I hear the insistent song of birds at the window, and I assume it's already daylight. Since I know that my bedroom windows are sealed and the curtains drawn, I don't know what the weather is like outside, I just know that it's already dawn. Still wrapped in his embrace, I'm afraid to open my eyes and find him awake, so I lie still, afraid to even breathe. I pay attention and notice that he is still asleep as he is snoring softly. I open my eyes, slowly and, avoiding any sudden movements as much as possible, I free myself from his arms.

I sit on the bed, facing him, to better observe him. His face has the expression of those who sleep the sleep of the righteous, of those who have nothing to fear, in short, he really looks like an innocent. If I didn't know him and I was seeing him for the first time, I'd probably say he's a handsome man: mature, with elegant features, his expression, even in sleep, is that of a proud, strong, and determined person. The post-war period and all the money he stole did him good. In his period on the run, he had time to take care of his health and appearance. He's lost weight, no longer has the yellow skin tone and sickly look he had the last few days I was in Plaszow. His skin is very white, and now has a pinkish tint, which indicates health, although he still maintains a smoking habit. I look at his hands, always so manicured, and I feel a chill run down my spine, remembering the many times I've given him a manicure, especially after the big kills, when I knew he felt the need to feel clean again... I remember very well that, after each massacre in Plaszow, he spent a lot of time in the bathroom rubbing his fingernails, one by one, in a desperate attempt to get rid of the Jewish blood that was trapped under his fingernails. As if, when rubbing the nails, and leaving them clean again, all that blood had not been spilled.

When looking at this man who sleeps peacefully, it is impossible to forget that he is a murderer, and a cruel one at that. The man I shared a bed with that night is a cold and merciless, cruel and ruthless monster, who has killed thousands of innocent people with his own hands. For me, this fine specimen of what Hitler would consider "the Aryan ideal of virility" is the personification of the devil. When I remember all these things, I feel such hatred invade my heart that I take my pillow and bring it close to his face.

- If I had the necessary courage, I would suffocate this monster now! - I think.

Before I do something stupid, I look at this man one more time and remember the conversation we had last night. How can this murderer also be a missing father, who suffers immensely from the absence of his children? How is this possible? How can this man who cries and still mourns the death of a child be the same man who mercilessly exterminated entire families, including babies and children, and who says he never felt the weight of remorse for it?

How can the man who claims to love me so intensely be the same man who almost ended my life so many times? God, I can't understand how two such different personalities live inside the same person. How can the hand that hits be the same one that caresses? How can there be coherence between this man's attitudes and thoughts?

Watching him sleep, I can see his frailties, I can even almost believe that there is good within him... that there is truth in his words. When he refers to the children left behind in his "other life", with words of pain and suffering, he even seems like a person who is really capable of feeling affection and empathy for others. Only I know he's not like that, I know how perverse and disturbed this monster's soul is. However, I can't understand why, among so many things he had to abandon his true persona, he didn't abandon his obsession with me. So, I, who wasn't even a person, "in the strictest sense of the word"...

Can he really understand the dimension of all this and all the harm he has caused me? I'm sure that, despite considering him crazy, this man is fully aware of every step he has taken and is taking. But even knowing all this, the conversation we had yesterday was too disturbing for me, as I finally managed to get a glimpse of another side of his personality; a side that was overshadowed by the uniform he wore and the horrific things he could do.

I didn't want to, but... Yesterday I felt something very close to empathy for him, for his anguish, for his pain and for the things he told me that I really didn't know. I got the impression that the things he said to me, he didn't say to anyone else. These were personal revelations so profound and painful that, given the circumstances in which he now lives, he probably hasn't had the opportunity to share them with anyone else. But despite the proximity achieved between us, it became even clearer to me that we are from different worlds. But, despite the proximity achieved between us, it became even clearer to me that we are from such different worlds that not even this new life of him could bring us closer. Even if he hadn't done even half of what he did, or even if I didn't know who he really is, I don't believe we could have common affinities. In fact, there is nothing in common between us, nothing! Except Plaszow... And that, strangely, seems to be enough.

