El Sombra

by Al Ewing

  He racked his mind and clicked his tongue, in the very same way he clicked his tongue when he spilled his coffee or forgot his keys. And then he swung his legs out of the bed and stood. Enough time had been wasted by pointless musings. He left the corpse as it lay, under the sheets.

  He was waiting for himself in the bathroom mirror. Still the face of an angel, clean and unblemished, with a mop of blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. The chiseled jaw and soft lips of a matinee idol. He had barely changed in the nine years since the occupation of the town began - when he took so much pleasure in gutting Heraclio like a fish. It was a face you could trust.

  He took the opportunity to study the smile carefully. An easy smile. Good-natured. It was a useful tool for getting him what he wanted, which was the important thing. Idly, he looked down at his hands, examining the caked blood. He would have to get all of the dirt out from under his fingernails before he applied his facial scrub. These things had to be done efficiently.

  Alexis Eisenberg had killed an average of one person per week in this fashion since he was seventeen.

  The facial scrub was followed by a brief shower, and then a rub-down with an exfoliating gel that originally came from Corsica, and then another shower, and then Alexis walked back into the bedroom to do his exercises. One hundred press-ups. One hundred sit-ups. Ten minutes of aerobic exercise to work the heart and pump the blood. And the corpse lay under the sheets. It was probably a small man. Or perhaps a woman. It was hard to tell - the body seemed so shapeless and was in such a strange position. Several of the joints were most likely dislocated. The only way to know for certain would be to lift the sheet, but then he'd probably get blood under his fingernails again... ah well. It hardly mattered anyway. It wasn't important.

  One hundred pull-ups, followed by a third shower. Cleanliness was next to godliness. Who could respect an Oberstleutnant of the Luftwaffe who did not bathe in a proper fashion? He applied a little aftershave before he put on his uniform. The aftershave came from Paris. The corpse lay under the sheets. Then on with the uniform, the dark grey of the Oberstleutnant, the second-in-command in this place, but taken in a little here and there to show off his figure. Was it five years ago there had been uniforms like this worn in the streets of Paris and Milan as the fashion? Post-modernism had a lot to answer for in those places where the world of art had not stood still, frozen in Victoria's gaze... and the Führer's. He wore the jacket open, and no cap. The solid silver cross that was his trademark hung over his chest, where the shirt hung open with no tie. Style was very important to Alexis.

  On his way out, he smiled to the Gefreiter who stood guard on his room, returning the man's salute with easy familiarity. "There is some refuse in my bed, mein Herr. Could you see that it is disposed of, and my sheets cleaned?"

  The private nodded. "Of course, Oberstleutnant. I shall attend to it at once."

  He saluted once more and clicked his heels as Alexis walked on.

  Once upon a time, before the occupation, the place had been called El Pasito. It went by another name now. Aldea. A clockwork-town, where no trains ran. And so the people would run on time instead. As Alexis strode through the town, his eyes passed over those who had once run this dusty collection of hovels. The subhumans. The Mexicans. They had been organised now - proud workers for a greater cause than their degraded notions of happiness. Subhuman they might be, but they were workers for the Fatherland and had thus earned a bare modicum of his respect. Alexis nodded brusquely to them as they filed to their labours, a number branded into the forehead of each. Men and women walking in lockstep to their work. The work that made them free.

  Most of the work in Aldea was done in the middle of the town - the Great Square, where the Statue Of Freedom loomed. With the boot-heels locked in an eternal click, one arm raised in straight salute, it was a sight to bring pride and pleasure to the heart of every true Aryan. Every detail was exact, from the proud chest to the tall, straight legs, from the iron gaze to the perfectly trimmed moustache, this great stone statue of his magnificent Führer - Adolf Hitler himself!

  In happier times.

  Adolf Hitler was still Führer, of course, and he would be for a hundred years yet, perhaps a thousand. The propaganda painted him as immortal. But Alexis knew that if a statue were to be built of the Führer as he was now... well.

