'The Killing of Gentle People' by Michel Henri (book club books .txt) 📕

about it. You moved fast enough last time we
had you, didn’t you now? So move it, get out!”
He pulled on my arm, twisting it as he pulled me roughly out of the car. My shaking body didn’t let me down. I stood tall, and walked step by step up the old concrete steps, through the big wooden doors and into the booking hall.
Officers were running back and forth, as if something important other than the capture of Mr. Abraham Golden were going on.
Sergeant Gold came over to me: She didn’t look very happy. Her nose was bruised and bloody, and
l could see she had been crying.
“No more favours for you, Mr. Golden! Please do not talk. And don’t try to get away this time: Is that clear, did you hear me?”
“Sorry, Sergeant! I didn’t want to cause you any trouble.”
I put my sympathy face on, but she didn’t react. Instead she pulled me into another office, took my handcuffs off then pushed me down into a chair. She then twisted my arms around the back of the chair where she put the handcuffs back on my wrists, with the rung of the chair between them.

“Mr. Golden, move an inch and l will have your legs cuffed to the legs of the chair. As old as you are, l will do it. So sit and keep quiet!”
I thought to myself: “just like the guards in the camp!” Closing my eyes, l let my head fall down onto my chest. I heard her steps walking away from me, then a loud slamming of an office door as she left me alone.
After a few moments l looked up in order to get my bearing and the layout of the office l was in. Suddenly the door opened, much too quickly for me to get my head down again. So l just looked straight at the person.
“My name is Inspector Gustav Droysen. I am in charge of forensics. Your name is Mr. Abraham Golden. Those are two true facts. Is that correct?”
I lowered my head again and closed my eyes, waiting for the onslaught to begin. My body had started to shake again. This time l was physically sick down the front of my over coat and onto the wooden floor.
“Oh God!” shouted Gustav Droysen, and stormed out of the room. It was only a few moments before an elderly woman orderly came in to clean up the floor. Lifting my head l asked:
“Please could you clean me as well? I’m sorry about this! Can you clean my coat, as I think I’ve come down with a combination of brandy and excitement.”
“Don’t worry about it, my dear! I’ll have you cleaned up in no time at all.”
Sure enough, after she had cleaned the floor she cleaned my coat and face. Then as she was on her
way out of the office, she commented:
“These bastards don’t know how lucky they are, do they!” Then she left.
Two different officers came into the office; to say they were big was an understatement. One man un-cuffed me, then both men manhandled me onto my feet and sort of dragged me into the hallway, stopping for a moment to talk to the desk Sergeant:
“Where do you want us to put this joker, Sergeant? Me and my partner here are supposed to be on our break; you know!”
The reply came quick and abrupt:

“Downstairs, and put him in the empty cage next to his highness.”
I wondered, as l was being pulled and pushed by these two gorillas down the stone steps into the basement, who was the person they referred to as his highness.
They threw me down the last few steps onto the concrete floor face down. My nose hit the floor and started to bleed, blood flowing everywhere.
I didn’t have a handkerchief as it was tied round my ankle, keeping my pistol safely in place.
“Don’t touch him or get his blood on you! Get some rubber gloves for protection,” said one of the officers. “You don’t want any of his blood on your skin!”
Trying to move and get my old body up onto my feet, one officer who was guarding me pushed me down on my back, shouting at me:
“No you don’t! Just you stay where you are!” Don’t move, old man! They tell me you are the killer of the gentle people! Well, you sure are a sorry case now, aren’t you? A killer of how many people? Is it fifty German people, you Jewish bastard?”
My body was still shaking from the fall onto the concrete floor, and although still loosing blood.
I managed to shout out:
“You know nothing about it or me! So shut up!”
I felt a kick in my ribs and it doubled me up with pain. Then l felt another. My thoughts flashed back to the killing camp and the many beatings l took, and l mumbled aloud:
“You people will never change. You are all bastards!”
“What did you call me?” shouted the officer.
Just at that moment the other officer arrived back with a bucket of cold water and the rubber gloves. He put the gloves on for the protection of himself, then wiped my face down, getting as much blood off me as he could. He then threw the rest of the cold water onto my face: This shocked me and made me gasp for air.
As l got my breath back the officers picked me up like a rag doll and threw me into the empty cage, slamming the gate and locking it behind me.
The two officers walked back up the stone steps, laughing about something which they thought was