I've never been able to openly talk about how I feel to Sam. And I was never able to fully vent to Anna either, even though I knew she had a horrible experience in the concentration camp too. I guess I always wanted to spare them the need to feel sorry for me. I don't know... I just know that everything I lived there, including all the torments spent under the yoke of that monster, I kept to myself, locked and inaccessible somewhere in my heart, so safe that I never thought it would be one day revisit.

However, since I ended up here, in almost every moment that I've been next to this horrible man, there have been several occasions when I felt a desperate urge to open myself up, only to him. Of all the people who could hear me, I chose to talk about myself with him, as I had never done with anyone, not even to my therapist in New York. Strangely, it is with this monster that I feel closer and more understanding, as if only he, my tormentor, was truly capable of understanding me. After all, what the two of us went through, in many ways imprisoned in that red house, only concerns to him and me... And it doesn't make sense to anyone else.

But why am I thinking about all these things? I'm here, alone, with him asleep. What other occasion will I have to try to escape? Yesterday, he ordered Frau Müller to lock us out, so he probably doesn't have the key, which is no advantage to me, but he doesn't have much to defend himself with around here. But if I hit him, with whatever means, I might be unlucky enough not to kill him and must suffer the terrible consequences I already know so well. Now, if I kill him, Frau Müller or that hideous henchman will be my executioners, as they would never allow me to leave here alive. Only these monstrous people know that I'm here, that I'm alive! I have no escape; I am at the mercy of everyone who inhabits this house. And, as much as we are alone and he is in a vulnerable situation, I know there is no way to escape without paying a high price for it. Oh, God, I haven't prayed since Plaszow, I just hope I don't go back to that accursed cellar...

He stirs then, which makes me pull away and throw the pillow away, more out of habit than fear. He rubs his eyes, gives a long yawn, and with the most rested look I've seen on his face since I first saw him, he looks into my eyes and speaks.

- So, it wasn't a dream, Lena! We really spent the night together! I hope you were able to rest. - He said, while stretching, totally relaxed.

Unlike yesterday, when I didn't say much, today I decide to answer, because it bothers me to see him happy and in a good mood.

- I would rest more if I was away from you.

- Oh, Helen, please don't start the day with lies. We barely got to bed last night, and you slept like a log.

- That doesn't mean I've rested. For me, sleeping next to you is like sleeping with a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.

- We slept in each other's arms all night, Helen. It was just getting away. And I only slept by your side because you wanted it that way. Or are you going to deny that too?

Baffled that he guessed that I slept well and soundly (for the second time, as I'm sure we'd already slept together the other night, though he's reluctant to admit it), I try to explain.

- I was afraid of the rain outside...

- Yes, afraid of the rain... And of me, Helen... Are you still afraid?

I won't answer this question because I'm tired of this psychological game. Herr Kommandant exhausts my strength to the point where I prefer silence again, to spare myself. But he insists.

- Helen, after everything that happened between us last night, are you going to keep denying to yourself that we broke down all the barriers that separated us?"

- We just talk, Herr Kommandant... We don't break any barriers.

- Yes, we broke up and you know it. I've never been closer to you than yesterday, in fact, I've never been closer to anyone in my entire life... Understand once and for all, Helen, you're only stuck here because I had to resort to this resource. How could I get close to you again, especially when I found out you were married? I never imagined we'd talk the way we did yesterday, so frankly honest with each other. Believe me, it did me good... Very good.

- That's not enough justification for you to keep me away from those who truly loves me. Who know me in depth, who know my anxieties, my desires, my pains. You only know a small part of my universe, Herr Kommandant, and you will never truly understand me, because if you were really capable of that, you would never have approached me after all these years, thinking that I would be capable of loving you, ignoring the despicable Nazi I know you still are and all the horrible things you've been capable of doing, including me, whom you claim to love... It's a lot of presumption and arrogance of you to believe that by kidnapping me, you'd be able to make me likes you.

- It's not arrogance, Helen, believe me...

