[Del]'s Diary

ENTRY FORTY-SIX

I’m wearing Frankie, sitting at a large round wooden table with a bunch of boisterous army types who all have had too much to drink. My stiff wool suit scruffs my bony wrists at the cuffs, and I’m aching to yank my tie off.

The barroom has an old European feel to it, with everything made out of wooden rafters and beams painted almost black. In fact, all the colors are muted, even the clothes on our backs and the pallor in our cheeks, and I begin to wonder if Frank is colorblind. The men, and one woman — a coiffed blonde — at my table all speak English but the din around us is in German, and every time I hear someone speak in it, I feel a little unease. Nonetheless, the five of us are having a grand ole time when those seated around me suddenly go sullen and silent.

A middle-aged man walks by. His face is gaunt and tight, and his ears stick out like a lizard’s frilled collar. His squirrely eyes stare straight through us as he passes. “Fuckin’ Nazi,” my companion on my right says under his breath.

“Whaddya mean?” I inquire of him, and search around the whole table at my companions when he doesn't answer. A tense moment passes.

The burly dark-haired man across the table from me finally spills. “It’s Blome. One of the pigs who performed experiments on prisoners at Dachau.”

“Oh, get off your high horse why don’t you,” snaps the woman, her carefully coiled curls bouncing, “You are a Rough Boy yourself, well, ain’t ya?”

I can feel heat rise through my neck, passing my necktie, and then hitting the back of my teeth. “Well, aren't you going to do something about it?” I cry. “Arrest him!” I rise from my barstool with a challenging gaze.

Everyone at the table shifts uncomfortably. “Well,” I demand.

“It’s not so simple,” the burly man replies.

“What do you mean, it’s not so simple? He’s a Nazi, ain’t he?”

The woman reaches across the table and touches my shoulder softly, “Relax, Frankie. He’s one of ours now.” I stare at her resigned tired eyes. Her hand withdraws from my shoulder and then snakes around her glass again.

I look down at my drink and swish it in circles for the longest time. I can’t look back up at them. Not in the same way, ever again. Then I set the glass on the table and walk away.

As I leave, I can hear the woman behind me mutter, “Let him go.”

[Deleted]