John Ross frowned as he leaned against his rake Monday morning on the State Mental Hospital’s grounds. He brooded over Bob Meade’s announcement on Friday’s news that he would not report on the deportation hearing of Heinrich Schmidt—Pharaoh to John—to avoid a possible conflict of interest. What conflict of interest could Bob Meade have with Pharaoh? Was this young man was in collusion with Pharaoh, John wondered. If so, that turned him into one of John’s enemies.
“Come on,” George said, “keep moving. This grass has got to be raked up before it rains.”
“Yes, sir,” he mumbled, coming out of his thoughts and glancing at the man, vowing that he would suffer once Moses decided to begin his mission. First Pharaoh, he listed those to be punished, then that attendant, and even possibly Bob Meade.
“Yes, sir. I’ll rake the grass.”
***
Bob sat with Jill and her family in a conference room in the federal court building in Knoxville Monday morning waiting for Judge Copland to announce he had made his decision. He noticed Rudolph sat straight with no expression on his face.
“I want a beer,” Heinrich said.
“Heinrich, no,” Greta said. “Beer is not good for a man in your condition.”
“You don’t tell me what is good for me. I want a beer.”
Helga and Franz shook their heads, whispered to each other, touched Peter on his shoulder and spoke to him. Peter looked at the others.
“Mother and father want a cup of coffee,” he announced. “I’ll take them to the cafe next door.”
“Good idea.” Carol leaned over to Bob, Jill and Ed. “I could use some coffee too.” She glanced at Heinrich and back at them. “Some good, strong, black coffee.”
She left with the Bitners as Greta watched her, not with as much reproach as she used to, but with a curiosity fashioned from the possibility she was wrong about her daughter-in-law all of these years; at least, Bob hoped that thought was behind the look in her eyes.
“The rest of you, go get coffee too,” Heinrich ordered. “I want to talk to this young man.”
Jill and Ed looked apprehensive as they stood.
“Do you mind?” she said.
“No, not at all,” Bob replied.
“Come on, Grandma,” Jill said, helping her to stand. “Let’s join Aunt Helga for coffee.”
Greta looked at Rudolph with a cold eye and spoke to him in German.
“Nein.” Rudolph pursed his lips and stared at the wall.
Shrugging with indifference, Greta left with Jill and Ed.
Heinrich glared at Rudolph who ignored him. At last, he grunted in resignation and turned to appraise Bob.
“Edward tells me you asked Jill to marry you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So you don’t mind being in a family with a mean old man like me?” He smiled in irreverence.
“You can’t be too mean.” Bob tried to make light of the conversation. “Jill loves you very much.”
“Growing up in a town like Oberbach can make you a mean man.” Heinrich looked away. “Oberbach killed your pride, killed your sense of right and wrong, or killed your body.”
“Oberbach? Mrs. Schmidt says it’s a wonderful town.”
“Greta lies. Oberbach is a dirty little town. People had to plow ground for crops, cut trees for lumber and raise cattle for milk and meat. Greta, she thinks it is— what’s that place they talk about on television, you know, where spoiled little children want to go?”
“Disneyland?” Bob offered.
“That’s it.” Heinrich shook a finger in agreement. “That’s what Greta wishes Oberbach was.” He looked at Bob again, his eyes meeting Bob’s. “You asked me a lot of questions for television. I think you want to ask me more questions.”
“When did you first hear about Adolph Hitler?” Bob said, beginning to slip into his reporter frame of mind. He had to know what in truth happened that night so he could comprehend the Schmidts, Smiths and their secrets.
“Oh, let me see.” Heinrich scratched his bald head and wrinkled his brow. “I think it was nineteen twenty-something, when Hitler led some kind of revolt in Munich. He was sent to jail, I think. The word reached Oberbach slowly. Everything reached Oberbach slowly. Many years passed before Hitler was mentioned again. He was a big shot in Berlin. Don’t remember his title. We didn’t care. As long as crops came in and wood was cut, Berlin could do whatever it wanted.”
