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Chapter two: Inhuman

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; 28th of January, year 1944, Buchenwald

The first two weeks had been rather difficult for me.

My father had always said that my mother treated me with gentle hands and that one day she would notice that her son had not grown up to be a man, but a soft-hearted fool with no chance whatsoever of becoming something prestigious. One of those men in grey suits, working behind a wooden desk and writing unimportant documents on a typewriter. That was what my destiny would be if I didn't stand upright and take the beating like a man. The abuse wasn't physical, of course, but the things I saw at the camp… Seeing those things felt like hard blows to the gut. But I never once threw up.

Hearing stories and actually seeing the events taking place in front of your very own eyes are two very different things. When father told me about them he always managed to make them sound so usual, like going to the store to buy eight hundred grams of mincemeat.

The queues leading to the "showers" that actually were gas chambers; the crematoriums; lethal injections; heavy work loads; contagious diseases such as typhus… It was not unusual to see one of those skeleton-like bodies crumble down and get carted away, like bags half full of grain.

Then there were the souvenirs. They used to skin people and store the skin in the pathological Block 2. The tanned or tattooed skin was used to make book covers and lampshades. Some of these items were given to us, the guards, but sometimes the visitors wanted some. There were orders for human skin.

Nevertheless, when I looked at those figures I did not see them as human beings. Because they weren't. They were not human beings but enemies of the state, murderers and dirty, filthy parasites. They surely acted and looked like human beings, at least when they first arrived, but over time they looked less and less familiar, less and less like us. Their faces grew narrower, the muscles under the skin melted away and they got a haunted look in their bright, alert eyes. They seemed to be looking for a way to escape all the time, just like cornered wild animals. Their vivid eyes followed our every move and for a reason too; if they were not careful and did not take us seriously, it wasn't likely that they were going to survive for long.

I went to visit my parents a couple of times at the camp administration compound in the southern part of the camp where our barracks were also located. I couldn't go there too often, though, since I didn't want my roommates to think I was favoured. I'll have to admit that I did get some of the better jobs at the camp and I have the feeling that my mother had something to do with it.

Whatever the case was, I wasn't complaining. The food could have been better, though.

After every working day it felt so good to go back to the SS men's rooms and just fall onto my bed.

I got along with most of the guys I shared my room with.

First of all, there was Blaise. He was a bit of a spoilt snob, his father being the owner of some big cannery near Berlin. He often complained how he missed Aryan women and how he wanted to have a brothel in Buchenwald like they had in Auschwitz. I am sure he was rather accustomed to having females fawning all over him and his money, so now that he didn't have any women around him 24/7 he had to be satisfied with merely talking about them. He was a real laugh, one of those people who get along with everyone, but he could also turn very solemn when serious topics were discussed.

Everyone in the room liked teasing Ron about women, since the red-haired man had apparently been brought up in a rather conservative family where anything remotely sexual was taboo. In the beginning he had seemed rather prudish and looked at us disapprovingly when we talked about women in a less decent way, but in the end he also joined the list of blokes who borrowed the latest porn magazines that someone had brought to the camp. Men have their needs, after all.

Varick was from a middle-class family, rather normal, really. He loved beer and cars, and wrote letters to his fiancée every week several times. I don't think he would have liked to be there, working at the camp, but for one reason or another he had chosen to fulfil his duties as a member of the Third Reich Germany. After only a few months he suddenly disappeared, didn't come to work anymore and had packed his belongings while the others were getting drunk somewhere. My personal opinion is that he just couldn't take it anymore and wanted to be with his girl, who apparently had been missing him terribly. From what I could deduce from Varick's expression when he was reading her letters and gazing at his photo of a rather average-looking woman, he was absolutely aching to meet her, too. He had told us that she lived in Switzerland with her parents, so most probably that's where he had gone. I had never been emotionally attached to a girl like that, and seeing him being so miserable did not encourage me to fall for anyone quite yet, either.

Then there was Alvin, who was a rather quiet soul and took life a bit too seriously even during spare-time. I can't remember many occasions when I saw him smile. Blaise often commented how he thought that Alvin didn't have facial muscles at all left anymore.

Jerry was the gambler of the camp; he ran the bets and was addicted to card games, especially when money was involved. He was a real cardsharper and a bit like Blaise; care-free and almost always in a good mood.

Emerson was a rather peculiar person. He rarely took part in the other guys' conversations and wrote in his diary several times a day. I didn't really know much about him, only that he was married and had small children. Unlike Varick, he rarely seemed to write any letters to his wife, but once or twice he received letters that included colourful drawings apparently made by a child. At night I would sometimes see him gazing out of the window with that forlorn expression on his face. I would ask if there was something wrong but he would just say that he was tired. I didn't blame him, either; the job we all had wasn't an easy one. Some people were just weaker than others and fatherhood easily softens one's heart.

The eighth person in our room was Rolf, who we just called Beckenbauer. He read a lot of books and told us that he wanted to publish one once he was done with working at the camp. He knew just about everything about literature and I bet he was one of those bullied geeks back in the days when he was in school. I had a hard time imagining someone like him as an SS guard but apparently he wasn't too bad.

