Can You Forgive Me? [Austria]

[Austria]

Because the mind is a weapon, see
And it's got you on your hands and knees

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1939

"Look through all of the buildings. Search for survivors. If you find anyone, kill them."

These were the words that flowed out of my mouth like water, carelessly, fluidly, not missing a beat. Killing had become indifferent to me, something that I have tolerated, done, performed as if it was just another duty. As if a human's life is just another thing that I have to check off of my to-do list.

As the representation of a country that has been absorbed into the Third Reich, a country that has pledged allegiance to a greater German, I have lost my identity. I am no longer a country, but merely another sovereign territory under his rule. We serve one leader, and this leader I must please, by doing everything he has ordered me to do and more.

I have not been sent to the front lines. Instead, it is mein Führer's wish that I stay back, to execute his commands and wishes back in my very home, my very land, my very territory that once belonged to me alone, but is now overtaken by another. He needs someone to purge out all of the Jews here, and that duty has, unfortunately, been assigned to me. I am to make sure that every single Jew that lived in Vienna are all accounted for, and transferred to Jewish ghettoes that are obviously too small for them to cramp into.

I am to preside over these ghettoes until the time comes for them to be deported to various concentration camps. And even though I know what my men have been doing in these ghettoes, I do nothing to stop them. I do not do anything to encourage them, either, and I would like to think that that is my contribution to a silent protest. However, be that as it may, I cannot disappoint mein Führer. He already despises me, for the fact that I do not have the blonde hair and blue eyes that he so desires his people to have. For the fact that I am not as able and quick as Ludw-- no, Germany.

Therefore, I make up for my shortcomings through various shows of loyalty and efficiency. It is through this that I have come to be so cruel, so heartless, so condescending and anti-Semitic that I barely recognize myself anymore. I look at myself in the mirror, and it is not me who I see, but who I have become. Something I am not proud of, but something I have been forced to be.

Darkness has fallen. I walked through Leopoldstadt carefully with a flashlight in my right hand, illuminating the way. This was a city once thriving and rich in culture, now in ruins, chaos, and deserted. Or supposedly deserted. I wore the proud black of an SS officer, my long coat fluttering behind me as if I was the harbinger of the evil that descended upon this harmless society. Two SS guards were behind me, partly to protect me in case a rebelling Jew comes out to attack, partly to look for survivors alongside me. I gestured to the nearby buildings on the right, commanding them silently to stealthily look through the buildings thoroughly and carefully, under every nook and cranny, even under carpets and upholstery to look for possible holes that Jews could have hid under. And after they had done so and did not find anything, they are to camp in the buildings quietly for about half an hour, to see if someone is indeed hiding and should then deem it safe to come out. After which they are to come out of their hiding place… and rain them with bullets.

I know the way of these Jews. I know that they will try to hide, to survive, to get out of this misery that we have suddenly subjected them to. I have been friends with many of my Jews, killed many of them even. Of course, they have never known nor dreamed that they were actually talking with their country. I respected them and admired their hard work, and I do not understand why mein Führer wanted to target them.

I went into one building and searched through every floor, under every seat, inside every oven and cupboard and cabinet. There was no one, not one single living person or thing. All there is in this place is overturned chairs and empty containers and cabinets. There was no one, except me.

I turn my head to the left, and spot a piano. It had been covered with a sheet that was once white, as if the owner of this house had wanted to keep it safe in case he could come back for it. I lift the sheet carefully, with reverence, shining my flashlight over the glimmering wood. I ran my fingers over it, the smooth feeling of high-quality mahogany feeling pleasant to the touch. The person who had once lived in this house must have been rich, or at least well off, to be able to afford such a beautiful thing. I gently lift the cover, running my hands carefully against the pristine white keys, though not pressing them. I positioned my free hand over the keys, to get the feel of how it would be like to press down, to fill this dreary room that smelled of innocent blood with a touch of beauty through the seamless sound of notes coming together to form music. I stood there silently, breathlessly, concentrating on the piano, when I heard a thud in the room next door. Turning off my flashlight, I stood unmoving, hiding in the darkness, only the glint from my glasses visible due to the rays of the full moon illuminating the room dimly. My right hand was poised on the revolver on my waist, ready to pull it out in case it turns out to be a Jew in hiding.

