The Feast
"This beer tastes like warm donkey piss!" Gerhard Berger exclaimed with disgust as he slammed his tankard down on the wooden bar. "Ich glaub mich knutscht ein Elch! I haven't had anything decent to drink since I left Munich."
The bitterness he felt was not limited to his unappetizing brew. His anger went much deeper. Born in a small village in Bavaria, at the age of ten, he moved to Munich with his father after his mother died. Due to his family connections, he had believed his prospects were boundless once Adolf Hitler came into power. Sadly, although his late mother was a cousin of Heinrich Himmler, he had not been offered a top position with the National Socialist German Workers Party. Rather than being assigned to a plum post in Berlin, he was made an officer in charge of one of Himmler's and Reinhard Heydrich's mobile killing units.
Gerhard likened his role in the Einsatzgruppen to that of a civic-minded dog catcher rather than an Inquisitor overseeing an auto-da-fé at which innocents accused of heresy were burned at the stake. Aided by the German Army, local police and native non-Jewish populations, his unit's task was to round up the Fatherland's political and racial enemies behind German combat lines and execute them. Strictly adhering to the Nazi Party's philosophy of "Where there is a Jew, there is a partisan; where there is a partisan, there is a Jew," Gerhard ordered the slaughter of not only Jews but also gypsies, homosexuals and Communist Party officials.
Killing unarmed civilians did not trouble Oberführer Berger. He had long grown accustomed to his role of murderer. He did not even shrink from ordering the death of his own men. All too often, capital punishment was necessary to maintain discipline. Occasionally, young men new to the unit were reluctant to open fire on a group of old men, women and children. Shooting one or two of them always motivated the others to obey his commands without question.
With his thirst barely quenched by the weak beer, Gerhard, scowling, left the small Hungarian public house and joined the men in his special task force. Thanks to the efficiency of his junior officers, they were already loaded on the trucks and prepared to move forward.
"Where to, Oberführer?" Ernst, his personal driver, inquired, as Gerhard got into the passenger seat of his Kübelwagen.
"There's a village about fifty kilometers northwest of here that is believed to be hiding Jews. Our orders are to extirpate them."
As the mobile Death's Head unit made its way toward its unsuspecting victims, Berger gazed at the Carpathian Mountains on the horizon. He loathed the sparsely populated Hungarian countryside and longed to return to the bustling city, to delectable German food and drink and to blond-haired Teutonic beauties.
Why the hell couldn't my mother be related to Hitler instead of Himmler? he wondered with mounting frustration. Maybe then I'd be stationed in Berlin.
He closed his icy blue eyes and imagined he was sitting in a Weimar-era cabaret, drinking a stein of hefeweizen with a fair-haired, buxom fräulein at his side.
It's been so long since that evening with—what was her name? Gisele? Erika? No. Astrid. That was it. Astrid.
Half a mile from the village, the Einsatzgruppen came to a stop. Although the men—all seasoned in their duty—knew exactly what to do, Oberführer Berger issued orders anyway. Immediately, the shovels came out and the men began to dig a long, narrow trench. When it was completed, the unit continued on to the village.
When the trucks came to the second stop, the uniformed killers sprang into action. Every man, woman and child was rounded up. There was no attempt made to distinguish the Jews from those who harbored them. Both were equally detestable in the eyes of the Nazis.
The terrified peasants were then taken at gunpoint to the previously prepared ditch. Once there, the prisoners were stripped of their clothes and whatever valuables they might have had on them. Finally, they were instructed to climb into the trench where they were mercilessly shot to death, regardless of their age or sex. After the automatic weapons fell silent, Berger ordered his men to fill in the trench with the excavated soil and cover the bodies.
"And be quick about it," he shouted, gazing up at the darkening sky. "It looks like rain."
* * *
As Gerhard's unit made its way through the foothills toward its next killing site, the weather worsened. What began as a light drizzle quickly turned into a steady downpour. The canvas roof of Berger's Volkswagen jeep did little to keep him dry.
"We'd better stop for the night," the Oberführer announced. "We don't want to get mired down in this mud."