I did get to know other guards, too, but not as well as those in my room, of course. There wasn't much time to socialise with other people at the camp, since during leisure-time we usually went to our rooms to laze about, did sports, ate, or slept. There was a zoo in Buchenwald and the bears were fed right in front of the prisoners, which, of course, gave us some sadistic pleasure. At times my father took me to Berlin and I bolted into the clubs and bars to look for some female company. I always enjoyed describing my trips to Blaise afterwards. His theatrical performances of the agony he and his frustrated pecker went through were priceless.

The camp wasn't hygienic at all, and since we had to be in contact with the prisoners the diseases spread to the guards sometimes, too. One morning I woke up with a fever, but decided against going to the camp's doctor and did my job like I normally did. During the breakfast and lunch hours I tried to eat and drink something but by dinner I had started feeling nauseous and thus decided to go lie down for a while.

On my way to the barracks I passed the quarry, and a prisoner attacked me from behind, trying to strangle me. A few other guards who had been monitoring the area nearby came to my help and pried the weak man off me. There was foam coming out of his mouth, and he was shot on the spot.

The man must have been insane, diseased, or - most likely - both. I could feel the bacteria and disease going through the fibres of my uniform.

"Did he bite you?" One of the guards asked.

Inwardly I shuddered at the thought.

"Ugh, luckily not. I still think I'll go see the camp doctor, I've been feeling a bit dodgy the whole day."

So I went to the doctor and he gave me some pills for the fever, plus some special shampoo and powder. I thanked him and left, heading for the barracks once again, this time making it without any incidents. I just wanted to rest and, feeling sleepy, pushed the door of our room ajar.

What I saw in the room made my eyes almost bulge out of their sockets.

The crimson curtains were slightly drawn and there was a narrow stream of light going across the floor, until it reached the opposite wall and crawled up to the ceiling. There were some dust particles floating in the air that glimmered when they hit the sunlight. Most of the room looked slightly red due to the sun's rays that had been filtered by the curtains. There was a musky odour in the warm room and only ragged breathing broke the silence.

Emerson was lying on his back on his bed, trousers pulled down his hips and holding a picture of someone in his hand while the other pumped his erect penis. His thin lips were slightly parted and his fingers were clutching the photo, which he was staring through half-lid eyes with dilated pupils. He gritted his teeth and sped up, arm muscles clenching and sweat glistening above his upper lip.

I had never actually seen anyone jerking off before. It felt like there was a very hot ball burning in my stomach and I got the sudden urge to go to and splash some cold water on my face. With strange fascination mixed with the urge to run off and never mention this to anyone I still continued watching the other man's activities.

Arching his spine, he let out a satisfied sigh and whispering the name "Franz", he came all over his hand. After relaxing for a few seconds Emerson laid the picture he had been holding onto his bed.

It was as if something hard had hit me in the forehead. The picture was of another man.

I was shocked beyond imagination, the whole incident made my stomach twist and turn. With a disgusted look on my face I wrenched the door open and Emerson's head shot up, eyes suddenly very focused and wide. His hand, which was now cleaning his crotch with a handkerchief had stopped in mid-motion and he quickly stammered,

"H-Harry, it's not what it looks like –"

The fireball inside me exploded.

"Then what the hell is it? A misunderstanding? Gods, man! I mean, what the fuck?" I screamed and closed the door so that everyone in the hall wouldn't hear us.

He was suddenly in an awful hurry to cover himself, obviously having realised his state of undress. "I – I don't - Harry, please, don't tell anyone…"

I huffed, "And why should I not? You're a flaming homosexual! We imprison them! They're supposed to be locked up!"

"But I have children and a wife! I have done my duty, this was just an experiment. Harry, I am begging you, don't tell anyone about this! It means nothing, I am a father and my sons need me! "

"SHUT UP!"

He snapped his mouth shut in an instant and swallowed while I stared at him down my nose.

"A fucking youth corruptor… That's what you are…"

"It isn't contagious!"

"I ought to tell them about you so your sons will be saved. It would be much better than having a queer father."

"Harry! I have never done anything to you or the others! I swear this was the first time I ever thought of a man like that!"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "How can I believe you? You are corrupted, rotten. You might lie."

"I love my children! They mean the world to me. You know that! I miss them more than anything and just want to go home to my family."

It was so easy to look at the Jews and other prisoners and kill them off without a trace of emotions, but it was a different thing to send someone you considered your friend to death. Emerson's eyes shone with unshed tears; he was on his knees in front of me with the flies of his trousers still open.

"Please, Harry. You can have anything you want, I'll pay anything if you spare me…"

"Quit whimpering, it's pathetic." I didn't know it was possible but I was getting even angrier.

With a sharp intake of breath he bit his lip and just stared up at me from the floor.

