Steven Hartov - The Soul Of A Thief

On that glorious summer weekend, the troop, under temporary command of Captain Friedrich, was enjoying a brief rest and recreation in Munich. It was only the Colonel, myself and his driver, Edward, who traveled the bomb-pocked Autobahn down to Salzburg. I had never been to this magnificent city of medieval castles, classical concerts and springtime carnivals, and initially I felt blessed at having been selected for the venture. The Colonel was to attend a conference of high-ranking SS officers, hosted by Heinrich Himmler himself, and he had even invited his wife to join him at the Schloss Reichenhall Hotel.

Have I failed to mention that Himmel had a wife? Oh yes, the Colonel was married, and had three young daughters as well, all of whom lived on the outskirts of Munich. I had foolishly anticipated a rather relaxed episode, full of high-born officers and their gowned wives, all dancing Viennese waltzes and sharing feasts excavated from some secret privileged stores. Yet now, the summer excursion filled me with foreboding.

Arriving in the city, which did not at first glance appear to be suffering the later stages of the war, Edward and I escorted the Colonel into his hotel. We remained some paces behind, carrying his modest valises and map cases as Himmel strode into the wide lobby, stamped to a stop and threw his arms wide to the sides. A trio of small blonde girls in white frilled dresses ran to him and leaped into his arms, and as he laughed and kissed and tickled them, his wife approached as well. She was extremely small and trim, wearing a prim gray suit, with her dark blond hair pulled tightly into a bun, and she placed a white-gloved hand upon my master’s shoulder and offered him a taut cheek. In turn, he slipped a hand behind her head, angled his chin and kissed her hard upon the mouth, and then he roared with laughter as she stepped back, blushing and smoothing her suit coat as if it had been soiled.

A pair of bellmen quickly recovered the Colonel’s valises from our hands, and Himmel turned and strode to us.

“You will stay at the SS barracks on Wandersee,” he said. Then he looked at me with a harsh squint. “Execute your assignment, Shtefan, and report to me in the morning.”

I saluted and clicked my heels, Edward mimicked me, and we departed as I blew out a long, trembling sigh...

* * *

I sat stiffly beside the aging corporal in Himmel’s staff car as a cool night breeze wafted from between the dignified edifices of Salzburg and the wheels trundled over rain-polished cobblestones. I released the stay of my collar and pushed my field cap back onto my head, scratching my brow and trying to imagine just how to go about this. Edward was silent, though he smiled a bit and smoked as he drove, and initially I thought him not to be privy to the true nature of Himmel’s order. But then, he spoke.

“So, Shtefan. I assume you’ve been ordered to fuck.”

I looked at him. “You know?”

“Of course. It happens to every virgin in the troop, though there aren’t a lot of them by the time they get to us.”

He was clearly enjoying this and speaking loudly above the engine rumble, and I wanted to shush him, even though certainly none of the pedestrians we passed could possibly overhear.

“I...but I...really know nothing about this.” I fidgeted in my seat. “How to go about it...”

“Well, you’ve stroked your own cock, haven’t you?” he posed as he finger-brushed the tips of his graying mustache.

I must have blushed a deep purple crimson, for the corporal glanced at me and nearly choked on his own laughter. I had meant that I had no idea how to go about locating a willing volunteer, rather than the exact physical logistics of sex. Of course, that knowledge evaded me as well, but he went right on before I could explain.

“It’s pretty much the same,” he said with a shrug. “But here, once you get hard, you just stick it in and pump until you squirt. If she isn’t wet, you can slap some hair oil on her. But believe me, as soon as you see your first pair of tits you’ll come to attention right quick!”

I began to perspire, my heart palpitating. I wiped my palms on my trousers. We passed a pair of pretty young women in long dresses and high shoes, and I imagined in my panic that even if both of them stood naked before me in the most luxurious and inviting of bedroom suites, my body would simply freeze and refuse to do my bidding. What would happen if I were, somehow, somewhere, able to find a cooperative woman, and then be unable to perform? Would Himmel have me summarily shot? Would my war record file read, in summation after so many life-threatening combat excursions, “Executed for refusal to perform his duties”?

“The very first time can be hard, though,” Edward continued. “No joke. If you’ve never had your hand up a girl’s dress before, you can panic and shut down, and your cock’ll just hang there like an earthworm.” He paused. “Have you?”

“What?”

“Stuck your hand up a girl’s dress?”

“No.” I swallowed.

“Outside? Ever felt one’s tits?”

“No.” I was growing sullen at this point.

“Well, then, you might have to drink some schnapps and loosen up. Of course, sometimes drinking too much can make you soft as pudding.”

“Edward.” I was gritting my teeth. “This isn’t helping. And where shall I supposedly find this sort of woman anyway? At this hour? In a strange city?”

“Listen, boy. All cities have whores, and I know where the whores are in every city. I can smell them from ten kilometers out.”

“Whores?” My nose bunched up in disgust.

“Yes, whores! Of course, whores. What’d you think, that you’re going to fall in love in one hour, buy her a ring, marry her and fuck her by dawn?”

“Gott im Himmel,” I groaned, and I reached up for my cap brim and pulled it down over my face, folding my arms and pouting.

We did not speak for a while. Edward smoked and hummed an annoying ditty as he drove, and although he issued no lyrics to accompany the melody, I was rather certain it to be some lewd rhyme which made him merry in his head. His gay mood depressed me even further. My mission seemed utterly impossible, no less than being ordered to steal a ring from the Kaiser’s finger while he bathed in a tower of his palace, surrounded by armed footmen. Yet I was determined, in my stubborn adherence to the slim precepts of romance, to at the very least seduce some young, lonely, comely, and desperately charitable female of my own age, or thereabouts.

“So?” Edward finally said. “No whorehouse?”

“No.” I pouted. “Never.”

“Fine, then.” He shrugged. “You can try here.”

The Kübelwagen broke out into a large cobblestoned square. In its center was a towering statue of Beethoven, and as the night was pleasant and devoid of the threatening drum of aircraft engines from high above, the Salzburgers had come out to stroll and chat. Small groups of various ages milled about, and surrounding the square were a number of brightly lit taverns, their music and the laughter of their patrons echoing between the edifices.

I fastened my collar, set my cap smartly on my head and disembarked from the staff car. Edward fixed the hand brake and exited himself, brushing cigarette ashes from his tunic.

“Where are you going?” I asked him.

“With you, of course.”

I frowned. The odds of my finding this night’s love dropped like a brick from a Bavarian steeple, as I imagined his crude and portly form accompanying me.

“I think I can manage alone, Edward,” I said as sternly as I could.

“Maybe.” He arched his brows in doubt. “But if you make a pass at some officer’s daughter and wind up in the clink, it’ll be my ass as well as yours. So, I’m coming along, for my own safety.”