Hidden Away (33 page)

“You should be in the orchestra barrack.”

I missed a key and the music was off. I brought my hands into my lap as I turned to him. “I wish to stay in Block 10.”

He clenched his jaw, the muscles bulging. “Why would you want to stay in an overcrowded room when you could be with other musicians? You would have your own bunk.” A silent moment passed before he ordered, “Play.”

I started to play Mozart, but he stopped me by slapping my hands hard. “No. You know what I want to hear.”

He reacted to the march I played the same as always. When he was ready, he took my hand and placed it in his lap. As I did my best to continue the music with only one hand, I wrapped the fingers of the other around his length.

“Perhaps you should sleep here in the headquarters. We have a small closet that would suit. Then I would know where to find you if I needed you in the middle of the night.”

Inside, I was weeping at the threat, but to him, I said, “If you wish.”

His breathing became erratic. He placed his hand at the back of my neck and brought my head down to his lap. Thrusting up into me, he grunted until he finished.

“Yes,” he said as he zipped up his trousers. “I should like to have you closer to me. I will see about readying a space for you here.”

Although I had resolved not to allow Peter to touch me openly again, that evening, I closed my eyes when he cupped my face and spoke of the beach. I also did not stop him when he kissed the back of my neck after lights out and brought his hand around to my groin. When he entered me, it felt too good to protest.

But in the middle of our love, lights and yelling interrupted us. Before I knew what was happening, I was pulled from my bunk, as was Peter. The rest of the prisoners rubbed their eyes in confusion as they watched us dragged from the barrack. SS officers, who were usually absent from inside the camp, shouted at Jules, who stood in the doorway to the dayroom, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

The officers, the room elders, took us to the parade square. Jules ran to stay close to us. Peter was taken to the horse. He did not fight. His poor body hadn’t the strength to do so. I sobbed as they strapped him to it.

Shoved from behind, I fell to the ground, then was lifted up by my hair. The commandant held me, his shirt unbuttoned and untucked. The look he wore was severe. He pulled his gun from its holster on his hip and placed it to my forehead.

I ignored the cold metal threat and turned my head at Peter’s groan. The commandant’s fingers tightened in my hair, and the barrel of his pistol now dug into the base of my head. “Yes, Queer, watch what happens to your precious friend.”

Peter had been stripped down to nothing, tied to the wooden horse with his backside faced up. An SS guard swung the whip, the popper snapping across my lover’s back with a sickening sound. He cried out, calling for me. My name was horrible, pain distorting his beautiful voice.

Again and again, the whip licked across his back until the guard had his fill of it. “Now you,” the commandant said to the room elders.

I tried to look away but was not allowed. The prisoner guards raped Peter with their clubs until he was unconscious, then Peter’s limp body was whipped again.

When it was over, the commandant threw me to the ground and sat on my chest. “Clean him up; put him to bed. You are to be in my office in half an hour.”

The SS guards congratulated the elders for finding Peter and I while the commandant trudged through the muddy square. Jules and I dealt with Peter. Peter breathed shallow breaths, tears still streaming from his closed eyes.

Together, we were able to drag him to the barrack water closet. I carefully cleansed the wounds, wincing each time I touched one. Peter regained consciousness long enough to say, “Kurt,” but then fell back into the dark.

Jules and I shouldered him back into the barrack, laying him carefully on his stomach in the abandoned bunk. The other men found alternate places to sleep.

“It’s nearly time,” Jules said. “You need to go.”
“What if I don’t come back?” I looked to Peter.
“I will care for him. You just make sure you get back. Do what needs to be done.”
Sweeping my hand over Peter’s cheek, I closed my eyes for just a moment as I silently told him I loved him. When I could linger no longer, I ran to the gate. SS were waiting for me. I made my way to the commandant’s office, hoping against everything that he would not be cruel even though he would see my love for Peter as a betrayal.
As soon as I entered the office, the commandant shoved me to the ground. I couldn’t stand looking into his angry face as he sat on my chest, so I closed my eyes. It wasn’t until I felt the hot, searing pain on my arm that I opened them again.
He was holding a knife in one hand as the other stretched out my arm. He called me names and carved something into my flesh.
“You dirty, little queer. You’ve done it now. If you cared about the other one, you would have made sure he didn’t touch you. I’m taking him to the hospital barrack in the morning. I’ll personally make sure the doctors are aware he is queer. Tell them to cut off his balls. I will make them remove his stomach just to see how long a queer can survive without one.”
“No,” I gasped.
“No? You should’ve thought about the consequences before allowing him to abuse you.” He took a pen and bit off the end, then poured the ink into my wound.
He flipped me over and raped me violently, but I kept my mind on Peter. I couldn’t let him go to the hospital barrack. I had to do everything I could to help him.
When the commandant was spent, I wept, apologizing as I kissed his hands. “I’m sorry. Please, please, this isn’t Peter’s fault. Please. I’ll do anything. Just don’t send him to the sick house. I’ll—”
“You’ll do what I say anyway, so there is no need to bargain.”
“Please,” I tried again, “I’ll sleep here like you’ve asked. You will always know where to find me. I’ll never see him again, just—”
“You’re being moved to the orchestra barrack tomorrow. You will sleep with other prisoners. I would never allow you the luxury of sleeping in the headquarters. I can find you anywhere, and now that you have this,” he said, wrenching my arm up to where I could see the mark he’d made, “everyone will know you belong to me.”
I read the weeping wound, blood and black ink leaking from it. It was my prisoner number with the commandant’s initials and the word “queer” after it.
He brought me up off the floor and bent me over the desk. With a short whip, he flogged me until I couldn’t feel my body. After, he had guards return me to Block 10. Although many men were sleeping, it felt as though they were all looking at the mark on my arm. I crawled into bed with Peter. If they killed me for it, it would be a blessing.
He rolled over and his eyes opened for just a moment before slipping closed again. His breathing was ragged and shallow. The morning would bring a new pain for him. They would take him and perform experiments. He would die at their hands as they kept me locked away from him.
It could not happen like that.
I kissed his forehead and ran my hand down his cheek.
It took every ounce of courage and love I had to place my hands over his mouth and nose. He was so beautiful it sent sharp pains throughout my body, so I pinched my eyes closed as I pressed down.

