Lunch with Mussolini

by Derek Hansen

  He slowly turned to face her, gently so he didn’t wake her and eased the cover down to look again at her body. For once the woman beside him had not aged as they usually did between the small hours and dawn. She was still as young and as magnificent as he remembered her. He bent forward to wake her with a kiss, but changed his mind as she exhaled and he caught the ardour-killing breath of stale wine. Instead he swung out of bed and pulled the covers back over her. What a night! And what a day!

  Dietrich had been given the responsibility of leading a squad in the action against the Jews. It was a huge compliment to be acknowledged by his Hauptsturmführer in this manner. And he had excelled! SS-Captain Gorgass had been quite specific in his orders. He had given Dietrich a list of Jewish businesses and families to target, with strict instructions to limit his activities to those names on the list.

  ‘You see, Lieutenant Schmidt,’ Captain Gorgass had said, ‘all Jews make donations to the Party. Those Jews who are spared this time will be encouraged to believe that it was their contributions that saved them. They will then be further encouraged to increase their contributions, and we do not believe they will be of a mind to refuse. In this way we make the Jews pay for the costs of the action against them. It has a certain logic, don’t you agree?’

  Dietrich agreed wholeheartedly. The idea of Jews paying the cost of their own persecution delighted him, and he saw the cleverness of it as further evidence of German racial superiority. He looked through his list, noting the names and addresses until he came to one he recognised. He hesitated for the briefest of moments, but it had not gone unnoticed.

  ‘You have a problem, Lieutenant?’

  Dietrich realised then that this was a test.

  ‘No, Herr Captain!’ Dietrich was relieved to see the Captain’s close scrutiny melt to a smile.

  ‘But you do recognise a name on that list. Dr Shapiro? We have evidence that he has been sending money abroad even though the Führer has forbidden it. German money. Money he stole from the good German people. Money that might be better used in cleansing the Fatherland of his kind. Agree?’

  ‘Yes, Captain. With all my heart!’

  SS-Captain Gorgass had chosen well, for he could hardly have found a man more suited to the job. Even in the Hitler Youth Dietrich had demonstrated his political and ideological suitability by denouncing everyone who showed less than total commitment to the cause. In the early days, he had even denounced one of his closest friends who had a talent for mimickry, for doing a light-hearted impression of a Nazi Party official who’d come to address them. To Dietrich, it was all a question of loyalty, and absolute loyalty was owed to one’s superiors. There was no grey area, no tempering or softening, no forgiveness. In loyalty there was honour, in disloyalty dishonour. He was duty bound to point out those suspected of bringing them dishonour.

  It was inevitable that Dietrich came to the attention of the SS recruiters. He was strong, tall and handsome, the ideal model of Aryan youth, and his mind was like blotting paper the way it soaked up and absorbed Nazi teachings. Naturally, those teachings which appealed to him most were to do with racial cleansing, eliminating the elements that might threaten the propagation of other racially-pure Aryans similar to himself. He fully embraced and advocated compulsory sterilisation for the ‘hereditarily ill’, those with symptoms or family histories of mental illnesses, or suffering from blindness, deafness or diseases like multiple sclerosis. As a result of his enthusiasm, he was invited to play the part of a student in an educational film advocating euthanasia for the incurably insane and handicapped, called, Life Unworthy of Life. Every one of the propagandists’ words were gospel to him. Why should the young and healthy support the sick and the weak? Why should they divert money which could provide housing for workers to the care of the incurable who made no contribution to society? That ran contrary to the laws of nature. From the beginning of time only the fittest survived. Everything was so clear and obvious to the young Dietrich. The sick and the weak had to be sifted out and eliminated for the good of the German race. It wasn’t a question of hatred, but of common sense. Hatred was something reserved for the Jews and Slavs.

  Dietrich wasn’t born hating Jews or even raised to hate them. The doctor who had delivered him, Dr Shapiro, was Jewish and had remained the family doctor until the relationship had become politically unwise. It was only when he was inducted into the Deutsches Jungvolk at the age of ten, and the Hitler Youth at thirteen that he discovered the treachery and avarice of the Jewish race and, along with this discovery, his vocation. There was nothing the Jews weren’t to blame for. Furthermore, he believed that they were not just bent on undermining the German economy and enslaving its people but, like the hereditarily ill, were a threat to the purity of German blood. It was a threat that Dietrich believed passionately should be eliminated.