"There aren't any army barracks in this area," Ernst informed him. "But there is an old castle roughly ten kilometers from here."
"Good. Head directly there then."
"Of course, I don't know if the castle is inhabited or not."
"What do I care if anyone lives there? If someone objects to our spending the night, I will have him or her shot."
Although it was mid-afternoon, the sky took on the eerie darkness of dusk. It was only through the occasional flashes of lightning that Ernst could observe their progress up the steep mountain pass. Soon the castle came into view, looming above them atop a peak in the mountain range. Much to the driver's relief, there was no sign of armed men encamped on the grounds.
During the final climb up the mountain—made difficult not only by the bad weather but also by the arrival of night—Gerhard's thoughts turned to basic human comforts. He wanted to get out of his wet uniform and warm his cold body in front of a roaring fire. After that, he would fill his stomach with food and warm the blood in his veins with strong alcohol. Finally, he would find a warm, comfortable bed and get a good night's sleep.
While Berger waited in the vehicle, Ernst got out and tried to open the massive front door of the castle, only to find it bolted shut. He pounded his fist against the wood. After several minutes, an old man opened the door.
"Yes?" he asked in German when he saw the uniform of the caller.
"We are in need of a place to stay for the night and are commandeering your castle."
The extremely pale, thin, white-haired man, who appeared to be in his nineties, put up no argument. With a nod of servility, the gaunt man stepped aside. The driver assumed he was not the castle's owner but a mere servant. Receiving a signal from Ernst, Gerhard got out of the Kübelwagen and entered the castle.
"Where is your master?" he demanded to know.
"There is no one here but the cook and I."
"Good. Have the cook prepare some food for me and my men."
"I'm afraid we don't have much in the way of supplies, but I'm sure she will find something for you to eat."
"After you've spoken to her, I want you to draw a hot bath for me. Then start a fire and find something for me to wear."
Maintaining the servile demeanor, the old man headed toward the back of the castle to speak with the cook. While Ernst searched for suitable sleeping accommodations for the men and officers, the Oberführer went to the great room where he discovered a decanter of Pálinka, a traditional fruit brandy from the Hungarian Carpathian Basin. He opened the bottle, sniffed the contents and took a tentative sip. He was pleased by its taste.
Nearly an hour later, the cadaverous-looking old man returned. He announced that the cook was preparing the food and that water was being heated for his bath. Then he started to build a fire in the fireplace grate. Despite his advanced years and his apparent ill health, the servant was obviously efficient.
"If you'll excuse me, sir," the old man said once the kindling had produced a decent blaze. "I have to see to your bathwater."
Gerhard took another, longer sip of Pálinka and followed him out into the hall.
The servant carried more than a dozen buckets of boiling water into a room off the kitchen where a cast iron tub was located. He then added enough cold water to make it comfortably hot but not scorching. Lastly, he found a bar of soap and handed it to the German officer.
"I'll leave you to the privacy of your bath," he said and walked out of the room.
Berger stripped off his wet uniform and undergarments and stepped into the tub. When he sat down, the water level came to just a few inches beneath his chin. He could not remember having such an enjoyable bath, not even before the war, and he took his time soaping his body, hoping to prolong the luxurious feeling. It was only when the water temperature cooled to an uncomfortable point that he reached for the towel and dried himself off.
The elderly servant had left a pair of trousers and a loose-fitting white tunic for him to wear. They were most likely the clothes of a peasant, but they were clean and, more importantly, warm and dry. Once he was dressed, the hungry German officer followed the alluring scent of roasting meat to the kitchen.
Gerhard encountered the cook who was setting a simple repast of cheese and fruit at the small table. Not having eaten since breakfast, he was disappointed by the meager fare.
"This is but a light snack to hold you over while the meat cooks," she explained, seeing the look of dissatisfaction on his face.
The old woman appeared to be of the same age as the male servant and was even thinner and paler in complexion. Still, she worked with the dexterity of a much younger person. Berger watched as she pared and chopped root vegetables and added them to a pot of seasoned boiling water.