very, very, funny.
Slowly and carefully, because of the pain l was in, l got to my feet, and moved myself into a sitting position on a very old well worn wooden bench fixed to the back of the open meshed cage.
l looked around at my new surroundings. There was another person in the cage next to mine. A large man in a very distressed state, sitting with his face in his hands, mumbling to himself incoherently.
I bent down and felt for my pistol then my silencer. They were both safe and secure.
Taking them out of their hiding places l fixed the silencer onto the pistol and pushed them back into my trouser belt, then pulled my jacket together in order to hide them so they could not be seen. I sat back and waited.
My eyes scanned the cell. It had a strange feeling about it, and both the walls and the ceiling were covered in large white tiles.
There was just one small window opening. This was secured with metal bars. My mind flashed back years, to the moment l pulled myself up to look through the little window in the killing camp to watch my dear mother and father fall to the ground, gassed to death. Looking at the window made tears come to my eyes again.
It must have been an hour or more before anyone came down the stone steps to see me. It was
Sergeant Becky Gold. She stopped at the bottom of the steps and just looked at my old face for moment.
“Mr. Golden, would you like a cup of tea or maybe a coffee?”
I nodded my head and replied; “Yes please, Sergeant Gold. Coffee, black, and no sugar.”
She then looked over to the person in the adjacent cage and said:
“Inspector Mercedes, would you like a tea or a coffee?”
Head still in his hands, he said with anger in his voice:
“Fucking Bitch! You know l only drink coffee, black, and no sugar. Make it bloody strong! You will pay for this! Mark my words Sergeant Gold. Your days in the fucking police force are over!” Then louder “Do you hear me you Jewish whore?”

The Sergeant made no comment. She just turned and walked back up the steps, her shoe heels clicking as she went.
My head automatically turned towards the big man in the next cage. I knew this man! Oh yes! I knew this Inspector Mercedes! He was in the Dumb Cow wine bar and questioned me. I remember saying to him: “l know you” But more than that, l knew him well! This was the monster SS Commandant that Heinz and l worked for as his personal slaves in the Auschwitz-Birkenau killing camp in Poland. Yes; Heinz and l, between kicks in the belly, fingers broken, boiling coffee thrown in our faces and a thousand other injuries, including castration personally performed with no anaesthetics by the infamous Dr. Jose Mengele (Dr. Death) .
Yes; we sorted and counted the money which he stole from the gentle people before he sent them down to the gas chambers. Heinz and l were his private property in his office. Not only counting and sorting gold, silver and cash, but also having to endure his anger and beatings, day after day, week in, week out, when he didn’t feel well and needed to strike out because of his Anti-Semitic philosophy.
It was in that office during our first days that Heinz and l made a blood promise to keep each other alive, looking after each other until retribution would be ours.
I stared at him through the wire cage. He looked every bit the monster he truly was. He didn’t look my way, but l kept my gaze on his back without my body shaking and without blinking my eyes. At last l was a whole person!
Just then, a strange thing happened. Was it an apparition? The afternoon sun looked through the small window, and the shadow of the metal security bars on his big frame make it appear that he was wearing one of the striped inmate’s suites that was worn in the killing camp.
The noise from the Sergeant’s shoes on the stone steps got louder and louder as she returned with the coffee. This time she was not alone.
The Sergeant had the two brick-built constables with her; one came to my cage, opened the gate, and gave me my pot of coffee and a mug. It did smell good; the guard put it on a small table anchored to the corner of the cage.

“Thank you very much! This is very kind of you after all the trouble l have given you. I didn’t think l would be treated with so much respect, but thank you all. This is so considerate of you. Thank you Sergeant Gold.”
The monster Commandant in the next cage stood up and started to shout and wave his arms about, gripping the bars of his cage and shaking it like a large angry Silver Back.
“What the fucking hell is going on here, Sergeant bloody Gold? I’m the Inspector in charge of this fucking police station, and you keep me waiting and serve this fucking old Jew first! Where’s my fucking coffee?”
Both the big guards went to his cage gate and unlocked it. As they did so the Inspector rushed them both trying his best to get past them. He was big, but no match for these two brick-built constables. They pushed him back, and he landed on his back on the concrete floor. The officers put his coffee pot on the floor, turned quickly, and left the cage. They locked the gate and made sure it was secure. Getting to his feet, the Inspector took the coffee pot and threw it in the direction of Sergeant Gold. The pot hit the cage but the hot coffee splashed across her lovely face.
“You Jewish bitch!