Sounds

Damn the ringing telephone. It sounded like death. Heinrich Schlosser gritted his teeth as he answered the phone.
“Is it true?” a voice whispered.
“Is what true?” Heinrich knew very well what the caller wanted to know, but he forced him to say it anyway.
“Is this the number you call—the number to let the government know—I’m a good German and I want to help my country. But is it true I will be paid? Patriotism should be rewarded, I say.”
The whiny, low voice made Heinrich sick to his stomach. The man still had not said enough. He had to say the repulsive words.
“And what do you want to be rewarded for?”
“Jews.” It was whispered as though a loathsome, disease that shall be unnamed.
“What about Jews?” Heinrich held his breath a moment. He heard sounds of hatred and disgust in his voice that might give him away. No one could ever discover he was Jewish and was working undercover at Gestapo headquarters. He closed his eyes as his voice lightened. “You know where there are Jews?”
“Two doors down,” the man said eagerly, now that the impasse had been broken. “They try to hide it, but I know. I know.”
“Very good,” Heinrich said, taking a pencil to his pad. “And the address?” After the man gave the information, he added, “And your address?”
“My address?” Apprehension entered his voice.
“Of course,” Heinrich replied. “You want your reward, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course. Patriotism should be rewarded, I say.”
After the man hung up, Heinrich passed the slip of paper on to his supervisor and then prayed the phone would not ring again that night. He tried not to watch the clock, waiting for the end of his shift. Even when his hour had come Heinrich left slowly, waiting for the others and joined them for a beer down the street. Eventually he bid them farewell and ambled around the corner. His pace quickened as he raced to warn the family the Gestapo was coming. Sometimes Heinrich would arrive in time to help them escape.
This time he was too late. He hid in the shadows as he listened to the children cry, the mother scream and the father fill the night air with curses. Heinrich cringed as he heard the sounds of rifle butts slam into human flesh. Doors on trucks slammed and engines gunned. Then silence.
Heinrich stayed in the darkness a good long time until he was sure the trucks were far away. From his memory he pulled out the second address he had written down that night, one that he had not bothered to pass on to the Gestapo command. It was only two doors down. The bell tower struck twelve, time all good Germans were in their bed. Heinrich walked along the street until he found the address of the good patriot.
He knocked firmly but softly. The neighbors must not hear. Heinrich made out the padding of bare feet coming to the door.
“Yes?” a short, balding man said as he cracked the door.
“Did you hear the commotion down the street earlier?”
“No. What commotion?”
“Come now. You want your reward, don’t you?”
The man paused. “Yes, I heard it. I want my reward.”
Heinrich pulled out a knife and quickly stabbed into the man’s abdomen, just below the ribcage and twisted the blade up. His other hand covered the man’s mouth as he began to moan.
He did not want any sounds.

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