These was a small pause until I continued, "I won't say anything about this…"

Tears started running down the other man's flushed cheeks. His hands were shaking violently. "Oh, thank you, thank you, Harry, thank you so –"

"Just make sure I won't catch you again. Otherwise I will tell my father about this and you die, too."

Emerson nodded furiously. "Yes, yes, of course."

I walked to my bed, suddenly very conscious of Emerson's stare and turned to glare angrily at him. "And don't lay your eyes on me. If you do, I will personally make sure that my next notebook's covers are made of your skin."

With a frown he turned away and started buttoning his trousers. I flopped down on my bed and stared up at the ceiling on my back, arms folded under my head. I drifted off to very strange dreams that night, not waking up until the next morning, fever gone. I hadn't even needed to take any of those pills the doctor gave me.

The next day I was told to execute two homosexual prisoners, and I enjoyed it more than any extermination I had conducted before. A friend of mine made a necklace of their teeth and that evening I placed a neatly wrapped gift with a pink bow on top of it under Emerson's pillow.

; 15th of May, year 1944, Buchenwald

There were new prisoners arriving that day, which, of course, was nothing out of the ordinary. I was one of the guards making sure that no one caused any trouble and I was talking with another guard as we directed the prisoners into the camp area to be registered and prepared. In the flow of people, the smell of sweat and filth was hovering everywhere and I wanted to make some distance between the crowd and myself. If a prisoner came too close we had the permission to shoot them.

There was a woman crying against another woman's shoulder, sobbing her heart out and talking in a language that I didn't understand. It sounded East-European. Buchenwald used to be a camp only for males but now they brought women here, too.

Turning to look somewhere else I saw how Jerry was telling a middle-aged man with a walking stick to get a move on.

Countless people, young women and young men of different origins sauntered past me. They were all faceless and nameless, mere numbers. The new ones always looked healthier than those who had been inside the camp for a longer time, but it was sure that quite soon these people were going to become like them. Food was scarce amongst the prisoners, but that didn't really matter, since eventually they would all have to die anyway and someone else, a stronger newcomer would arrive and finish the weakling's work.

Two men were helping an injured young woman to walk, because it looked like she was about to pass out any second.

A bit further away a man had somehow managed to break his shinbone and was screaming like a madman. I went over and broke his neck, given that he was obviously not going to be of any use at the camp.

Jerry was repeating his commands for the next group, and I observed the crowd a bit more. It felt like I had seen all this before, even though most of the people had never been to a concentration camp. All the faces looked the same and they were like cattle being directed to the butcher. You could notice how some individuals had obviously been transferred to Buchenwald from another camp, since their cheeks were more sunken than the others' and their bones were jutting out. The weakest of the lot would get executed the same day, probably.

I turned to look at the lagging end and immediately laid my eyes on a blond young man with very startling clear grey eyes. He was looking at the gates that read "Each To His Own", and I felt something drop in my stomach.

For a very brief moment he looked at me. The intensity of his eyes made my chest tighten, but I could not look away. His cheeks were healthy, rosy pink from the chilly morning air, and although his hair was damp and streaked with grime because of the slight morning mist, he looked absolutely… exceptional.

A surge of anger flooded my mind. Individuals like that were the worst kind; they looked innocent, Aryan and deceitfully proper but in reality they were the ones who tricked the respectful citizens the most. The women seduced men, the children were thieves and the men rapists and murderers. They managed to blend into the society and slowly consume it from the inside.

Behind those grey eyes whirled the most treacherous thoughts and those effeminate hands were constantly ready to choke you to death. I narrowed my eyes as I tried to look at him more closely, expecting to see a flash of something, a proof of the man's origin. There was nothing, though.

He turned to look away and continued walking through the gates, passing the Bunker.

I could do nothing but stare at the back of his head. It could be that he was not even supposed to be here. People made mistakes, maybe he had been sent here accidentally. I followed him with my gaze and not wanting to lose the sight of him, I hurried my steps and kept my eyes locked on him.

Not having noticed an exhausted woman on the ground, I tripped over.

Cursing, I stood up.

"You alright there, Harry?" Jerry asked as he closed the gates behind us.

Hurriedly dusting myself off I mumbled, "Yeah, yeah, thanks", and tried to find the blond that had caught my eye so unexpectedly.

He was gone already, though, and, feeling disappointed, I went to continue my duties.

A/N: Thank you, Marijn, for beta-reading the chapter again! My story would be awful without your help with the grammar!

Then, thank you, you lovely reviewers. I know that the topic is very touchy and I have hesitated writing this. I didn't want to make anyone feel bad and I didn't want to receive lots of comments on how unrealistic the story is. It is only a story after all, although it is based on historical facts. Since there weren't that many reviews I can just as well answer to some of them.

Spideria: You got what you wanted :) I really like your fic called 'chasing the forbidden', btw.

yar: Thank you for reviewing and pointing out the mistakes, although if you check the first chapter again you'll see that the date of the night of the broken glass was correct. And that one term… well I changed it from 'priest' to 'rabbi'.

Reviews are very welcome, so please, comment!

-Devilita.