- If it's not arrogance, then what is it? Desire? A whim? Obsession? Despair?

- No, it's not. – He says, with his usual haughtiness.

- So, is what? Answer to me! I ask, almost shouting.

He gets out of bed and, seeming to ignore me, hastily pulls his pants on, avoiding my gaze. Annoyed that he's pretending to ignore me, I get out of bed and stand face to face with him, face lifted to try to show that his poise and grandeur no longer frighten me. He then finishes fastening his belt and looks at me with a suddenly tired look, as if he no longer wants to play his part in this ridiculous play that has turned our lives around.

As he can see I have no intention of getting out of his way, I'm determined that he'll tell me something, anything that will make me understand once and for all everything that's been going on in this accursed house! He approaches me, raises one of his hands towards me and, before I can react or run to defend myself, he touches with the tips of his fingers a small lock of my hair, loose and dishevelled. As his fingers run through my hair, I feel his breathing change and become faster. His blue eyes stare into mine so intensely, I feel my breathing hitch as well. His fingers soon let go of my hair and his hand is now looking for my face.

When I feel his gentle touch, I close my eyes, surely afraid of what he might do. He, however, seems oblivious to my reactions, as if he's suddenly plunged into a universe so intimate and private that nothing else matters. With the tips of his fingers, I feel it run over my right cheek, slowly descend towards my chin, until it rises again to touch my lower lip. The caress is delicate, careful, but at the same time it's strangely provocative, as I feel my cheeks flush, as if my skin is burning under his fingers. I shiver, my heart races, but for once, I'm not shaking. As he caresses my face, I'm not able to open my eyes, not for fear of him, but... Maybe I don't want what's happening to end. He leans in a little closer, which lets me know that his breathing is ragged, even faster than before. His fingers run across my lips with an intensity that makes me part them, perhaps hoping for the obviousness of a kiss. I don't move a muscle, neither to attack nor to defend myself. To my horror and astonishment, I allow him to touch me like it's the right thing to do.

Suddenly, he pulls away from me. Embarrassed, I open my eyes and watch him walk over to the couch to pick up the shirt he was wearing yesterday that he had left there. He puts on the shirt and, without looking me in the eye again, he closes the buttons, one by one, in front of the bedroom mirror. I feel my cheeks burn with what feels like a mixture of shame that I allowed this to get to this point and knowing that deep inside I felt desire. Surprisingly, I place myself behind him, so that he can also see my reflected image. Giving up on avoiding looking at me, he finally looks at me, through the mirror, and speaks.

- Helen, everything that connects me to you has nothing to do with whim, presumption, or desire pure and simple... All of that exists, I won't deny it, but it's just a small part. I'm tired of denying this feeling and I'm also tired of trying to understand how it happened to me... Today I know it's love. And because of that, nothing else matters. I have nothing to lose. You ask me why you, why this, why that, and I don't know how to explain all these things... I just know that since I got out of prison, I'm just tired of running away from it too. – He pauses, seems to take a breath and resumes: - When I saw you, dirty and ragged among those horrible Jewish women, I felt something different... And, since that morning, I continued to feel different and, even denying it, even though I avoided deviating from my convictions, I knew I was doomed. And so, I attacked you, day after day, in a desperate attempt to get you out of my mind, to diminish you, to put you back in your place. You will never understand, but by punishing you, I punished myself even more. I blamed you so much, I was judgmental, and I think I still sometimes feel bewitched, as if you had intentionally provoked this feeling in me. Even though I know deep down that it's not your fault, that's how I saw it. But the war is over, all the things I believed in have fallen away, so why blame myself? Or rather, why blame you? Even though I know you don't feel this way about me, something deep inside still gives me hope. And all this because love is here with me (gestures pointing to his chest). I gave up who I was and my convictions because I needed to live, I wanted to live... But when I realized that at least something that still connected me to who I was could be preserved, I gave up forgetting you and looked for you ... I looked for you in every corner of this world, I hired people who could locate your whereabouts, I spent fortunes, I exposed myself to the point of going to Poland, of going back to Europe, just to have a clue, something that would lead me again to you. Chance wanted you to come to Vienna, chance wanted me to see the newspaper in which you appeared arm in arm with your husband. Chance brought you back to me. Now tell me, how could I give this up? No, I couldn't... because I know it's stronger than me... Because I know it's love!