“Was Rudolph right?” Bob nodded at the old man sitting across the room. “Were you a Nazi?”
“Ja. Nazi.” Rudolph flashed his turd-sucking smile.
“Yes, I was a Nazi.” Heinrich ignored his brother and nodded with vigor. “You see, Bob, that is your name, isn’t it, Bob, farmers and wood cutters were the lowest people in town. The mayor and all the big shots owned lots of land, stores and banks. Not poor people, understand? So when Nazis came to Oberbach, when they really began to take over, they only let Nazis be the big shots. So my papa saw his chance to take some power for once. He was first man in Oberbach to join Nazi party. I was second. He became mayor, and I went to Munich to be in Hitler’s police. You know, Gestapo. They had a lot of power, and I wanted to have power too. I was a wood cutter and knew all the wood cutters in my area. Towns were far apart, but wood cutters met and knew each other good, what they thought and where they lived.”
“This was important to Gestapo?”
“Wood cutters had a union. Nazis didn’t like unions. They wanted me to order leaders to make their union do what Hitler wanted, not what the union wanted.”
“Did they see it your way?”
“They did what they had to do to live. We all did what we had to do. Wood cutters obeyed the Fuhrer to live. I was a Nazi to be somebody important. I never was an important person, you see. That means something, to be important.”
“There are other things to life.”
“Nothing’s more important than power.” Once more Heinrich wagged his finger at Bob. “Ah, you have power now. You’re on television. Television is power. That makes you powerful. People listen to what you say. That makes you feel good. It does make you feel good, yes?” He leaned into him. “Take my advice. Enjoy it while it lasts. It won’t last long. Like, what you call it, the feeling of sex, it doesn’t last long, but, man, it’s good.”
“So you enjoyed it?”
“What? The sex? Yes. If you’re poor that’s all you have.”
“No, I mean power.”
Heinrich looked away at Rudolph for a moment, a queer little smile dancing on his shriveled lips. He shrugged and stared at Bob.
“You do what you have to do.”
“If you had to do it all over again, would you still be a Nazi, be in the Gestapo, so you could have power, even though it would mean being deported in your old age?”
“And not be somebody important?” Heinrich shook his head firmly, his voice cold and determined. “Never. Don’t let nobody get in your way. Nobody. And I am not going to be deported. I am going to win.” He leaned back and smirked. “Now, Bob, I have answered your questions. You must answer my questions.”
Ed opened the door and stepped in, his voice filled with urgency.
“The judge is ready.”
The courtroom filled with prosecution team members, the Schmidt family and reporters. Jeff Holt scurried down the aisle to join Heinrich at the defense table. Bob craned his neck to watch Heinrich who seemed serene, though cynicism lurked in his eyes. His shoulders, straight when he first arrived that morning, drooped.
Judge Copland opened the file, reviewed it and looked up.
“It is difficult in cases like this because they are so fraught with deep-seated emotions. As everyone else I grieve for Mrs. Moeller’s loss and sympathize with her quest for justice. On the other hand, I see Heinrich Schmidt who has been an exemplary citizen of the United States for most of his adult life, obeying the very letter of our law and supporting our system with his taxes.” He paused and frowned. “I feel compelled to apply our rules of criminal justice to this case. Has the prosecution proved beyond a reasonable doubt that Mr. Schmidt committed murder forty years ago? From evidence presented to me, I must conclude reasonable doubt does exist.”
As the court interpreter translated Judge Copland’s comments, Eva moaned out loud and pulled at her hair.
“Therefore I rule against the deportation order on Heinrich Schmidt. Case dismissed.”
Eva sobbed as Sebastian helped her to stand and tried to guide her to the door. She turned to Heinrich and pointed. Her eyes, reddened by tears, glared with unholy rage, spewing German which Sebastian translated with smugness.
