestapo and not to be jerked around. Anyone screws with you, and I’ll personally fix his clock. It’s a dream job. Victory all along the line. You’ll be working for me. It’ll be great. You’ll be smoking thick cigars. Well, you know what I mean. You could start today, this very hour, no sitting on nettles waiting to get the hell out of here. What do you think? You want the job?”
    Golly stood, trembling. She took a deep breath before answering. “No, Herr
Detective Superintendent.”
    Helmut squinted at the girl. He took a flask from his overcoat that hung on the back of his chair. With his eyes fixed on Golly, he unscrewed the cap and took a swig.
    “All this talking dries your throat.” Helmut motioned to a paper on his desk. “You have two sisters, Trudy and Else, is that correct?”
    “Yes, Herr Detective Superintendent.”
    “I offered them the job, but they turned it down. So, they’ll be on the train to nowhere. But you, I know you. You’re a smart girl. Two times two is four. If you can count, you’ll understand me. It’s still possible to save both your sisters and yourself. If you accept the job, I’ll take your sisters off the list and hold them as hostages at the Jewish Hospital to make sure you don’t run off. Living quarters at the hospital ain’t so bad, and you can visit them any time.”
    Helmut saw pain in the girl’s face. She wanted to take the deal, but . . .
    “Don’t be shy, darling. Take the money. It won’t bite you. It’s nice money. What do you say to that, eh? It’s a killer deal I’m offering you, ain’t it?”
    “No, Herr Detective Superintendent.”
    Someone slammed a door in the hallway. Golly flinched.
    Helmut watched her breathing heavily. His little pig eyes found the rise and fall of her breasts titillating. Her body, streamlined with independent suspension. She was deluxe: perfect for breeding, if not for the Jew in her—even with the Jew. The lofty goals of eugenics were always on Helmut’s mind.
    “Listen to me, Baby. Don’t make this decision. Open your lamps. Shall I buy you a pair of specs? I’ll be up front with you. Right now, I wouldn’t want to be in your skin. It’s not like a pig going to the slaughter. He don’t know nothing until the butcher slits his throat. A human knows. They see the knife before they get there, and they suffer a thousand times a thousand cuts before the slice. You don’t know nothin’. I know that. Take the small favors God gives you. Why are you beating your head against a brick wall?”
    Tears ran down Golly’s cheeks. “I can’t do that, Herr Detective Superintendent.”
    “So that’s the way things are. Baby, you and your sisters will ride off on the train without a return ticket. Well, it’s your life.” Helmut tapped his pencil on the desk and studied her for a long minute. “Do you like to schtup?”
    Golly’s eyes flared, “No, Herr Detective Superintendent.” Her response came quicker than the others.
    “I can see you’re just an innocent girl. What do you know about life? Zero minus three. I can fix that.” Helmut raised his flask to Golly in a toast, “Here’s how, Gottlieb.” He took a swig. “You should take an interest in sexual education. It’s practiced on a big scale and doing quite well. I’ll bet you’ve never been schtuped, a young bird like you. Turn around, let me see your ass.”
    Golly turned her back on him.
    “Face me. Now pull your skirt up so I can see your pins. Good.”
    Golly released her skirt, jammed her hands into her armpits, and looked down at the floor.
    “You certainly are a pretty baby, a sweet, nice little package. Put your hands to your side. Now look at me.”
    Golly put her hands to her side.
    Helmut smiled. “I’m weak about women. They touch the spot where it’s too much for me. The ladies say I’m a jackhammer. You’re a sweet little duck. Would you like to schtup me?”
    Her answer was inaudible.
    “I didn’t get that.”
    She spoke up, “No, Herr Detective Superintendent.”
    Helmut leaned back in his chair, lit a cigarette, and studied her. “All right, get the Hell out of here. Tell the next one to come in.”

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...