  Dietrich’s was only one of a number of spontaneous demonstrations planned for Dresden that night. Along with his area, he’d been assigned a mob of Party members mainly from the ranks of the SA, some posing as outraged citizens. Dietrich had taken part in similar actions before but never as a section leader. Nevertheless, he knew what to expect and was determined to excel. The Brownshirts would also need a demonstration of his right to command along with his own troops. He decided to begin where he could best show the steel from which he was made. He began by bursting into the home of Dr Shapiro. It was Friday night, the beginning of the Jewish Sabbath.

  The doctor’s wife recognised him immediately. Her expression changed from outright fear to one of faint hope.

  ‘Dietrich! Thank God it’s you! Tell them it’s a mistake. Tell them to go away! Tell them we’re friends. Loyal Germans.’

  Dietrich could sense his troops watching him, waiting to see his reaction. He looked at her coldly. He felt no compassion for her whatsoever. He enjoyed her weakness, the way she cowered back, eyes pleading. He watched as her daughter Hannah put a comforting arm around her and glared at him. As children they’d played together and even bathed together, taking sneaky looks at the parts that made them different. Hannah was the first girl he had ever kissed. However young and foolish he’d been at the time, this Jewish girl had been his first love. Dietrich now found the memory repugnant.

  ‘Where is the doctor?’ he demanded.

  His wife hesitated. ‘No, Dietrich. Please go! Please, I beg you, please leave us!’

  Dietrich slapped her hard. She screamed in shock and fear and burst into tears.

  ‘He is in the toilet.’ Hannah met his eyes without flinching. ‘Just as you—’

  ‘Fetch him!’ Dietrich ordered. ‘Now!’ Two soldiers ran off to obey. He looked around the room but was disappointed by what he saw. It hadn’t changed much from when he was young. There was no obvious wealth, no evidence of a Jewish conspiracy, just the furniture and decoration he’d expect to see in any comfortable middle class home. It angered him that they failed to live up to the stereotype, and failed to feed the prejudices ingrained in his troops. They didn’t seem much of a threat to the Fatherland. His thoughts were interrupted as the soldiers returned with the hapless doctor, his trousers still trapped around his shins. He was shaking with fear.

  ‘You are under arrest for crimes against the State,’ said Dietrich. ‘You and your family.’

  ‘Dietrich, for God’s sake, what are you saying?’ Dr Shapiro looked up at him, pleading. ‘What crimes? What possible crimes could I have committed?’

  ‘Is it not true that you have been sending money abroad in direct contravention of the Führer’s wishes.’ Dietrich watched as the doctor’s face went even paler. He sensed the absoluteness of his power and decided to add to the list of crimes. ‘Furthermore, under the guise of attending to honest German folk you have attempted to introduce hereditary illnesses into their blood. Your patients are willing to testify to this.’ Dietrich could sense that he’d struck a chord with his men. He could almost feel their approval. Here was something they could understand. His confidence grew.


  ‘Dietrich, that is nonsense! You know that is nonsense. For heaven’s sake, I brought you into this world. I was your family’s doctor for more than fifteen years! Please, I beg you! Stop this nonsense!’

  Dietrich sensed the situation had reached the point where it could get away from him. The mob were getting impatient. They wanted action. They wanted blood. But Dietrich wanted more than that. He wanted to set an example for his men that they’d never forget. One that would mark him as a man to be reckoned with. One that would impress Captain Gorgass. The soldiers had followed the exchange and watched him closely. Would he go soft on the Jews because they were once friends of his family? Would he stumble at this first hurdle? Dietrich took his time and considered his options. Catching the doctor on the toilet had been a stroke of luck. Yes, he’d give his men something to remember. He’d give them something to boast about!

  ‘Doctor, you have not finished your business!’ He pointed to his trousers still trapped around his ankles. ‘Please, finish your business.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Finish your piss, Herr Doktor! Here! No, not on the carpet. On your wife!’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Now! Now, Herr Doktor!’ Dietrich dragged out the syllables, mocking him. ‘Now!’ He turned and pointed his pistol at Hannah. She flinched suddenly, and her fear encouraged him.

