THE GREEN KING (part 39)
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The Photographer
from Salzburg
She remembered
it. She had even opened it once, by accident, and had been shocked to discover
the apparatus that no one had ever mentioned to her.
‘When was
this?’
‘Of 1941’
‘Yes’
‘When exactly?
In December?’
‘Before.’
‘November,
October?.’
‘November.’
A few weeks
after she was engaged. Reb’s fingers tightened around the beam.
‘Was there
anything in the elevator?’
She said, right
away: ‘A chair with wheels.’
Had she looked
at him at the moment, she would have realized how weak, how defenceless, and
how despairing he was, rekindling the embers and adding wood. He walked out.
After a moment,
he called the children and, when they had joined him docilely, he had them
undress in front of the trough fed by hollowed-out tree trucks. He washed them
one by one.
‘Do you have
any soap, please?’.
‘And what
else?’ she sneered, in a tone that proved she was pulling herself together.
He cleaned the
wounds as best he could, had them get dressed. He turn to the woman.
‘When did you
leave this employment in Vienna?’
‘February. At
the end of the month.’
‘And the
furniture, the books, the paintings were still there?’
They had been
moved out the night before she left, she said. Three army trucks driven by SS
men had come and had taken everything away. At least, almost everything. The
next day, secondhand men from Vienna had arrived and taken away the rest.
Except for a table too big and too heavy to get through the doors.
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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