Legacy of Sorrows

by Roberto Buonaccorsi

  The old gentleman smiled at me and said, ‘You had better ask us in Bruno, the sound of the gun shot was quite loud and I don’t think we should be standing out here in the corridor.’

  I stood back and let them enter the room. The first thing they saw was the dead body of Kuller lying sprawled out on the bed with his brains blown out. I had my gun levelled at the couple, not sure of what to do next when the old man spoke.

  ‘You won’t remember me Bruno, but I remember you. I recognised you straight away in the hotel lobby. My name is Graziano Sambucci. My father, who was also called Graziano, ran the vegetable stall in Monzuno and used to pay your father for cobbling his shoes with his produce.’ I suddenly remembered him. He was in his late thirties when the massacre took place. ‘What are you doing here, Graziano? I don’t understand.’

  Graziano looked again at the dead body on the bed and said, ‘We came to kill him. My wife, Ivana, and I have waited all these years for revenge and then we saw him on the television. We made plans to come here and kill him. We have taken the room next door to him, and we thought we would kill him tonight after the reception.’

  ‘How did you plan to do it?’

  He opened his jacket to show a large stiletto shaped knife in a sheath attached to his belt. ‘This is razor sharp - it doesn’t take any strength at all to use it.’

  At this point Italo came out of the bathroom, all cleaned up from any blood stains and wearing a fresh shirt. ‘Italo, this is Graziano and his wife Ivana, they lived on the mountain and they also escaped the massacre.’ It was a weird way to greet anyone, with a dead body lying on the bed and lots of blood, clearly visible from where we were standing, sprayed around him.

  Graziano raised his hand for silence, as we were all talking at once. ‘Perhaps we should leave here immediately as some of Kuller’s friends may come up here at any moment. We have the room next door, so we should all go there and discuss this further.’ We all agreed. I walked over to the bed and tidied up around Kuller. I put the note he had written on his chest and the gun in his hand, and then left with the others. I couldn’t quite believe that we were all acting so matter-of-factly with a murdered body on the bed with his brains all over the place.

  As I closed the door to Kuller’s room I closed the door to a lifetime of hatred, anguish and revenge. The strange thing was I still felt no elation over his death, in fact I felt nothing. It was as if we had just killed a fly on the wall and walked out without giving it a second thought.

  Once in Graziano’s room we all sat down and tried to relax a little. Graziano poured us all a glass of red wine from a bottle he had brought with him. After taking a sip he looked at me, smiled, then said, ‘I remember you well, Bruno. They used to call you “naso” because of your Semitic features. Your family was the only Jewish family on the mountain, and was very well respected. Your uncle Luigi was not only a friend to me, but as a Rabbi, I confided in him the things that troubled me rather than confide them to the Priest. I heard what happened to your family and until today I believed that you were killed as well.’ He paused for a second to take another sip of wine. ‘It was a shock to see you in the hotel lobby. I didn’t speak to you then because I didn’t know why you were there. You could have been visiting or just sightseeing, but when I stood outside Kuller’s room I heard your conversation through the door, and then I heard the shot. I knew for sure then.’

  ‘How did you survive the massacre?’ I asked them.

  Ivana spoke for the first time. ‘When the Germans came that day, we were out walking together in the hills. My father-in-law was looking after our two children at home. We heard the sound of shooting and loud screams coming from Monzuno and we ran back to see what had happened. We were too late. The SS were just leaving our house. The bodies of our children and old Graziano were lying dead in the courtyard. We hid in the long grass and watched them loot our house before setting it on fire. The leader was a tall blonde SS sergeant who we found out many years later was Kuller. We were more fortunate than you Bruno, my brother in law and his daughter were in Bologna when it happened, so we thank God they were spared.’

  Graziano interrupted her. ‘We swore to find him and kill him. We also thought that we were the only survivors of the slaughter, until today. That is probably the reason why I love my niece like a daughter. She is the last of my blood.’

