As Konrad was pulled to his feet he spotted a tattoo. On the inside of the prisoner’s upper arm was an imperial eagle; its wings spread triumphantly, its angular talons resting upon a swastika. The prisoner was a member of the Nazi party.
At the sight of this Nazi tattoo, Konrad recoiled from his new companion and dropped the hand on offer as if he’d been holding a slug of molten metal. Sheepishly, the prisoner attempted to hide the offending tattoo behind his back.
‘I wouldn’t let this old scribble put you off,’ the prisoner said sheepishly. ‘I fell from grace a long time ago.’
‘That tattoo of yours brought back some bad memories,’ Konrad replied.
‘I’m not surprised,’ the prisoner added. ‘With hindsight, I should’ve tried to removed it long ago. I know of others who did. They took razors to their tattoos and gouged them from their skin, but I’ve always had a low pain threshold and would never have had the nerve to inflict such horrors upon myself.’
Konrad said nothing. The silence appeared to indicate to the prisoner that his presence wasn’t going to be tolerated, and so like a chastised schoolboy he started to shuffle away.
Konrad didn’t quite know what to make of this curious little Nazi who stood before him as naked as himself, as much a prisoner as himself. At Neu Magdeburg any inmates who had once been Nazi officials, SS members, or just ordinary Party members would have been segregated from the general population in a block in the camp known as “The Ritz.” Here, their duties were restricted to non back-breaking duties such as working in the kitchens or in the administration blocks, chained to a desk and crushed by paperwork. In normal circumstances he would have totally ignored the old Nazi, and maybe even, if he had the courage, perhaps even attacked him, but he no longer found himself in normal circumstances. But like inside the camp, Konrad would still need to make allies in order to survive. Out here this need would have been even greater. The man appeared to have made the first move in establishing such an arrangement, so what was Konrad supposed to do? His hatred for all things associated with Nazism still existed, but deep down, Konrad’s innate goodness allowed his scepticism and fear to remain below the surface, after all, if his experience in the camps had taught him anything, it was that this new frontier called for new rules and new allies, even if they were branded with the very symbol that had oppressed and condemned him.
‘I suppose beggars can’t be choosers,’ Konrad said to himself. He called after the retreating prisoner to demonstrate this new sense of pragmatism. ‘My name is Konrad.’
Relieved that he wasn’t going to be shunned, the prisoner quickly turned and smiled. ‘I’m Ziegler.’
Understandably, Konrad hesitated before the two men shook hands.
‘No doubt that was a difficult step to take for someone of your ilk,’ Ziegler said. ‘But I am grateful that you did. It doesn’t pay to be a lone wolf in this forest.’
‘That is true,’ Konrad replied. ‘But if I were you I would consider removing that damned Nazi birthmark from your arm. You neck will be on the line. The problem I have is that other people may not discriminate between us.’
Ziegler fingered the offending tattoo. ‘If you think that’s best.’
‘Believe me, I do!’
Joining another group of prisoners, Konrad and Ziegler were directed towards a large shower at the centre of an adjoining tiled room. Above the gushing water a concentric walkway hung from the ceiling. Upon it prowled a couple of guards whose faceless shapes were shrouded in a cloud of steam. Konrad eagerly entered the warm watery curtain and let it wash over him. After so many years being at the mercy of the cold atmospheres of the prison this feeling of warmth was absolute bliss. After savouring the warm water, Konrad started to wash. Years of ingrained dirt and grim cascaded from his body as he scrubbed his arms, legs and torso. As he washed the glutinous fluid away, Konrad noticed the stubble that protruded from his face and the short hair that covered his skull. When he had entered the hibernation tank all those years ago, he was clean shaven and totally bald, but during his long slumber his hair had taken advantage and sprouted once again. He brushed his fingers over the crackling stubble on his chin and smiled. The last time his hair was this length was before he’d been arrested. It was as if he had been truly reborn, the prisoner who left Neu Magdeburg was gone. Something had changed.
As other prisoners left the showers, Konrad and Ziegler chose to remain in the gushing water and talk. Konrad wanted to know more about his new ally.
‘Which branch of the Party did you belong to?’ Konrad asked as he pointed to Ziegler’s tattoo. ‘Being a member of the local Hitler-Youth was the limit of my political ambitions.’
‘Don’t you recognise me?’ Ziegler asked. He turned side-on to show off his profile, obviously waiting to be exclaimed for who he was.
‘Should I?’ Konrad shrugged.
Ziegler was visibly disappointed by Konrad’s less than enthusiastic response.
‘I am… I was Gauleiter of Berlin. Gustav Ziegler. Doesn’t that ring any bells?’
Konrad kept his head under the spraying water as he finally recognised the Nazi. ‘Now I recognise you.’ He rinsed his mouth with more water and then spat it out as if speaking to the Nazi had contaminated him. ‘I certainly remember teaching my pupils about you,’ Konrad said. ‘And it was ancient history, I might add.’
‘Has it been that long since I fell from grace,’ Ziegler said to himself.
‘It had been ten years when I was arrested. It could be centuries ago for all we know now!’
Ziegler nodded. ‘No doubt, during my enforced absence, the Party rewrote history and all the good work I done on behalf of the Reich was censored and I became a non-person. I should know, I’ve seen it happen countless times to countless others. Here one minute, gone the next to some camp far in the East or simply despatched to a gas chamber somewhere. Unfortunately, that’s the price I paid for my ambition,’ Ziegler said pointing to his political birthmark. ‘I always took to heart the old Nazi saying that one should love the Fatherland more than his family. One must forsake any dreams of that when you rose through the Party. I worked hard and always showed the utmost loyalty and devotion to the Führer. First, like you, in the Hitler-Youth, then as a junior member of the Party, then eventually as a district leader. In time I eventually became a Gauleiter. Gauleiter of the capital of the Reich. Second only to the Führer himself! I was popular with the citizens and popular with my colleagues, and so when our last beloved Führer died, I assumed that my popularity would propel me into the Reich Chancellery itself. Unfortunately my own ambition blinded me to the ambition of others. Others who were more ruthless in achieving their goals than I.’
‘I assume you mean our current Führer, Albert Dietrich.’
Ziegler nodded. ‘Did you know that we were once friends?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Yes. We holidayed every year together at the Obersalzberg, and I even acted as his best man at his wedding. But what I came to learn, much too late, was beneath his brotherly exterior was a snake. A two-faced, treacherous pig. As my ambitions for the crown became apparent, he began plotting and whispering until the prize was his. As you know there was no antiquated democratic vote to select the Führer, my brother Gauleiters and I simply followed the old Nazi adage of if you wanted something you simply took it. And when I was about to take what I saw was rightfully mine, it was all taken away from me instead.’