- I look at him through the mirror, not even knowing what to say. He continues:

- And maybe yesterday you finally understood that, as absurd as it may seem, I am the person who most understands who you are. In the same way I know that you, despite thinking otherwise, are also the person who most understands who I am...

After telling me that, he falls silent, buttons his shirt sleeves, and goes to the bedroom bell. He touches it and we know that soon Frau Müller will open the bedroom door. When he was silent and hinted that he wouldn't talk to me anymore, I decided to speak.

- Will I be able to go down with you?

- If you want. I apologize, but I won't be joining you for breakfast.

- Will not?

- No. I have business to attend to.

- I... I'll see you later?

Surprised that I told him that, I avoid meeting her eyes. He also seems to be taken aback, as I feel he is looking at me. But thank God, I hear the keys turning in the doorknob and soon we see Frau Müller open the door. I'm ashamed that she's here and listening to what he's going to answer me.

- You'll see me whenever you feel like it, Helen... Now, if you'll allow me, I'm going to my room, I want to take a shower before leaving. You can move freely around the house if you like. My orders, understand, Frau Künzel?

- Yes sir. - I hear the old lady answer him.

Goeth approaches, takes my right hand between his hands, and kisses it, gently.

- I hope you can have a good day, as far as possible. I'll come back later.

Bewildered, this time I don't hastily withdraw my hand. I stand still, hand still outstretched, as I watch him leave. I'm trying to digest everything he's said, but my thoughts are interrupted by the old housekeeper's voice.

- Are you going down in your nightgown, Fräulein Hirsch?

- No... I'm going to change; Can you excuse me?

Frau Müller looks back, as if she wants to make sure Goeth has really left, and speaks in a low voice.

- You heard he won't lock you up today. I hope you know how to take advantage of the freedom granted and not abuse it. If you try to run away, look for a phone or an open window, you know you'll be back in the basement.

Alert again, I get angry with the old woman's conversation.

- I understood what he said, you don't need to threaten me, you witch!

- I'm not threatening you. You are a guest here. I'm just reminding you not to do anything silly. Be smart and you'll get out of here faster than you think.

Frau Müller closes the door, approaches me, and says:

- If you're really smart, as I hope you are, you'll be back with your family sooner than you think...

- Why do you say that?

- Well, don't play a dumb, things are getting different now, aren't they?

- What do you mean?

- If you're smart enough, you won't play his game. In fact, from the little I've seen in this room now, I really think you're already playing into his game. Which I think is unfortunate as I thought you were immune to this man you say you hate.

- I really hate him, Frau Müller, just as I hate you and everything that thrives in that hideous mausoleum.

- Well, if you want to get out of here alive, if you want to see the people you love again, you'll have to act.

- But what can I do?

- I don't know, that's up to you. I've said more than I should. I'm going down now. Your coffee is ready downstairs. Herr Prauchner will not accompany you, so I will serve the meal in the smaller parlour. Call me when you're ready.

- I know where the parlour is. I can go alone. He let me walk around the house... - I try to change the tone of the conversation, which is not pleasing to me.

- Yeah, he did. But I prefer to accompany you, so that you don't go snooping around, looking for a way out, as you stupidly did before. If you want to go out, you'll have to be less stupid. Excuse me.

The disgusting old woman leaves me alone in the room.

As I open the closet looking for what to wear to go down, I bump into the red dress with the provocative slit and neckline, which caught my attention the first time I saw it; perhaps because it clashed too much with the classic and delicate pieces, he had chosen to compose my wardrobe. I take this dress out of the closet, while Frau Müller's words keep hammering in my mind.

... Enjoy. Negotiate.

I walk over to the mirror and put the red dress in front of my body. As I look in the mirror, I say out loud:

- Negotiate, Helen. Negotiate!