  I stood up and embraced them both. We were all hugging each other when we heard the sound of loud banging on Kuller’s bedroom door. This was followed by someone shouting, ‘Hans, Hans, open the door. It’s Werner.’

  He continued knocking and shouting for a while and then the clamour stopped.

  Italo said, ‘He’s probably gone to report to reception. He must have checked if Kuller had picked up his key. Someone will be up shortly to open the door, so I think we should get our story straight before the Police visit us.’

  I said to Graziano and his wife, ‘Where do you live now?’

  ‘Bologna, a small apartment on Via Venezia.’

  ‘When the police ask us what we are doing here, tell them that we know each other from way back and that we all live in Bologna now. Italo and I are here sightseeing and you have come for a city break as you have never been before. We all decided to meet up at this hotel. That should be enough to satisfy them.’

  I could hear the rustle of a key in Kuller’s door and the sound of raised voices in his room. Soon, in the distance, I could hear the noise of police sirens coming ever closer. Ivana’s face was very white. She was obviously feeling the strain. Graziano seemed to take it all in his stride and showed no visible signs of anxiety as he refilled our wine glasses. Italo and I were surprisingly calm. I said to Italo, ‘Where’s the shirt with the blood on it?’

  ‘I’ve still got it here in the towel.’

  Graziano stood up and pulled out a suitcase from underneath the bed. ‘Put it in here, Italo, beside my dirty clothes. We can dispose of it later.’

  Ivana walked over to the television and switched it on. ‘This seems more natural for a group drinking wine to have some background music.’ She searched for a radio station. The sound of soft jazz came from the set. We could have left the hotel but that would have seemed very suspicious to have booked in and then vanished. No, this was probably the best approach, so long as we kept our nerve.

  After about an hour there was a knock on the door. Graziano rose to open it. Standing there was a Police Officer. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, sir but could I take a few minutes of your time?’

  Graziano smiled, and said in accented German, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t speak German, only Italian.’ The Police Officer nodded in understanding. ‘Does anyone here speak some German?’ Italo stood up. ‘I speak a little, Officer. Can I help you?’

  The Officer said, ‘May I come into the room?’

  Italo said, ‘Of course, Officer’ and he opened the door wider.

  The Officer said, ‘There has been an incident in the room next to yours. Someone is dead. Did anyone from your group hear anything unusual such as a loud bang, like a gunshot?’

  Italo translated what the Officer had said. We all exhibited the appropriate shocked expressions and said the right things. Italo gave a sigh and said, ‘I’m sorry officer; we’ve all been sitting here for much of the afternoon just talking and drinking some wine. We didn’t hear anything unusual. I’m sorry we can’t help you.’

  The Officer once again nodded his head in understanding. ‘I will need to take your names and addresses for the record, just a formality, you understand.’ We gave him our addresses in Bologna and he then left us alone.

  Italo was quite sure that would be the end of our involvement. I said that I felt the police and the coroner should give a verdict of suicide without much of a problem as all the indications for that were present, such as powder burns to the temple area, suicide note and no signs of a forced entry or a struggle.

  Graziano was acting as if he was preoccupied with something else on his mind. I asked him if any
thing was wrong. He looked at me and said, ‘What would you say if I told you that there will be more of these Nazis dead before the night is out?’

  Italo stood up and said, ‘Bruno, I don’t want to be involved in anything else, our work here is finished, come, it’s time to leave.’

  Ivana said, ‘If you leave the hotel now it will look suspicious and the police will track you down and arrest you for mass murder.’

  I was stunned at these comments. What have they done? Have they poisoned the food? My mind was racing as it quickly scanned the possibilities. Graziano calmly raised his hand above the loud babble of voices asking questions and demanding answers. ‘Let me explain what we have done. We have planted four hand grenades attached to a mechanical device and timer in each of the four corners of the Ballroom. When the reception is at its height they will detonate and hopefully kill as many of them as possible. At the appointed time the device will pull out the rings and there will be synchronised explosions.’

