The Last Glass

The ashen-faced man tried to muster a smile, and proceeded to uncork a bottle of vintage wine. Colonel Anton Gruber was the same age as the man who faced him across the battered table, but that is where the similarities end.

    Levi Rosler stared through sallow eyes at his adversary, his hatred for the SS colonel strong. He had been imprisoned in Auschwitz for four years, since the age of twenty-four. In that harrowing time, Levi had witnessed the murders of his father, mother, and two teenage sisters. He often asked himself, "Why not me?"

    Colonel Gruber had forbidden his personal slave from speaking, unless asked to do so. A slip of the tongue or an accidental utterance was usually met with a beating, or a blow to the head with Gruber’s beloved, eagle-headed cane.

    The gaunt, shaven-headed Jew sat head bowed, not daring to look at his master, the stench of the Nazi’s burning cigarette teasing him. Gruber produced two crystal glasses and proceeded to pour the red wine, the barrage of gunfire not too far away.

    The door opened and the swirling snow trespassed on the already cold, drab room. A craggy-faced sergeant appeared, his face registering concern. “Herr Colonel, the Russians are very close. We should leave now.”

    “Get out, you snivelling, fucking coward! Go on; join your fleeing comrades and run.”

    The door was slammed shut and the young German officer fashioned a grin. “Now, Levi, will you join me in a glass of wine?”

    Levi remained motionless, his head still bowed.

    “Come come, Levi. Did we not grow up together?”

    Still, there was silence, until the loud boom of the ever-nearer artillery unsettled the Colonel. “You ungrateful Jewish bastard! The only reason you survived this war was because of me... Look at you. You’re healthy, are you not?”

    Levi raised his head, and a sneer appeared on his face. He picked up the glass with trembling hands, savoured the delicious wine, and swilled it slowly around his ulcer-riddled mouth. Cold tears streamed down the tormented man’s unshaven face. After placing the empty glass on the table, he rose, before he removed his tattered striped shirt. “Look at me, Gruber! Yes, look at my supposed healthy body. You murdered my family and friends and expect me to be grateful? I'll spit on your corpse when the Russians hang you.”

    The Colonel was visibly shaken, and regarded his slave through shameful, yet sincere eyes. He took in the protruding ribs, the emaciated limbs, and the rotten, yellow teeth. “Do you recall when we were children, Levi? The time when we found that old bicycle? Your feet hardly reached the pedals, and you fell off, breaking your arm... Your parents forbade me from seeing you after that. Do you remember?”

    “My childhood is erased from my memory, Gruber. The boy I knew was proud and kind... What happened to you? How could you have done those awful things to so many women and children?”

    Colonel Gruber picked up the bottle and refilled the glasses. “You must understand I was merely following orders. The Fuhrer commanded us to eliminate the growing Jewish population… Don’t you see?”

    “I was Jewish when you shared my bed as a teenager, and more recently, when you sexually abused me. Weren’t you ever afraid that I would betray you?”

    “You never betrayed me, because of the same reason I spared your life. You still love me, Levi.”

    “Love? You’re not capable of love. You were responsible for my family being transferred to this hellhole, weren’t you? You used them to blackmail me into surrendering myself to you… I detest you, Gruber, and the murder of my family and people will be avenged.”

    Colonel Gruber strolled towards the filthy window, his black tunic neatly pressed, his boots highly polished. He swallowed another mouthful of the wine and looked out onto the enormous pile of decaying bodies. Although Gruber had ordered the incineration of the gassed Jews, several worried guards had forsaken their duty and deserted their post. The remainder had accompanied the remaining prisoners on the long march to Germany.

    Colonel Gruber grimaced, when observing the large rats that feasted on the bony corpses. He detected the rancid breath of Levi on his neck, which added to his growing nausea.

    “Proud are you, Anton?” asked Levi. “Look at your carnage. Each one has or had a family, just as you have.”

    Gruber tossed his cigarette butt to the ground and turned to face the shivering man. “Please, Levi… Please forgive me?”

    For the first time in a long time, Levi experienced pleasure. Pleasure at watching the snivelling SS officer wilt before his eyes.

    Gruber placed his hands on Levi’s skeletal shoulders and wept. “Can you ever forgive me? I’m not begging for mercy. My tears are not for my welfare, as well you know. The Russians can hang me, and I'll laugh in their faces... My father and his father died heroically, fighting for their country.”

    Colonel Gruber removed his luger from its holster and offered it to Levi. The confused, freezing Jew walked towards the coat rack, his arms folded. He removed Gruber’s greatcoat from the rack and slipped it on, the garment enveloping his wasted physique.

    “I would be honoured if you would take my life,” said Gruber, urging his one-time friend to accept the weapon.

    More gunshots were heard, this time within the camp. The loyal German guards offered stern resistance, judging by the gunfire. Levi walked past Gruber towards the door, his mind in turmoil.

    “Please, Levi... Please, take my life.”

    The tearful prisoner edged towards Gruber. “You do have another option... Step outside and die, fighting for your country. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

    “Fuck my country! Please, it’s important to me that you take my life... Please.”

    Levi hesitated before he reached out for the weapon.

    Gruber’s lips trembled, as he mouthed, “Thank you.”

    The sound of loud Russian voices prompted Levi to aim the luger at Gruber.

    “Shoot me! Shoot me before it's too late!”

    Levi closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger. Gruber’s pupils dilated wildly, realising the weapon had jammed.

   “Again! Try again, Levi!”

   Again, there was a click, followed by the sound of the door being kicked in. No warning was issued by the Russian, who fired two rounds into the back of Levi. The prisoner stumbled forward; his glassy eyes fixed on those of his weeping tormentor.

    Gruber held up the pathetic, dying body of Levi and embraced him, ignoring the ranting of the dishevelled Russian soldier.

    Colonel Gruber felt the cold blood of his lover seep through his tunic. He held Levi’s lifeless head against his chest, before the corpse was pulled away. The rifle butt was smashed into Gruber’s face, and the Russian prepared to shoot the Nazi, but the intervention of an officer prevented the execution.

    “Jew...he was a Jew,” sobbed the bloody Colonel, cowering on the floor, his finger pointed towards Levi.

The Russians laughed, and Levi’s killer shrugged his shoulders.

    Gruber’s death would not be heroic. He died on the scaffold on that cold winter’s day, praying to God that he would be united with Levi in heaven.