  ‘Now!’ he screamed.

  ‘Yes, yes! Don’t shoot!’ Dr Shapiro could not look at his wife’s face. ‘I am sorry, Edit, forgive me.’

  ‘It is all right, Walter. Just do it. Just do as he says!’

  A cheer went up when the doctor managed to turn the first few pathetic drops into a brief flow that splashed onto his wife’s lap. He turned on Dietrich, tears of shame burning in his eyes.

  ‘There! Are you satisfied now?’

  ‘Not quite, Herr Doktor. There is the matter of the rest of your business. A man does not take down his trousers just to piss.’

  ‘No Dietrich, you’ve humiliated us enough!’

  Dietrich turned to face Hannah. Her face was contorted with rage and hate. She’d risen to her feet, her fists clenched. Despite the pistol pointed at her, she took a step towards him. It was enough. He pulled the trigger. The sudden explosion caught everyone by surprise, even Dietrich, but he recovered first.

  ‘That is what happens when Jews resist arrest,’ he said calmly. He pointed to the disbelieving doctor and his wife who looked on open-mouthed in horror, so stunned they were not yet able to give voice to their grief. ‘Take them away!’

  His soldiers did as they were ordered and the mob set about ransacking the house. Dietrich felt exultant. Hannah was the first Jew he’d killed and he felt the full force of his power.

  ‘Well done, Herr Untersturmführer!’ He turned to see the grinning face of one of his soldiers, one of his comrades. ‘Right in the Jew bitch’s face! Unbelievable! Where next?’

  Dietrich consulted his list. There were five more names remaining. He could barely restrain his excitement. They beat up two more Jews that night, one for resisting arrest and the other a passer-by who, in escaping from one mob, had the misfortune to run into Dietrich’s. They wrecked a toy shop, burned a bakery, and looted a watchmaker’s shop as they rampaged through the streets. Ironically, many of the watches confiscated were in for repairs, and the property of non-Jewish citizens. Dietrich had stood back as the night progressed, exhorting his troops to greater and greater excesses. He’d set his example as a good leader should, and then ensured that his troops followed it. His squad arrested a total of nineteen Jews and dispossessed them of everything except the clothes they stood in and whatever shreds of dignity they could muster.

  Later that night Dietrich and his fellow junior offices celebrated their triumph. Already the story had got around about the way he had humiliated the doctor and shot his daughter. It marked him as a man to be respected, a man whose steel was beyond question. Dietrich knew the story would find its way back to Captain Gorgass and his chest swelled with pride. He’d covered himself. He’d made sure the shooting could be construed as an act of self-defence. What did it matter that the girl wasn’t armed? God, he was high! And the beer he swilled did nothing to diminish the growing presence in his trousers. Some woman would be lucky tonight!

  Lucio paused and glanced around the table at his companions. That they’d found his story distasteful was beyond question. He decided it was time for coffee. Besides, it would give him the opportunity to move the story on. He wasn’t enjoying the telling any more than his listeners were enjoying hearing it.

  ‘Lucio, is all this really necessary?’ Milos spoke softly but there was a note of censure in his voice.

  ‘Yes, why do you take us back over all of this?’ It was Gancio, back on his favourite theme. ‘We all know what happened. We all regret what happened. Why bring it all up again? Do you think anyone enjoys hearing about these atrocities?’

  ‘It is precisely because they were atrocities that Lucio has raised them.’ They all turned to the blind man. ‘Have you all been sleeping? All war is an atrocity. Remember Lucio saying that? What that young SS officer Dietrich did was an atrocity. The bombing of Guernica was an atrocity. And the execution of the women in the square at Ravello was also an atrocity. You’re both listening to the examples and missing the theme.’

  ‘Ramon’s right.’

  ‘Thank you, Neil.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Now where’s our bloody coffee? What sort of a place do you run here, Gancio?’

  ‘Excuse me. Maria!’ Gancio’s bellow startled some of the remaining diners, but the regulars just smiled.

