THE GREEN KING (part 14)
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The Photographer
from Salzburg
Settiniaz told
him about the boy who had been buried alive.
‘And you don’t
even know his name?’.
The information
concerning the young man was sketchy.
His name didn’t appear on any German list; he had not be longed to any convoy
dispatched within the last few months of 1944 and the early months of 1945, at
the time tens of thousands of prisoners were being sent back toward Germany and
Austria because of the Russian advance. As many witnesses had confirmed, he had
been at Mauthausen for three months, four at most. Tarras smiled.
‘The story
seems simple enough. Some high-ranking SS officers - one officer could not have needed nine
lovers, unless he was superhuman – turned back toward Austria to organize a
last land. They reached Mauthausen, where they gratuitously reinforced their
garrison, and at the approach of our Seven Army, turned back again, this time
in the direction of the mountains, of Syria, even of the topics. All this not
without having previously, with the characteristic attention given to order by
this admirable race, neatly, beneath a few mounds of quicklime and earth,
disposed of their now burdensome sweethearts’.
At Harvard, a
Gogol expert had given Tarras the not illogical nickname of ‘Boulba’. Far from
of disliking it, he gloried in it, and used it to sign reviews as well as his
comments on exam papers. Behind his gold-rimmed glasses, his bright eyes turned
to the horror on the walls.
TO BE CONTINUED
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I LOVE YOU…
I LOVE YOU…
I LOVE YOU…
I LOVE YOU…
I LOVE YOU…
I LOVE YOU…
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