Arnost Lustig - Lovely Green Eyes

“If you had a sister I’d need both of you.”

“I haven’t got one,” she said.

He lay down, still dressed. He spread his arms and legs. Was he going to order her to undress him?

“We’ll have a little excursion. Somewhere you haven’t been before,” he said.

He ordered her to tie him to the head and foot posts of the bed; by his wrists and ankles, as tight as she could, each hand and leg separately. The ropes had buckles. He hoped she would express no astonishment.

“We’ll make time stand still,” he added.

That was it, round the wrist. First one ankle and then the other. Pull hard. Or wasn’t she strong enough? That might be bad for her. He wouldn’t like to have to complain. Three floggings meant the wall or the “Hotel for Foreigners” at Festung Breslau. He did not wish her to protest or to have to command her. On the other hand, she would not be sorry if she did what he wanted. His voice was hoarse. Surely she realized that not all men were alike?

“Haven’t you tied anyone up before? Well, you can learn from me how it’s done. I’m glad I am the first. You too will be the first — after a long time.”

She was confused by the way he was acting. He was speaking in a jerky sort of way, no longer so haughty. Creases had appeared on his forehead, running across his scar. Why did he want this from her? There was impatience in him, almost anxiety that she might not do what he wanted of her properly. There was no longer the aggression or the self-assurance there had been when he had spoken of the inferior race or when he was shooting at the wolves. He had changed as though at the waving of a wand.

She tied him up the way he wanted. She avoided his eyes, concentrating on what she had to do and at the same time trying to detach herself from it.

“Freedom,” whispered the bound Obersturmführer. “Do you hear me?”

In the corners of his mouth there was a trace of arousal as well as anxiety or uncertainty. Tied up on the bed, the Obersturmführer looked like a captured animal. Or like someone who had voluntarily surrendered. She had never seen an SS man like this.

“I appreciate military qualities in a girl,” he whispered. “Keenness and obedience.”

He cleared his throat and swallowed. He was seeking a more comfortable position. The bed shook. He didn’t seek love or proximity as others did. He didn’t admit to himself that this was so because he himself was incapable of such things. He refused to regret what he was missing. What were prostitutes for? This, too, was free and he did not have to share any feelings of exclusion or inferiority. Here, no-one had vanquished him.

She was waiting for his next instruction. He told her to undress.

“I know how to tie and untie eight different kinds of knots. A friend from the navy taught me. He’d been three times in the brig on the cruiser Tirpitz. He’d slept with négresses”

She folded her dress and underwear and placed them on the chair by the stove. She took off her boots and pulled off her socks and stockings. It was warm in the cubicle now, but the floor was cold. For a moment she thought of Long-Legs who complained of cold feet.

Skinny felt alarm bells ringing inside her. She saw what at first glance was invisible. All the colours and shapes, all the outlines of mouths, jaws, noses, lips and irises suddenly turned into mist. She could not afford to make a mistake. She would always be on the losing side. She was very different from Ginger, who would get closer to men the worse they treated her. She couldn’t show gratitude as Maria-from-Poznan did to someone who treated her body as a butcher’s dog would a bone.

“You’re too far away. Come here, to the bed.” She obeyed.

“Unbutton me.”

She knew that what he wanted her to unbutton was not his shirt. She half-closed her eyes, and tried to stop her hands from trembling. He mustn’t sense how unwilling she was. It took her longer than it should have done. She heard his squeaky voice. His head was tilted back and it was hard to understand him. Maybe Madam Kulikowa was right — there were worse things. She let her hands do what they had to. He couldn’t see, he only gave her instructions as if he were telling her how to lead a horse to stables or lean a bicycle against a wall, or thread a needle. Then his voice grew weak.

“Are you looking at me?”

She raised her eyelids. “I see you,” she said.

“You’re no good.”

She felt like an actress who had forgotten her lines or who had not studied her part.

He was irritated. Again she had witnessed something that should not be seen. She could feel the anger rising in him. She would have preferred the candle to go out, even though the Obersturmführer could not see it. He was gazing at the shadowy ceiling behind his head, at the beams and the wall. She did not know what to do. She was bending over him like a nurse over a strapped-down patient. She thought of Stefan Sarazin’s injury, of his name, of the origin and the consequences of his scar. She had no idea that he was getting aroused by the memory of how, long ago, he had asked his mother to feel the hardness of his penis. It had taken a while before she did. In her caring and good-natured way, she had expressed admiration, but then made him feel foolish by reminding him “My boy, I’ve seen you like that a thousand times.” He hated the bitter-sweet tone his mother had used.

Skinny noted his ecstasy, in which she played a lesser role than she realized. She closed her eyes.

“Yes,” he whispered as he taught her how to touch him. He sounded sick, pitiful, helpless and angry.

“Yes, Yes.”

The small flame of the candle was now elongated, but flickered continually.

“You’ve got stupid hands,” the Obersturmführer croaked. “Utterly useless.”

His eyes misted over. Outside an engine was revving up. One of the buses waiting until its complement of 52 men was ready.

“Am I as white as ash wood?”

The Obersturmführer’s face turned rigid with a spasm. He began to convulse. The bed beneath him creaked and groaned, the straw emitted whistling sounds which accompanied his panting. Slowly he became quiet.

Outside a column of trucks was leaving. There was a lot of tooting. A detachment of SS volunteers were arriving. They exchanged Waffen-S S horn signals. Hungarians were singing an incomprehensible song. It seemed to her that she caught some Slovak words, but she wasn’t sure.

He freed himself from his bonds, even though she had tied him up so carefully. This small victory restored a little of his self-assurance.

“I’d thought you’d be more skilful,” he said. His face seemed to have shrunk a little after his struggle with the ropes. “Perhaps I am somewhat unusual. But that’s what I want. No-one is ever bored with me.”

What else did he expect, apart from what she had already done?

“If you want to be an actress,” he said, “you must act in the play that I am writing for you.”

She did not know how to answer. She was waiting to see what the Obersturmführer would say next.

“I can tell you’re new here,” he said. “To judge by your skill I’d say this is your first day. Perhaps the second.”

“You know how long I’ve been here.”

She was used to that kind of complaint. They didn’t want her to be passive, but she couldn’t imagine an alternative. She wished she could be dulled to an extent that would relieve her of thought but not the capacity to do what she had to do in order to survive.

When he told Skinny to lie down on the bed with him “like a married couple” it didn’t seem ridiculous. It was better than if he had beaten her.

She wished she were more mature than she was. She could pretend to be, just as she was pretending that she had been born into an Aryan family. She was surprised at how quickly she had adjusted; she didn’t have to feel that she was lagging behind. She couldn’t afford to. In some respects she had already caught up with Ginger, Maria-from-Poznan, and Estelle. Maybe even with Long-Legs.