THE GREEN KING (part 50)
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The Photographer
from Salzburg
The fat man
mopped his forehead and his whole face with his girlish hands. ‘If I have the
dates, yes’.
Epke smiled at
Reb. ‘august 1941. Around the twentieth.’ He smiled again. ‘And then you can
tell me all about this letter, kid.’
Lothar was
kneeling in front of one of six iron trunks. He open it. Inside, negatives and
prints were meticulously arranged, His fingers ran over the aligned labels. Reb
kept his head down. The silence continued.
‘August 21,
1941,’ said Lothar.
There was a
noise of riffled paper.
‘Klimrod?.’
A rough hand
sized Reb by the face and forced him to look up. But the persisted in keeping
his eyes closed, his features horribly tensed, this time without pretence.
‘Open your
eyes, kid. Isn’t this why you went to Reichenau, why you came from Vienna to
Salzburg?’.
Reb put out his
hand, took the photographs. There were three of them, showing the whole body,
taken through a spy hole.
He saw his
father, naked with his atrophied legs, crawling on the floor, trying to scratch
the cement with his nails. The photographs must have been taken at fifteen – or
twenty second intervals. They showed the progression of asphyxiation. In the
last one, in spite of the black and white print, one could clearly make out the
blood running from the mouth and the piece of tongue that the tortured man had
ripped out himself.
The hand that
was holding Reb let go. Reb fell to his knees, his chin against his chest. He
turned slowly and rested his cheek against the cool stone wall.
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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