  ‘I think Lucio’s wallowed sufficiently in that mire for the time being. Am I right?’ Ramon turned to where Lucio sat, his back to the window.

  ‘Yes. But we are not yet finished with Germany. Please don’t think I enjoy telling this part of the story. But it is part of the story and so I have no discretion over whether it is or isn’t told.’

  ‘Oh come off it!’ cut in Neil. ‘I can accept that what you told us on the first day actually happened, particularly after Gancio’s little outburst. But surely this business with that young prick Dietrich is just colour—pure invention—a rather sickening example of the sort of things that happened. How can you possibly maintain that part of the story is true? You weren’t there. Of course you had discretion.’

  ‘Of course I wasn’t there, but that is exactly what happened, Neil.’

  ‘Bullshit! Look, I accept your need to cover the extent of the atrocities. Even the blind can see that that is one of the key issues in your story.’

  ‘Thank you, Neil.’

  ‘Shut up, Ramon, I was speaking figuratively. But there is no way that this part of your story is true. It’s just colour. We can accept that so why not just admit it?’

  ‘Because it isn’t just colour, Neil.’ Lucio spoke patiently and evenly, but a note of irritation had crept into his voice. ‘Everything I’ve told you actually happened. Don’t dismiss the life of that poor, unfortunate Jewish girl as fiction, nor the humiliations that preceded it. You’re right, I could have invented hundreds of examples, all equally convincing. But there was no need. That one true story is enough, I think we’re all agreed on that. And it is true, Neil. As my story progresses, that will become quite plain to you.’

  ‘Dear God,’ said Gancio wearily. ‘Why do you tell this story at all?’

  Chapter Nine

  Dietrich Schmidt had come a long way from the small boy who never knew where his next meal was coming from, or could feel with any certainty that there would be one. His father had been wounded in the war and this had handicapped him in his search for work. Fragments from an exploding shell had torn apart his right knee, and the damage had been compounded by harassed, ill-equipped field doctors. His father was grateful that they’d saved his life. He knew of others who had been less fortunate. But he’d been left with a painfully bent leg that would neither straighten nor bend further. The result was a pronounced limp
that often saw him passed over for what few available jobs there were.

  His strength was his persistence. When there was no work for wages, sympathetic shopkeepers would sometimes employ him for a few hours of stacking and packing and pay him in kind. He’d come home with a bag of bones and some sausages after helping the butcher, or a bag of tired vegetables after helping vegetable sellers at the markets. Mostly, whatever he brought home went straight into the large pot to make soup which the family devoured with large chunks of bread. Dietrich’s father could lay claim to two pieces of good fortune. One was his relieving job in a little village-style bakery, where he kept the wood-fired oven burning two nights a week. His payment was a large, daily loaf of coarse bread made from both white wheat and dark rye flours. Dietrich had the job of collecting it hot and fresh each morning. The second piece of good fortune was his relationship with Dr Shapiro. Dietrich’s father tended the doctor’s garden and did simple maintenance jobs for him. In return, the doctor cared for his family and kept him supplied with the pain killers which, on some days, were the only things that kept him on his feet at all.

  His mother had helped by taking in washing and ironing. His two sisters assisted and their combined labours brought in a steady, if rather paltry, flow of cash. It was enough to keep them clothed. Dietrich and his two younger brothers had chipped in whenever they could by doing deliveries for local merchants. But for all their effort, Dietrich could hardly remember a time when he wasn’t hungry, when the most beautiful sight in the world was the rows of sausages in endless varieties hanging in butchers’ windows. He could never pass by without flattening his nose against the window.

  National Socialism had been the salvation of Dietrich’s family and eased the chains of poverty. Through the mid-thirties at Hitler’s direction, armaments and munitions factories mushroomed and enticed workers away to the west. Those who’d remained flocked to Siemens, Zeiss-Ikon and the Sachsenwerk plants, and the new factories that blossomed around them. For the first time in his life, Dietrich’s father found regular employment, and the plockwurst, lebermurst, blutwurst and bratwurst Dietrich had lusted after now appeared on the dinner table as a matter of course. But the new age of affluence did more than ease the pains in his belly and fill out his growing body, it gave him freedom to think beyond the next day and to plan a better life for himself.