And it indeed turned out to be. He is a young boy, I estimate. No older than fifteen. He looked around the room carefully, before stopping to look straight at me. I have been discovered, it seems. He froze, and shivered slightly, trying not to make a sound in case I was one of those who were not hostile.

"Du. Halt genau dot." I whispered. I am not exactly sure why I am whispering. There is no reason to lower my voice; in fact, I should be shouting for my men, ordering them to shoot down this… well, this Jew. But I couldn't bring myself to do it. It was somehow as if… this boy and I had some strange connection, in the seemingly distant past where Jews were still human beings.

And I do not know how he saw my face, it must have been the moonlight coming in. But this boy knew me, he recognized me, something that I have always dreaded every time I had to kill a Jew.

"Herr Roderich…?" The boy called out, unsurely, cautiously, ready to bolt in case he had been wrong in his assumptions. I did not move, staring down at him from cold, amethyst-like eyes that have frozen over from suppression of feelings. He looked up at me with expectant eyes, hoping that I would remember him. "It's me… it's Adiv. Nikolas, my German name. Perhaps you remember me…? I was the kid who always greeted you whenever you passed by this street, back before the war, when you went to friends' houses--"

In a flash, I had my revolver upon his forehead. I did not waste any time. I did not want him to recognize me any further, to recount any of the happy things we had done, lest I be tempted to let him escape. I cannot let anyone escape. It is my duty not to do so. For me, gaining the trust and approval of the Führer is the only thing that is important, and anything detrimental to that goal must be eliminated, even if it must include all of my former Jewish friends and confidantes.

I did not even give him a chance to speak. Before he even knew what was upon his forehead, I had fired the gun. His small body fell to the ground in a thud, his hat flying off of his head and landing on my left foot. I kicked it to the side, still amazed at myself, at how stoic, unfeeling I could be after I had just killed one of my own people. Well, they used to be my people. But now, they are treated like they're gypsies, with no land or nationality of their own. They were simply 'Jews', like a name of a specific species of animal.

The sound of the gun brought three soldiers to my disposal, as they all appeared by the doorstep. They merely gave a glance at the corpse of the boy, before giving their full attention to me. I stepped over the boy's corpse, then ventured out the door. "Search this whole house. I am quite certain that there are others hiding, and it was not just him. There are probably others, like his family members, his friends. I permit you to shoot anyone on sight… Well, that kind of permission is unnecessary. Return after half an hour." They saluted me in the Nazi fashion as I ventured out the door and to my car, due to be driven back home, the unmistakable sound of bullets echoing behind.

It was just another day. How I had learned to distance myself, I would never know. But, I am good with suppressing my feelings, and I always have been. I suppose it helps.

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After the clearing out of the Leopoldstadt ghetto, I have been promoted to Camp Commandant of Mauthausen-Gusen, a concentration camp right here in my own land. I am happy that I do not have to leave for Poland or any other place, though I am not happy with my job. Alas, orders are orders, and duty must be done.

I am not dealing with anymore Jews. Instead, Mauthausen is a labor camp for the political and religious enemies of the Reich: communists, socialists, Jehovah's Witnesses, the elite and the 'brains' of the captured lands, such as Polish professors and scientists and the like. The prisoners of this camp also included people of Roma origin… and homosexuals.

They… stir up something inside of me. Unspoken feelings, a hidden identity. The very sight of them disgusts me. It might be perhaps…

Because I see myself in them.

Except I have chosen not to disclose my true self for fear of the wrath of the Reich.

I am a coward. I look upon these people more with envy, how they have the courage to not be afraid to love who their heart beats for, how they have the courage to not pretend that they did not love who they did just so they could be spared from the horror and atrocity of this camp. It is for those reasons that I envy them, despise them at the same time, despise myself even, how I cannot be like them, not have the courage to break the rules just because I seek nothing but mein Führer's approval.

I have always thought to myself that it would create trouble for him, too. An excuse I have made for myself. An excuse that I have made to save my own life and reputation, rather than genuinely caring for his. It is partly true, yes, but… I am not fooling anyone, and certainly not myself.