“You think you have won? You have won nothing. You will ultimately pay before God.” Her voice rose in pitch as it became louder. “As you made my husband die in his own blood, you will die in your blood some day. God will make you pay! I swear it!”
Sebastian dragged her out the door, but returned to go to Greta, taking her hands in his.
“Greta, you must acknowledge now–no matter what the judge ruled–Heinrich is not worthy of you,” he said. “You must realize you would be more contented back in Germany, in your Oberbach, with your family and with me.”
Greta blinked, without comprehension.
“Come back to Oberbach and marry me. You will have no worries. I am well paid as a professor and will have a good pension when I retire.”
“Yes, I would like to see Oberbach and visit Helga.” She shook her head in disbelief. “But why would you think I would want to marry you, Sebastian?”
“You were my girlfriend, don’t you remember?”
“I remember picking you up and wiping blood from your nose when Heinrich beat you up, but you were never my boyfriend.”
“But you were kind to me,” he said in earnest.
“I never knew you felt that way.”
“You know now. I can take you away.”
“It’s too late now.”
“It’s because you liked Heinrich for beating me up.” Sebastian dropped her hands and stepped away. “You thought being smart was weak and cruelty was strong.”
“No, no. I don’t know what I thought. You were just a scared little boy. I didn’t think you could love me. I didn’t think anyone could love me but Heinrich.” Greta’s eyes began to fill with tears.
“Eva was right.” His face hardened. “You are a stupid cow. And I wasted my life longing for a stupid cow. Stay here with your Heinrich, your Nazi, your big strong Gestapo agent. You deserve him.”
Sebastian turned on his heels and left. Greta burst into tears, and Helga came and hugged her tightly. Franz patted her gently on the back.
Jeff shook hands with Ed and Carol and efficiently gathered his things together and left. Helga and Greta continued to cry in each others’ arms. Bob, however, was drawn to Heinrich who had a far away look in his eyes and a pursed contentment on his lips.
***
Rudolph sat next to Heinrich, reached down and squeezed his brother’s genitals which caused him to flinch. Rudolph patted his back.
“You are lucky, little brother,” he whispered in German. “If they had brought you back to Oberbach I would have killed you before the trial began.” His powerful hand dug into Heinrich’s shoulder. “Eva said you will pay. Yes, you will pay. You will burn in hell–not for what you may have done to Hans. No, you will burn in hell because you are a coward and a loser.”
Rudolph stood and strode away. Noise in the court room was distant to Heinrich as he sat there, emotionally spent. He hated his brother for making him feel small again. Clinching his jaw, Heinrich dismissed Rudolph as a failed, jealous old farmer. After all, the court decision vindicated him. Life went his way, just as it did that night of August twelfth, 1940, in Hans Moeller’s small cottage on the edge of the Black Forest just outside of Oberbach when he and two other Gestapo agents came for a visit. He remembered how he sneered as he took his belt off and smacked it across his calloused palm, causing Hans to stiffen and struggle for breath in the chair in which he was bound. Two Gestapo officers standing off to the side shared knowing glances with each other and kept their silence.
“Hans, so good to see you again,” Heinrich said as he swung his belt against Hans’ knee. “Do you remember the good old days when I was a wood cutter, like you, and a member of the guild, like you?”
He shook his head, paralyzed with fear.
“Let me refresh your memory.” Heinrich lashed Hans’ hip. “You told me of a milk maid who enjoyed the company of wood cutters. She lived not too far from here.” He hit him on his other side.
Hans pulled against the ropes which held him in the chair, as a small moan escaped his lips.
“She did enjoy the company of wood cutters, and I was enjoying her company, until her husband walked in.” He hit him across his abdomen with the belt. “You didn’t tell me she had a husband.” He hit across Hans’ stomach again, harder.
Heinrich remembered how swift he came down with his belt and how Hans screeched. He became aware that the soldiers in the corner tried to hide their flinches and was pleased with their reaction.
