'The Killing of Gentle People', Michel Henri [ebook e reader .TXT] 📗

the small desk staring out of the window, knowing inside himself that all
was not well and that he himself had opened up a bag of worms. The past was about to come to the

front and play a distinctive part in his future.
“All the parents of those who have been shot were working in the world war two death camps,
mainly Auschwitz-Birkenau in Poland. All their fathers or mothers were SS officers or guards and
were responsible for….”
“Ok! Stop right there, Sergeant! Don’t go any further with your assumptions.”
The Inspector leaned over to his Sergeant, their faces inches apart; She could smell his bad breath
and see the stains on his crooked teeth.
“You know bloody well that l was an SS Commandant. Well, l wasn’t responsible for the things
that happened in that place. No SS officer was responsible. Understand me? We were just obeying
orders. Do you hear me? Just obeying orders. What you are suggesting, Sergeant Gold?”
Before she could respond to the question the Inspector continued:
“Well, it’s just not possible. We were all just obeying orders and doing our duty for the
Fuhrer and the great German people. Obeying orders, that’s all!”
The Inspector walked back to his chair in the window, leaned back heavily
in the chair, staring once again into the space outside the window.
Sergeant Gold sat very still and stayed quiet. Suddenly there was a loud knock on the door.
“Come in, damn you!” shouted the agitated Inspector.
A nervous officer gently laid a cup of coffee in front of his inspector.
“Thank God! Coffees at last! Now get out!”
The officer did as he was ordered then slammed the door with a bang.
“Damn him to hell and back” shouted the Inspector.
“That bastard always slams the blasted door shut when he knows l want it left open. Everyone
knows l, want, the, door, left, open!”
“Sir!” interrupted the Sergeant:
“Apparently this Josef Krolle was in charge of all the Zyklon-B cyanide gas used in the
Auschwitz-Birkenau death camp. It’s his daughter Helga who has been shot. It can’t be a


coincidence that for the last seven victims we checked, all their fathers worked at the camp. We are
now checking the details of all the other victims.”
“Well, get on with it then, Sergeant GOLD. That is if you want to stay a Sergeant!”
“Sir, l think this is the link we have been looking for. Anyway, at the moment it’s all we have to
work on.”
“Ok, Sergeant. Go with the munchkins and check this last killing. But l think you are barking up the
wrong tree. Finish your coffee outside, then go to the crime scene and take a team with you. I want
everything in a report on my desk first thing in the morning.”
“Yes sir!”
Sergeant Becky Gold sarcastically saluted on the way out of the office.

The Library. 1985.
I was leaving my dear old friend Heinz Stein, who had become the head librarian at the main
library, with a piece of crumpled paper in my damaged and shaking hand. I walked slowly down the steep concrete steps, stopping for a moment on the last step. I wondered which was the more broken, the steps or my old physically abused body. I looked back up the steps to the large double
doors of the library, then back to the small piece of paper in my shaking hand.
I crumpled the paper up and pushed it into my overcoat pocket. As l did so my mind rushed to my
childhood. At that moment tears developed and fell freely from my eyes down my wrinkled face.
I dried my eyes with the cuff of my coat, then turned my back on the library and started to walk.
After walking for about five minutes down the wide boulevard my body aches were absent and l
was feeling a little better. There, at the side of the boulevard, was a very rough looking wine bar
with a large broken sign hanging from the window. Written on the sign was the name ‘The Dumb
Cow’, l thought to myself: “that will do nicely” and entered its flaking doors.

The Dumb Cow

Well, the wine bar did not let me down. It was not only rough; it was also empty. I ordered a


large brandy from the old woman behind the bar.

“I’m only the cleaner, dear” she said smiling with no teeth.
“The barmaid will be back in a few minutes.”
But the old lady did serve me, taking the my money and placing it on the wooden bar top.
Picking up my glass, l shuffled over to a table in the window and then sat down, gazing out onto the wide boulevard.
Without thinking about it l took a sip of the brandy, which warmed up my body parts. My mind was so full of deep-rooted memories, memories l wanted so badly cleaned from my mind; but my consciousness would not allow that. It was all over the place This made my head thump with pain, and my hands started to tremble.
Thoughts came of dear mother, who was always there for me, and my father, who taught me to ride my bike. Their horrible deaths and the white shower room were always in my mind, never leaving me any freedom from discord or hurt. The death train, the camp, the pain, the filth and the extreme stench. Yes, it happened all those years ago, but for me it was right now.
I was haunted by it all, and the smell of death was still overflowing in my nostrils.
My eyes once again filled with tears. I had no power over their flow. My frail body shuddered, and
l kept asking myself:
“Just how long can l go on carrying this cross?”
All the terrible things l had to contend with in order to survive and stay alive at the death camp
had taken away my heart and soul, and had left me this bitter and broken old man.
Maybe l should have given in to the situation and just died. But my dear friend Heinz, my rock,
my saviour, would not allow that!
Looking around the bar, l could see it was a typical German wine bar with all the paraphernalia of drinking, dancing, and music on the walls. It was not that clean. But that did not matter to me, as l had experienced a rotting hell in the death camp. So this place was like a peaceful haven to me, and l must say l liked it.
In its lifetime this room had experienced happiness and laughter. People would have fallen in love