  This was met by silence. Italo and I looked at each other and struggled to find words. Eventually I blurted out, ‘You can’t do that, Graziano. You will be killing people who were not involved in the killing of our families.’ He looked at me with disdain in his eyes. ‘You can’t moralise with me, Bruno. You have just killed a man in cold blood and in the eyes of the law you are a murderer.’

  ‘Yes, that’s true, but I know that he was guilty of murdering my family. I saw him do it. There is no doubting that fact, but to murder people because they are attending a party here is insane.’

  ‘Insane, is it? These people downstairs are veterans of the 16th Waffen SS. They were present at the massacres of Sant’ Anna and Monte Sole. All told, a total of over two thousand five hundred Italian civilians, men, women and children, were slaughtered by them. Tonight they attend a party to celebrate the release of their leader who is now free to breathe the fresh air of freedom. Whilst they are celebrating, the Italian civilians they massacred are turning in their mass graves crying out “who will avenge us? We cannot party or breathe fresh air again.” And I answer them that I will. There is insanity here, yes I agree, but it is the insanity that allows over one hundred known killers to go unpunished whilst our friends and families who were completely innocent lie dead.’

  ‘There will be innocent people who will also die. Waiters, chefs and other staff. What about them? I’m sorry Graziano; I’m going to the police.’

  ‘And what will you tell them when they ask you how you know about this? Will you tell them that you found out after killing Kuller?’

  Italo took me by the arm. ‘Calm yourself Bruno, there’s nothing we can do. If we go to the police we will be charged with murder. Even if we try to find the explosives ourselves we don’t know how to disarm the mechanism.’ He shook his head in dismay, ‘All this explains why Ivana and Graziano took Kuller’s dead body in their stride when they saw it. For them he was only the start of the killing, whilst for us it was the end.’

  ‘Why have you told us all of this? You didn’t have to.’ I said to the old couple.

  Graziano put his arm around my shoulder as if trying to placate me.

  ‘You may have wandered near the scene of the explosions and been injured. Or you may even have entered the Ballroom to see Reder. I couldn’t take the chance, enough Italians have died because of those scum.’

  Italo said to me, ‘Bruno, let’s go to the reception and book out. Tell them we are disturbed at the thought of the dead body and the Police activity next door, and that we want to cancel our booking. That way it won’t look suspicious to anyone.’

  I agreed. We said our goodbyes to the Sambuccis and left.

  We were silent as we passed by our room and picked up our bags.

  The girl on the reception apologised on behalf of the hotel for the ‘terrible events that have taken place’ and willingly cancelled our reservation and refunded the deposit we had paid.

  We took a taxi to the train station and went to a coffee bar there as we waited on our train. ‘I don’t feel comfortable just walking away knowing that many people will die tonight, Italo.’ I said over my espresso. Italo nodded. ‘No one in their right mind would be comfortable with this, but what can we do? I don’t want to go to prison as a convicted murderer because we saved the lives of some SS killers.’

  We sat in silence for quite a while until I said. ‘What about an anonymous tip-off to the police? That way we can do the right thing without being compromised.’

  Italo looked at me for some time before saying, ‘The police may probe a little deeper into who would try to kill over one hundred ex SS soldiers and discover that their unit was involved in the Italian massacres of 1944. They may then check the hotel guests and find that four of them came from the Bologna area where the biggest massacre took place and that two of them had been with the partisans. They may then think that those two then had the knowledge of working with explosives and perhaps the motive to kill them. Further when they find out that you came from Monte Sole and that I was with the partisans there, I think we would be facing a life sentence.’

  I saw the sense behind Italo’s argument, especially when he added, ‘The person making the phone call would have to be me, a German speaking Italian with a pronounced Italian accent. Now there’s a good clue Bruno, eh?’