“I was beaten only once in my life.” Heinrich’s belt lashed his chest. “That milk maid’s husband almost killed me. Then I could do nothing when you laughed at my bruises, because you were so much bigger than me.” He hit Hans’ chest again. “Isn’t that right?”
Heinrich pulled himself to his full height of five feet five inches and slapped his belt across Hans’ broad, tanned face.
“Now I’m bigger than you.” He thumped his chest with his fist. “The Gestapo makes me bigger than you. The Gestapo doesn’t like your wood cutters guild. The Fuhrer doesn’t like anyone making rules but him. You’ve made too many rules, Hans.”
“No.” His face twisted with fear and pain, tears rolling down his cheeks.
Drawing a knife from his belt, Heinrich sighed.
“Don’t beg, Hans. That’s not manly.” He raised his knife, waving it in front of Han’s frightened, distorted face. “You must be manly like I was manly when the milk maid’s husband beat me. I didn’t cry like a baby begging for mercy.” He laughed. “You’re not a man.”
Heinrich remembered how Hans shrieked as the dagger repeatedly lacerated his torso, at first with the shoulders and across the chest. In the beginning they were flesh wounds, enough to hurt, to make him bleed and force him to scream. As his knife descended to the abdomen, hacking became harder, deeper and more lethal. Finally Hans’ blond head fell back, color draining from his face which was drenched in sweat. He did not react when Heinrich kicked him again in his shin.
“You’re not so tough now, are you?” Heinrich, leaning into Hans’ face, formed as much saliva as his mouth could produce and spat in Hans’ eyes, which were beginning to glaze over.
Eva’s screaming and banging on the door drew Heinrich’s attention away. Before he opened it, he paced back and forth a moment. He did not want her to see how he murdered her husband. Heinrich looked at the other agents.
“Don’t let her in. Make her go away and then take his body out to the forest. Make it look like an accident.”
Heinrich took one last extended examination of Hans, now limp in the chair. A steady flow of blood dripped between his legs.
“Dad, are you all right?” Ed touched Heinrich’s shoulder.
He stirred from his memories to look at his son. Yes, Heinrich thought, Rudolph was stupid to think he was a coward and a loser. He always won, and he could make anyone afraid of him, even his granddaughter’s weak boyfriend.
“I am very much all right.”
“Let’s go, Dad,” Ed said.
As Heinrich followed his son to the door, he stopped by Bob to smile.
“You see, Bob, I always win.”
***
Five-thirty at last arrived, and John Ross dragged Mike and Randy to the day room where they turned the television to the Channel Forty-three news. He sat in a chair while the boys plopped on the sofa.
“Do we have to watch that old news again?” Mike said.
“I hate the news.” Randy curled up.
“Quiet.”
Betty Sargent appeared on the screen, and John leaned forward, hoping the deportation hearing would top the broadcast. It did. As Betty spoke, the screen showed Heinrich Schmidt coming down the court building steps with a tall blond man at his side.
“Judge Marvin Copland ruled today that Heinrich Schmidt may remain in the United States…”
John heard no more of the words the woman spoke. He stood and took slow steps to the television, watching with vigilance as Heinrich stopped on the steps of the Knoxville federal building to have his picture taken by newsmen. John tensed as he became aware of the old man’s arrogant smile. Without conscious thought, he picked up the nearest chair.
“I always win,” Heinrich told the waiting crowd.
John threw the chair into the television, causing the screen to shatter and sparks to fly.
“What did you do that for?” Randy sprang from his cocoon.
“That was a fool thing to do.” George stormed over. “Now you ain’t going to have no TV at all.”
John had no respect for the old white man attendant, so he ignored him and motioned to Mike and Randy to follow him out of the room.
“Come back here,” George said. “You better come back here and clean up this mess.”
“What’s going on?” Mike said.
“Time is coming fast when we will leave here to find Pharaoh.” John looked around make sure no one heard him.
“Good,” Randy said, grim tone in his voice. “We’re going to kill him, right?”
“Yes,” he replied. “And all those who have special interests with him.”