to the music played and the wine taken. Wonderful!
Along with sipping from the glass of brandy l moved the liquid around my mouth, my senses absorbing its full flavour, before letting it run its own way down my throat to warm the whole of my body.
Taking the piece of crumpled paper out of my overcoat pocket, l placed it on the table and just stared at the names and addresses before me. Tears came to my eyes again as l continued to stare at those names and addresses and the other information my dear friend Heinz Stein had secured for me from the Central Library. With his position as the head of the library, Heinz was able to obtain and then give to me the information l needed in order to deliver my promise of retribution.
The Government department dealing with war crimes had lodged all its top secret information there. Then the old Nazi officials who were responsible conveniently forgot about it.
Heinz Stein and l had worked together in the money exchange office as Jewish slaves to the brutal SS Commandant in charge.
I remember the very moment that we made the death pact to look after each other in order to
survive; Heinz pulled a scab off his hand and then made it bleed and l then did the same. We put our hands together, letting the blood exchange and so became blood brothers. Then we vowed that we would continue our friendship until retribution was ours or death took us to a better place.
I fingered the paper with uneasiness, and my shaking hand moved it closer.
I clenched my hand into a fist and banged it onto the paper in order to stop it in its tracks. Did l really want to do this? Then my fist pushed it, moving the name and addresses away from me and out of my reach.

Retribution:
I read the first name:
Krolle. Josef: SS Officer: Auschwitz-Birkenau Camp: Top Secret: Commandant in Charge: Distribution of ‘Zyklon-B Cylinders
It also told me of two children; a woman now 35 years old and a man now 40 years old. Both had

two children. I ran my fingers over the details and looked closely at the piece of paper.
I shuddered but knew what l had to do.
“Are you alright, sir?” asked a voice from the direction of the bar. Turning l saw a woman who l assumed was the barmaid.
“You look pale! Are you ill or something?”
“No, madam. I’m fine! But thank you for your concern” l answered.
“Well you don’t look too good to me. If you need anything just let me know; l will be happy to help. Can you hear what l am saying, sir?”
I nodded my head in answer, and she walked into the room at the back of the bar. Then l turned my attention back to the words on the paper.
Not only was Josef Krolle in charge of the killing gas; he also participated in the guards’ private sport of kicking prisoners to death and making wagers on which prisoner would last the longest.
Unfortunately Krolle had died a natural death, escaping the authorities when the Allied liberated the death camp.
This man Krolle had not felt heartbreak or pain. So his family would now have to pay the price for his atrocious activities. I had promised retribution, and gave my word when l saw my dear parents gassed in the death camp.
My Retribution would continue. If not against the accused monsters then it would have to be against their children or even their grand children. They will have to experience the misery and hurt that their parents happily delivered to millions of gentle Jewish people without qualms or repentance.
Drying my eyes, l took out the much-used pin from my coat lapel, closed my eyes and stabbed the pin into the piece of paper on the table. It penetrated the name of Josef Krolle’s daughter, Helga. In a tearful voice and without thinking l shouted out: “So be it!”
The barmaid heard my shout and quickly walked over to me with a quizzical look.
“It’s ok, madam!” l tried my best to reassure her:
“Just just an old man talking to himself. That’s all. No problem!”
“I haven’t seen you in here before, dear. With that lovely white hair l would have recognised you!

Are you a local?”
“No madam, l’m just passing through the town and needed a warmer. I think l may have a cold coming on or something like that. You know, man flu.”
“Well, just look after yourself, and don’t be a stranger! Come back and see us again!”
She walked back to the bar area and went on about her business.
As she disappeared into the back room l got up from the table, finished off my drink, and