THE GREEN KING (part 43)
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The Photographer
from Salzburg
‘It used to be
a sanatorium,’ the red-haired man told Reb, reluctantly. ‘A kind of hospital,
if you want. I went there twice, in 1942 and then the following year. They had
a general short circuit and had me come.’
He hastened to
shake his head, already on the defensive. ‘But I didn’t see anything unusual.’
The red-haired
electrician’s shop was not far from the Trinity column in Linz. He had
immediately recognized Reb Klimrod, the minute the adolescent’s unending thin
figure appeared on his doorstep. He remembered the boy the SS officers had
dragged along with them, constantly, once on a leash, like a dog, in
Mauthausen, to which he had gone several times in his capacity as electrician.
Like all the man whose activity had dealt in small or great part with the
camps, he knew that the search was on in full force, led by the section on War
Crimes, and he was especially fearful of this Jewish committee recently
organized in Linz. The Jews, now, were dangerous, terriby so. Twice already, in
the street of Linz he had passed another former prisoner, Simon Wiesenthal, who
actually lived closed by. Sometime Wiesenthal black, piercing eyes haunted his
nightmares, although he considered himself to be completely innocent,
unaffected; he was just an electrician, nothing more; for what could they blame
him?.
And yet, this
boy who had just come in and was asking him questions about Hartheim was
Jewish. The red haired man clearly remembered the stripped uniform on which the
yellow J occupied the centre of a reddish yellow double triangle.
It was the red
haired man who gave Reb Klimrod the name of the photographer from Salzburg.
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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