Juan Gómez-Jurado: Contract with God aka The Moses Expedition

‘And that’s it?’ said the old man incredulously.

‘As far as I’m concerned.’

The old man shook his head and stood up with a tight smile. He opened a small cabinet and pulled out a large glass jar filled with rice.

‘I never eat grains. I have an allergy.’

He emptied the rice onto the table. There was a small cloud of starch and a dry thud. Half buried in the rice was a package.

Fowler leaned forward and reached for it, but Graus’s bony paw grabbed his wrist. The priest looked at him.

‘I have your word, right?’ said the old man anxiously.

‘Is it worth anything to you?’

‘Yes, as far as I’m concerned.’

‘Then you have it.’

The doctor let go of Fowler’s wrist, his own hands trembling. The priest carefully brushed off the rice and lifted out the dark cloth package. It was tied with twine. With great care he undid the knots and unwrapped the cloth. The faint rays of the early Austrian winter filled the filthy kitchen with a golden light that seemed at odds with the surroundings and the dirty, grey wax of the thick candle lying on the table. At one time the candle’s entire surface had been covered by a thin sheet of gold worked in an intricate design. Now, the precious metal had almost disappeared, leaving only traces of filigree on the wax.

Graus smiled sadly.

‘The pawnshop took the rest, Father.’

Fowler didn’t reply. He took out a lighter from his trouser pocket and flicked it on. Then he stood the candle upright on the table and brought the flame to the top of it. Although there was no wick, the heat of the flame began to melt the wax, which gave off a nauseating smell as it slid down towards the table in grey drops. Graus looked on with bitter irony, as if he enjoyed being able to speak as himself after so many years.

‘I find it amusing. The Jew at the pawnshop has been buying Jewish gold for years, thereby supporting a proud member of the Reich. And what you’re witnessing now proves your search has been completely pointless.’

‘Appearances can be deceptive, Graus. The gold on this candle is not the treasure I’m after. It’s only a distraction for idiots.’

Like a warning, the flame suddenly sputtered. A pool of wax had accumulated on the cloth below. At the top of what remained of the candle, the green edge of a metallic object was just about visible.

‘Good, it’s here,’ said the priest. ‘Now I can leave.’

Fowler stood up and folded the cloth around the candle once more, being careful not to burn himself.

The Nazi watched in astonishment. He was no longer smiling.

‘Wait! What is that? What’s inside?’

‘Nothing that concerns you.’

The old man stood up, opened the cutlery drawer and pulled out a kitchen knife. With trembling steps he made his way around the table towards the priest. Fowler watched him, motionless. In the Nazi’s eyes burned the crazed fire of someone who had spent whole nights contemplating that object.

‘I have to know.’

‘No, Graus. We made a deal. The candle for the file. That’s all you get.’

The old man raised the knife, but the expression on his visitor’s face made him lower it again. Fowler nodded and threw down the file on the table. Slowly, with the cloth bundle in one hand and his briefcase in the other, the priest backed towards the kitchen door. The old man picked up the file.

‘There are no other copies, right?’

‘Only one. The two Jews waiting outside have it.’

Graus’s eyes nearly leapt out of their sockets. He raised the knife again and advanced towards the priest.

‘You lied to me! You said you’d give me a chance!’

Fowler looked at him impassively one last time.

‘God will forgive me. Do you think you’ll have as much luck?’

Then, without another word, he disappeared into the hallway.

The priest walked out of the building clutching the precious package to his chest. Two men in grey coats stood guard several feet from the door. Fowler warned them as he passed: ‘He has a knife.’

The taller of the two cracked his knuckles and a small smile played on his lips.

‘Even better,’ he said.

17 December 2005, Page 12

AUSTRIAN HEROD FOUND DEAD

Vienna (Associated Press)

After evading justice for over fifty years, Dr Heinrich Graus, ‘the butcher of Spiegelgrund’, was finally located by the Austrian police. According to the authorities, the infamous Nazi war criminal was found dead, apparently of a heart attack, in a small house in the town of Krieglach, only 35 miles from Vienna.

Born in 1915, Graus became a member of the Nazi party in 1931. By the beginning of the Second World War, he was already second in command at the Am Spiegelgrund Children’s Hospital. Graus used his position to conduct inhumane experiments on Jewish children with so-called behavioural problems or mental deficiencies. The doctor stated on several occasions that such behaviours were hereditary and the experiments he conducted were justified since the subjects possessed ‘lives not worth living’.

Graus vaccinated healthy children with infectious diseases, performed vivisections, and injected his victims with different mixtures of the anaesthesia he was developing in order to measure their reaction to pain. It is believed that close to a thousand murders occurred within the walls of Spiegelgrund during the war.

After the war, the Nazi fled, leaving no trace except for 300 children’s brains preserved in formaldehyde. Despite the efforts of the German authorities, no one was able to track him down. The famous Nazi hunter, Simon Wiesenthal, who brought over 1,100 criminals to justice, remained intent until his death on finding Graus, whom he called ‘his pending assignment’, hunting the doctor tirelessly throughout South America. Wiesenthal died in Vienna three months ago, unaware that his target was living as a retired plumber not far from his own office.

Unofficial sources at the Israeli embassy in Vienna lamented that Graus had died without having to answer for his crimes, but nonetheless celebrated his sudden demise, given that his advanced age would have complicated the extradition process and trial, as in the case of the Chilean dictator Augusto Pinochet.

‘We cannot help but see the hand of the Creator in his death,’ stated a source.

‘He’s downstairs, sir.’

The man in the chair shrank back a little. His hand trembled, although the movement wouldn’t have been noticeable to anyone who didn’t know him as well as his assistant.

‘What’s he like? Have you investigated him thoroughly?’

‘You know I have, sir.’

There was a deep sigh.

‘Yes, Jacob. My apologies.’

The man stood up as he spoke and reached for the remote control that regulated his environment. He pressed down hard on one of the buttons, his knuckles turning white. He had already broken several remotes and his assistant had finally given up and ordered a special one made out of reinforced acrylic that conformed to the shape of the old man’s hand.

‘My behaviour must be trying,’ said the old man. ‘I’m sorry.’

His assistant didn’t respond; he realised that his boss needed to let off steam. He was a humble man yet very aware of his position in life, if those traits could be said to be compatible.

‘It pains me to sit here all day, you know? Each day I find less pleasure in ordinary things. I’ve become an insignificant old idiot. When I go to bed each night I say to myself: tomorrow. Tomorrow will be the day. And the next morning I get up and my resolve has vanished, just as my teeth are doing.’