  Best not to.

  The sound of the work woke him from his reverie. Hammering and sawing echoed about the square as these fascinating, almost-human creatures worked on the scaffolding. The statue had been put up over the course of a year and according to the laws of Aldea, it must soon be taken down, for how could a statue properly represent the perfection of the Führer? The great Führer who, as any schoolbook in the town would tell you, was in all times and in all places, an ideology that had transcended the poor flesh to live forever? It was idolatry at best, a treasonous offence committed by these animals at worst. Thus, the statue would be slowly and painstakingly dismantled - and then the very next day the order would be given that it must be built again. Build and destroy. Build and destroy. The principle was easy to grasp - work should hold no significance for the worker, beyond the basic understanding that it was the worker's duty to work. All human feeling must be excised to create the pure detachment from self that would ensure eternal subservience.

  The even numbers hammered and sawed and worked in silence on the great statue like a colony of ants. Like a machine colony. The odd numbers did the hundred and one other little jobs that needed doing. Farming the land. Cleaning the toilets. Waiting tables in the Officers' Club.

  The corpse lay under the sheets.

  On random days, the odd and even numbers would switch tasks. Then, a week, a month, a year later, they would switch back. It was best that the workers did not grow too attached to one particular task. Again, the work must hold no significance for the worker. You work until you stop - if necessary you work until you die. There should be no meaning to the work beyond that.

  That did not mean that work should be entirely without reward, however, even for these half-human imbeciles. Alexis cast an eye restlessly about. Eventually his gaze alighted on a short, pudgy Mexican man, with a large handlebar moustache, dressed in a white ice-cream suit, a panama hat and immaculate shoes. Alexis smiled, a genial grin that seemed to light up his whole face. It never touched his eyes.

  "Master Plus."

  The fat little man in the white suit jumped, nearly losing the hat off his head and exposing his grotesque bald patch in the process. He turned quickly, eyes wide as he looked to the officer.

  "Oberstleutnant... forgive me, I was woolgathering..."

  "Heil Hitler, Master Plus."

  The fat man turned pale and did a reasonable approximation of a proper salute. Alexis scowled. Nine years, this fat little half-man had been in a position of great responsibility with many perks - and he still couldn't manage a decent salute. His greasy brown hand was like a flailing fish jerking on the end of a line. Alexis shook his head slowly. Master Plus was the exception to the rule. No number was branded into his forehead. He never woke up to find that he was now expected to clean toilets. He owned a beautiful white suit and paraded it in front of his fellow aberrations. He had a diamond stickpin that flashed in the bright noon sun. He owned a beautiful house.

  Master Plus was in charge of the concept of Reward.

  A living carrot, dangled in front of his fellow subhumans, a symbol of how high in the ranks they could rise if they were to only play the game, follow the rules. In this capacity, he gave speeches to the workers, 'seminars' where he would tell them how simple it was to achieve his lofty position - if only they would work just a little harder. "If I can do it, why not you?" as he would say, over and over again, his diamond stickpin flashing into the eyes of the audience as they slaved in the pouring rain.

  It was an illusion Alexis despised. You didn't need to trick the ox into pulling the cart, or butter up a sheep before you took its wool. So why play such games now?r />
  The fat man swallowed hard. Alexis restrained himself from sneering openly in response. The creature was a natural coward - he'd turned on his own kind for fear that the Luftwaffe would do to him and his daughter what they had done to so many others. He'd grown dependent on the luxuries the new regime afforded him. And what was he now? A parrot on a jewelled perch, endlessly repeating the same empty phrases for fear of being denied his cracker. As he stammered his reply, Alexis fought the irresistible urge to simply take hold of his fat Mexican head and twist it off. He had no doubt that such an act would provide more motivation than the workers had had in nine years.

  "H-h-heil Hitler, Oberstleutnant. Heil Hitler." The moustache twitched as Plus forced an oleaginous smile. His eyes were those of a cornered rat.