He offered little resistance. Peter’s leg kicked, and his hand pressed weakly against me. When I opened my eyes, he was staring at me. His eyes glistened, and I could see the creeping insanity that had taken him shift into the clear brightness they’d held when I first met him. He knew what I was doing now, and his eyes showed his thankfulness.

I kept up the pressure, never breaking my gaze. His leg fell to the bunk and his hand came to rest on my thigh.

My Peter was gone.

At first light, the bell rang. It took two of us— Jules and I—to move Peter’s paper-thin body to the roll call square to be counted. Somehow I kept my emotions down as we laid him at the end of the row. Crying was not an option in front of the guards. They would tell the commandant.

Besides that, I was numb.
Nothing mattered anymore.

They could abuse my body and break my mind.

Later that day, as I looked out the commandant’s window, watching the smoke rise from the crematorium, there was a certain sense of freedom. Peter was dead. I no longer had a reason to live, so there was no reason to remain whole.

They would do what they wished with me. I was finished struggling to survive.

 

My only hope was that I would join my Peter soon.

 

Chapter 17

 

Berkeley, California
1952

I
SIT
across from him, gaping at the story he’s just told. It is far worse than I’ve ever dealt with. Kurt won’t look at me. He is lost inside the memory of what had to be the most horrific day in his life.

“I can’t imagine having to do that.”

 

He looks up now, eyes blazing. “I had no choice.”

With palms raised, I say, “I know. I just meant that I’ve killed at a distance, and up close, but I can’t imagine having to kill my….” I let my words trail off as he rises.

“You have a lovely home,” he says as he stands and gazes outside my dark window.

The muscles in my legs twitch and my skin itches to move close to him, but I must be a statue and wait for him to approach me. It’s nervewracking silence, so I say, “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“I’ve never told Jules. I believe he’s always thought Peter died from his injuries.”

The hitch in his voice twists my heart. As I indulge in two of the vices I love the most, I am amazed at how motionless he is.

Kurt truly is a statue. If I had to bet, I’d wager he could stand there all night without so much as twitching. After the whiskey, I’m bolder. I rise and stand next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and then letting it slide down to the small of his back.

He does not move; just inhales deeply. “Thank you for telling me. Does it feel good to share the sadness?”

I already know the answer, but it is confirmed when he shakes his head. “The Fourniers wish for me to let it go, but it is all I have now. I can’t help it.”

I press my hand to his back a little harder now. “You don’t have to. It’s a part of you. You’re allowed to express it or hold onto it as much as you want.”

The darkness disguises his expression, but I can feel his body relax. It isn’t much, just a tiny slump of his shoulders, a small movement of his hips to the side, a gentle curve in the shape of his neck.

“But I hope you’ll tell me. I can help, if only by listening and not judging. You’ve suffered all these years in silence.”

Kurt turns. I enjoy the feel of his shirt sliding across the palm of my hand. His face is close to mine, but I resist the urge to kiss him, to make things better with physical comfort.

“We have suffered.”

I laugh off his words, but my chuckle doesn’t sound right to my ears. “I didn’t go through what you did. I’m not—”

“The lines on your face say differently. The war cost you too. You lost people you cared for.”

The words sock me in the gut, and I let my hand drop to my side as I take a step back. The whiskey seems to be whispering my name like a lover calling me to bed. I don’t give in right away, but only hold out for a few seconds. When I’m pouring two fingers of whiskey, I say, “I lost a lot of friends. It even hurt losing people I didn’t like.”

“You saw them die.”

 

The tumbler is empty again. I set it on the table, then fall back into my chair. “Yes.” “Which was the worst?”

The alcohol instantly slows my mind. I enjoy the feeling because I’m able to push his question to the side while I watch him turn from the window and come back to me. Kurt sits down in his chair, but I want him over here.

It is only after he is settled that I answer. “All of them were the worst, but I guess it was the guys with the head wounds. You couldn’t tell who some of them were once the bullet exploded.” I stretch out my legs and lean my head back against the seat, staring up at the ceiling. “But the up-close ones were bad too because I was just feet or inches away and couldn’t do anything to save them.”

“Were you injured?”

Instead of simply telling him, I show him. Sloppily pulling up my shirt, I reveal the scars on my chest and torso. “Knife,” I say pointing to one on my shoulder, and then to one long slice on my side. “Shrapnel.” I wave my hand over the rest.

“Did you have someone to care for you?” “The medic.”

I barely notice Kurt shaking his head in the dark. “No. I mean someone else.”

“A lover? I had plenty of lovers overseas. None of them in my unit.” I think of Hank, but we’d only had that one time together.

“Was it difficult to keep it a secret?”

When all the other men went out looking for girls to soothe them, I went out in search of men. My unit thought I must have been very religious because I turned down chasing tail with them so often, but really, I waited until they had gone to strike out on my own adventures.

There were always ways of finding men like me, just like now. It is all nonverbal cues. The way a man stands, the hold of his gaze just a moment too long, the slow smile that spreads from one side to the other, the slight nod of the head to the side, the electrified brush of his shoulder against mine.