"Is that soup you're making?" he asked.
"Vegetable stew. And I've also got a slab of venison roasting on the spit."
"Will it be enough to feed all my men?"
She laughed at his question. It was a decidedly unpleasant sound that sent a chill of revulsion down the Nazi's spine.
"You wait and see," she replied. "It will be a feast like no one has seen in these parts for some time."
Since the proposed "feast" would not be ready for several hours, Gerhard returned to the great room. He was glad to see that the servant had put another log on the fire, and the blaze was doing a good job of heating the immense room. The Oberführer picked up the bottle of Pálinka and sat down in a comfortable chair in front of the fireplace.
Ah, if only the lovely Astrid were here! he thought, enjoying the brief respite from the war.
As he sipped the fruity brandy and watched the flames dance above the burning logs, his eyes grew heavy. Fearing the Pálinka might spill, he put the bottle down on a nearby table and surrendered to the pleasant call of sleep.
When Gerhard opened his eyes again, the fire in the grate had died down considerably, making the room darker than before.
"Old man," he called out, not knowing the servant's name. "I need another log or two on the fire."
There was no response.
"Ernst, are you there?" he shouted.
The echo of his own voice in the enormous castle was the only reply.
"Where the hell is everyone?"
Aided by the light of the dying fire, he was able to make his way to the door, but the hallway was as black as pitch.
Damn it! I wish I had a flashlight.
Thankfully, there was an old silver candle holder—tarnished from years of neglect—nearby. He lit the candles in the diminished flames of the fireplace. Although the light they cast was dim, at least it would prevent him from walking into a stone wall, tripping over obstructions in his path or taking a tumble down a flight of stairs.
Candelabra in hand, he went in search of the elderly servant.
His first stop was the kitchen. Surprisingly, the cook was not there—nor was there any sign of the meal she had been preparing.
Ah! he thought with satisfaction. That explains it. The food must be done, and the so-called feast is probably set out in the dining room—but where is that?
The maze-like hallways were dark and showed no sign of life. For nearly an hour he walked up and down staircases and wandered along passageways, opening and closing doors that led only to empty rooms.
Where are those damned servants? More importantly, where are my driver and my men? Even in a castle as large as this someone ought to hear my calls.
Frustrated, Berger tried another door that opened to a staircase leading down. After a few steps, he heard a moaning sound. Was someone hurt?
"Hello?" he yelled. "Is someone there?"
The Oberführer quickened his pace and came to a landing. There was a second set of stairs to the right. When he made the turn, Gerhard saw the glow of several chandeliers coming from the medieval banquet hall below. The brightness momentarily blinded him. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he focused his eyes a long table, capable of seating three dozen people. Laid out on its wooden surface were dishes of food, but no one was eating it. Men in Nazi uniforms were scattered about the room. Some were sitting in the dining chairs, their heads resting on the table in front of them. Others were lying on the floor, their unseeing eyes frozen with terror.
"What the devil ...?"
"I see you're awake," the cook said, wiping Ernst's blood from her mouth with a napkin.
Gerhard barely recognized her and her male companion. Both appeared decades younger and far healthier than they had upon his arrival; and although their aged, faded clothing had seen better days, it still spoke of their aristocratic background.
"You're not servants. Who are you?" the bewildered Nazi asked.
"I am Erzsébet Nádasdy," replied the woman, clearly the mistress of the castle, "and this is my soul mate, Vlad Tepes."
Gerhard Berger, the heartless, hardened leader of an Einsatzgruppen unit had grown accustomed to seeing death, to the point where mass murder had become only a mundane job to him. Yet now, having come face to face with Elizabeth Báthory, the Bloody Countess, and Vlad the Impaler, better known as Count Dracula, the horror of his own imminent end caused him to quiver and whimper with fear.
"I promised you a feast; did I not?" the beautiful but deadly vampire asked, as she and the count ascended the stairs toward their next victim. "Well, Oberführer Berger, you are to be the dessert."
Be careful not to mention the "F" word (either food or feast) in Salem's presence. You never know what might happen.