  "You only need to say it once, my dear fellow." Alexis smiled a little wider. "I've been watching the workers building the statue. Is it me, or do they seem a trifle behind?"

  Master Plus blinked. He opened his mouth and then closed it, once, like a fish, before licking dry lips and summoning himself to speak. "Herr Oberstleutnant - I haven't observed any decrease in productivity..."

  Alexis let his smile drop. "So it is me. My judgement is faulty. Thank you for bringing that to my attention, Master Plus."

  "No!" The word was almost cried out. "No, I would never suggest such a thing, please, Herr Oberstleutnant, I merely meant to say that I have not seen any drop - I would never question you..."

  "In that case, it's your judgement that's not up to par. Or your ridiculous speeches. Tell me - my dear friend - do you honestly think we need a Master Plus in this experiment? I don't wish to offend you - you do such necessary work. But do you truly think a colony of ants should have regular pep-talks? Are machines in great need of motivational speakers?" He was grinning now, a vulpine grin that was a world away from the cultivated, easy-going smile of the young, handsome officer. Here was revealed the beast, the carnivore, the killer who waited for his chance and struck once only.

  Master Plus blinked. He spoke slowly, treading with the care of a man picking his way through a minefield. He was walking on the tongue of the crocodile.

  "I would not dare to suggest that I was... indispensable, Herr Oberstleutnant. However, my function within Aldea has been... I do only what I have been directed to do by my superiors, Herr Oberstleutnant. By your father. The Generaloberst. My function is as a part of his larger mechanism, and as such... I would hardly dare to suggest that I was... dispensable, either. Such decisions are not up to me, Herr Oberstleutnant."

  Your father.

  There it was. Alexis could not help but feel a stab of admiration for the fat little animal's clever tongue. It was a stratagem almost worthy of a true man. Now, instead of tormenting a worthless subhuman raised far beyond his station, Alexis had been placed in a position where he was in danger of being seen to speak against the Generaloberst himself. The leader of the occupation force. His father. Alexis wasn't quite ready to make such a move.

  Just yet.

  Master Plus took the opportunity to steer the conversation towards less dangerous waters. "Perhaps we can discuss this at my house, Herr Oberstleutnant... it's been too long since you last made a visit."

  Alexis flashed another lifeless smile. It had been barely three days. Still, had the half-man stood his ground and pressed the point, Alexis would have faced a choice between showing weakness and defying his father. Neither would have been conducive to his continued good health. The best thing to do now would be to graciously accept the change of subject.

  Besides, there were far less pleasant activities on a hot day like today than visiting the house of Master Plus. The greatest treasure in all of Mexico was kept there.

  A few streets away from the statue lay the palatial house. In most respects, it was the same sort of house that many of the officers lived in - large rooms, nice furniture and what have you. But this one had an air of mystery about it not easily defined.

  What officer of the mighty Luftwaffe did not show off his house? It was a symbol of status, and there was precious little of that to be found in Aldea. The house an officer was given was in direct proportion to their work for the Reich - the greater the work, the better the house, and so forth. So most evenings you would find a Staffelkapitan entertaining select members of the Staffel, or an Oberst showing off to a couple of Lieutenants - showing off his whisky and his gramophone records and his high ceilings. Thus, the inside of every big house in Aldea was common knowledge to all, from Udo Reimann's little bolt-hole with its wall of one hundred empty whisky bottles (always one half-finished) to the light, airy spaces of Oberst Mehler's residence, where he played Mozart on a little steam-player until late. But there was one house that was a mystery, and that was Master Plus' residence.

  Few officers of the Luftwaffe would want to admit a desire to see the inside of a subhuman's dwelling, of course - even those who belittled the Führer's ravings in private were mindful of the effect such an admission would have on their careers - but by its very nature, the house of Master Plus invited comment and curiosity.

  It was known as the House Without Windows.