  Every way we looked at it, we found a problem. If the bombs went off in the ballroom, we would eventually be implicated. Even if we wanted to go back and try to find them ourselves, we didn’t know how to disarm the mechanisms. Eventually we just gave up thinking of a way through it and sat in silence waiting on our train back home. I looked at my watch and noticed that it was 7.45pm and that in about 45 minutes we would know if we were accomplices of a mass murder or merely of one killing.

  Chapter 11

  Walter Reder had considered cancelling the reception and was sitting with some of the organisers in his hotel room discussing what to do. The general consensus was that they should continue the evening albeit with a more muted approach. They all were of the opinion that Kuller would have wanted it that way; why else would he have waited until the evening of the reception to commit suicide. Reder suggested that Werner Brenst should be the master of ceremonies in place of Kuller, to unanimous acceptance. With the meeting at an end, Reder stood up and said, ‘Gentlemen, we should now go to our rooms to get ourselves ready for this evening. Our minds are obviously on what has taken place here, but once again we will do our duty to a fallen comrade and follow through, painful as it may be.’ They all stood ramrod straight as if on parade and left the room.

  At precisely 1915 hours Reder and his comrades entered the ornate ballroom of the Hotel Bristol. Overhead the elaborate crystal chandelier glistened and shone like twinkling diamonds. The rows of tables were covered with white starched linen, the serviettes were black and placed in silver rings engraved with a skull. To the uninitiated this would have not much relevance, however to everyone attending the dinner the symbology was all too clear. Black was the colour of the SS uniforms they once wore with pride and the engraved skull on the serviette ring was a reference of the cap badge of the SS. The flag of the West German republic was proudly draped over the top table, and behind it on the wall was a banner with the slogan ‘Death or Dishonour’ stencilled in large black gothic lettering.

  Reder led the way to the top table where he was met with a warm handshake by the Austrian Minister of Defence. Out of respect for the Minister, the Austrian National Anthem was given priority before the German anthem, and when they had finished playing, the guests sat down.

  Werner Brenst remained standing and waited until everyone had settled before speaking. ‘Herr Frischenslager, Herr Reder, Mayor Muller, Colonel Haus and assembled ex-comrades of the 16th Waffen SS, I warmly welcome you to this reception being held in honour of our old Commander Walter Reder (or, as we once knew him, Major Reder) being released from his internment as a prisoner of war.’ The sound of thunderous applause filled the room as Reder stood to accept
the salutation. Brenst continued, ‘Sadly our evening’s proceedings have been somewhat marred with the news that our dear friend and old comrade Hans Kuller took his own life this evening. I would therefore invite you all to stand for a minutes silence out of respect for him before we continue the evening’s festivities in the way that he would have wanted us to.’

  The one hundred and fifteen people in the room stood for a minute in complete silence and then broke into instantaneous applause with some of them shouting out ‘Hans, Hans.’

  Werner Brenst raised his hand for order before continuing, ‘The format of this evening will be as follows. First, we will have our banquet meal which has been specially prepared for our guest of honour and includes all his favourite foods. After a short interlude, we will hear some words of welcome from the Minister of Defence, Herr Frischenslager, followed immediately by our guest of honour Walter Reder.’

  Once again thunderous applause greeted the mention of his name.

  Walter Brenst then sat down and took a drink of Schnapps from his almost-full glass. He was confused and felt decidedly uneasy over his friend’s death. It was only a few hours ago that Kuller had told him to be strong; and now he was dead. Apparently suicide. Could this really be the case? How could someone change so quickly from being bullish to the depths of despair in such a short time? He shook his head and thought, ‘The man must have been deranged.’

  Gertrude Kuller was gazing out of the lounge window of her house at some local children playing outside in the morning sunshine when she noticed a police car pull up slowly in front of her gate. She watched with growing interest as the two police officers got out and looked around them at the other houses before they settled on hers.

  As they walked up to her door, Gertrude had a sinking feeling that something was very wrong with her little world and that she was about to find out what it was.

  She opened the door at the first knock.

  The older of the two officers took off his hat before saying’ Frau Gertrude Kuller?’