I looked over the new arrivals. Political enemies. Communists. Teachers, intellects, ones who used to have so much pride, now reduced to second rate human beings, treated like dirt. And then I saw him. A man, being hauled out of the truck. I say hauled, because he is not being the least cooperative. It is a miracle he has stayed alive, because most soldiers would have shot him on the spot the minute he showed any sign of rebellion. But then again, even I believe that it would be better off to die right away than to be put to work at any of these concentration camps.

I approach the man, now finally subdued. I was curious to know, for what reason he has been brought to this camp. I do not recognize him as being a political or religious enemy. Nor was he of Roma origin. Therefore, there was only one thing that he could be.

It is irrational. I feel anger rising up inside of me, even though I should not be angry at all. About anything. There was nothing to be angry about; this was a man that I have never seen in my whole life, never even met.

Perhaps I am angry because he had allowed himself to be caught, all in the name of loving someone he should not be. I am angry because God is unfair, giving this man the courage to go against the norm, to love who he wanted to love even though he knew he was to face dire consequences. A courage I lack, unfairly held back from me by the Almighty One.

And in my blind rage (or is it blind envy?), before I even knew what I was doing, I had a gun pointed right in the middle of the man's forehead. He looked up at me cockily, his eyes smiling, as if his sole purpose in the world was to set me off. "Pull the trigger, Herr Kommandant. You know you want to. After all, you've already got your hands bathed in innocent blood, what's one more?"

Did this man so desperately want to die? He was trying to infuriate me so that I may pull the trigger. I kept my face straight, though I can feel the rage rising inside of me, threatening to burst. My finger was poised on the trigger, ready to press at any time, to give him the sweet bliss of freedom from suffering. "Tell me. Why do you want to die?"

He lifted the corner of his mouth into a small smile, a smile of victory, of triumph. He thought he has won. "What use would there be continuing to live on, when you and your people murdered the only person I loved in this world? Not even murdered… Tortured, degraded, made fun of, and then killed in cold blood. In front of me. Just because we are both men. We are not the ones who are human scum, you are! You are the ones who are savages! Only savages would have the ability to kill in such cold ways, and not even bat an eye! You're the ones who have ceased to be human!"

And even though, deep down, I knew he was right… I could not control my anger. At God. At how unfair he is, giving this man the courage to stand up for the man he loves, and giving me nothing but misery hiding this pain, the pain of not being able to tell, to be together with him, inside of me.

But I will not let him win. I took my finger away from the trigger, and instead hit the back of his head hard with the hard handle of my revolver, sending him sprawling on the ground with blood gushing out of his head like a fast flowing red river. The other soldiers silently waited, for a command, an order. There was no one on his side. I have won.

"There is no use in killing you. You will suffer in this camp and die the hard way. I will not release you from suffering by giving you death." These words I have uttered to him as I turn my back. And as I walked away, I heard myself command in a stony, icy, unfeeling, indifferent voice, "Take him away and do whatever you want with him, but do not kill him. Let him suffer the rest of his days doing hard labor here, and do not treat his wounds as well."

I do not know what my soldiers did after that, and I certainly did not want to know. I simply walked away from that scene, his obscene shouts merely muffled to my hearing. My black coat still fluttered behind me, blown by the wind, giving the illusion of black wings. An angel of death. And to the world, I am one indeed.

O~~~~~~~~~~~~~~O

Present Day

"I believe… that it isn't always enough to be forgiven by others. Sometimes, you have to learn to forgive yourself."

Upon knowing what I have done, the atrocities I have committed, the chaos I have promoted, the 'duties' that I have performed, the countless lives I have taken, will people be able to forgive me? It has not been so long ago. Bitterness does not come one day, and then goes away the next day. I do understand that.

But for dipping my pale hands in the blood of innocent people, is that truly an act of which I can be forgiven? The people that have died by my hands haunt me, in my dreams, in my everyday life. If they cannot forgive me, then how can their living relatives (if there are any) ever do?

If they cannot forgive me, how can I ever forgive myself?

Adolf Hitler was Austrian-born. Yes, he led Germany, but he was part of my people. From me. My boss was also the one who declared war on Serbia in World War I, which quickly escalated to be one of the most bloody battles in history.

I have caused nothing but trouble, unleashed nothing but destruction and war upon this world.

Can you forgive me?

Because, at this moment, I have to know that someone, out there, has forgiven me.

Only then, maybe, I can learn to forgive myself.

Can you forgive me?[/size]

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Pull the trigger if you're gonna

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