  Several of the windows on the upper floor were covered with large sheets of canvas that permitted the light to come in, but blocked out all sight of the machine-town around it, and from these the house took its name. Occasionally people would swear they heard music from the upper floor - and more occasionally, singing, soft and sweet, an angel's voice. But nobody knew from whom it came.

  Nobody except for Master Plus himself, the Generaloberst - and Alexis.

  Master Plus ushered Alexis through the front door, looking left and right, up and down the street, before closing it behind them and turning the key in the lock. He turned to look at Alexis, the smile creeping up over his face underneath his caterpillar moustache.

  "She's been asking after you, Herr Oberstleutnant... she's looking forward to the day of the wedding! Just imagine... the old church bells ringing again... the square alive with dancing! Why, we've not had a wedding in this town since... since..."

  Alexis allowed the nervous prattle to tail off into silence. He cocked his head, gazing upon the smaller man with an undisguised sneer. Then, after a pause, he began to climb the stairs to the upper floor. Standing outside the heavy oak door, he waited as Master Plus bustled past him and ceremoniously withdrew a large jewelled key from his pocket, turning it in the lock with reverence. Alexis was half-amused at best by this - this undue ceremony, this imitation Blackbeard with his secret door. They'd been through this a hundred times. Surely by now he saw how ridiculous it all was?

  "Are you decent, my little flower?"

  The musical tones were muffled by the heavy oak of the door.

  "It's all right, Papa. You can bring him in."

  Master Plus gave a tight smile. "I've become a creature of habit, it seems." With that, he pushed open the heavy door, and the two men stepped into the room.

  To say that Carina was beautiful was to call the noonday sun a flickering candle. This was not the only romantic cliché that applied to her.

  Her skin was like coffee-coloured silk, her limbs long and supple, her lips soft and full, and so on and so forth, ad infinitum. But the cigarette advertisements on the hoardings in Berlin were as beautiful and similar songs were sung of the cabaret girls there, every night after ten. What those women lacked was the unique allure that comes with true grace in all its many meanings. Even if the rank and file were informed of the beauty that lived in the House Without Windows, they would never understand. Until one had seen Carina in motion, there could be no understanding.

  As she padded across the carpet to meet her father her hips swayed gently back and forth like a cat twitching its tail. The hair that cascaded to her back flowed like water, tumbled like silk. It was a purely unconscious motion, without guile - Carina was an innocent in such matters, having been denied the opportunity to experience the heights and depths of human nature by her father. The intelligence
that danced and sparkled in her green eyes was quick, and sharp, and alive - but caged. For the past nine years, Carina had lived the life of a fairytale princess. A princess locked in a tower.

  The windows of her palatial rooms had canvas stretched upon them, painted with scenes of El Pasito as it had been in better days, before the occupation. These seemed completely real in every respect. The attention to detail was stunning, and the lack of depth was compensated for with a series of inbuilt optical illusions that made perspective appear where there was none. She had been kept in these rooms, looking through these trick windows, for nine years, with all possible luxuries provided for her - except the luxury of walking out through the hard oak door.

  This bizarre set of circumstances had been created at the insistence of Master Plus, who had wished that his nine-year old child might be free of the horror that had befallen her world. The Ultimate Reich had been most co-operative in allowing him to realise this - for in many ways, Carina was as much an experiment as the rest of the town. Was it really possible to raise a human being to be so blind to reality? Was this the case with Carina, or was she only biding time? And if it could be done with her, could it be done with others?

  As Carina moved to hug her father, Alexis moved to take hold of her hand and tugged sharply. Carina winced imperceptibly and turned to face him. He lifted the hand to his lips. They felt like a cobra brushing against her skin. Carina half-smiled, warily.

  "Alexis. How pleasant to see you again."

  "Carina. I've been counting the hours until our wedding day. I can hardly wait."

  Carina's smile widened slightly, but it was a reflex action only. The hand in his grip tried to pull away. He did not allow it to. Her eyes narrowed.

  Master Plus' wheedling voice shattered the moment.