Leftover Nazi

LEFTOVER NAZI

Duncan McGeary

The key still fit. Fingers shaking, I unlocked the door and slipped inside. I leaned against the door, not believing I'd done what I'd just done.

Where would she keep it? She wouldn't bother hiding it, for she'd dismissed me from her life and her thoughts. But I'd never been able figure out what Jenny would do in even the simplest of things. The puzzle of her was the attraction.

The package was important to her, but she could just as easily have tossed it in a corner and forgotten it. Jenny's soprano laugh knifed through the closed door. I ran for the bedroom, unthinking, spurred by the unreasoning memory of safety.

Their voices murmured from the kitchen. There was a familiar tone in Jenny's voice, soft and seductive. 
"Oh, God no," I thought. But the voices came closer. 

I slid under the bed.

And then, to my horror, my ex and her boyfriend fell onto the bed and started to tussle, tickling and squealing, and then...inevitably...the squeals became sighs and the action became rhythmic, and each downward motion of the bed frame tapped me lightly on the forehead, as if to say, "fool....fool....fool…”

In my mind, I heard a scream. If any of it leaked from me, though, it was smothered by the frantic grunts and moans overhead. 

Bumping beneath the humiliation was the realization I was in danger. 

I wasn't worried about the poor schmuck. And who was I--the epitome of cuckold--to be calling a schmuck? But my ex-girlfriend would kill him if she found me. With her bare hands, if need be. Or any handy nearby sharp or heavy object. Or...she might have one of her guns nearby even as she was fucking.

The torture didn't end when the pounding stopped. I stilled my breath as the two lovers exchanged sweet fucking nothings, the same sweet fucking nothings I used to hear. 

Beside the bed, where the schmuck could see it, would be a picture of her grandfather. A hollow stare, lank hair flopping over his forehead.

"He looks like a leftover Nazi," I'd told her.

She frozen next to me then let out a strange little laugh. "You have a weird way of seeing things.”

It wasn't until I was halfway home from the first time that I remembered her name was spelled the German way: Schneider. Had she meant that what I saw was weird, or that I had a weird way of seeing things?

***

"Schmuck," she'd said, after I moved in. "That's a Jew word, right?"

"Jew word?" I said, and laughed.

"Yiddish, right?"

"Yeah, my dad used it all the time. Oh, my God, I'm turning into Dad.

“He spoke Yiddish?" 

"Of course not. No more than me or my white Protestant roommates. Gary knows more Yiddish than I do."

"Sounds more real coming from you, though."

"OK."

***

"Talk Yiddish to me," Jenny said. At first I thought it an auditory hallucination, brought on by fear and memory.  

The schmuck answered. "Ikh hab dir lib...don't ask me more, because I'm tapped out.”

"Martin, you need to fuck me again. Right now."

"I don't think my schlong is going to respond."

"We'll see about that." 

In the dark, beneath the bed, I could still see her perfect body rising over him, her head lowering.  
 Oh, hell. Might as well let her kill me now. It was only luck I got away the first time.
 Three weeks before, I'd woken to something dripping down my neck. Strange I should have felt the trickle of blood instead of the pain of the cut. Jenny held a knife to my neck. "Try anything and I'll cut your throat."

"Try anything?" I echoed. 

"You know what I mean. I've got a gun too."

I got up without looking at her and got dressed, went to the closet to grab my bag. The moment I lifted it I knew it was light. I unzipped it and looked in. "Where did you put it?" 

"I'm keeping it just in case you've got any ideas about coming back. You even call me and I'll show everyone."

"You're a crazy bitch and I'm not coming near you. Just give it back to me."

"Fuck, no. I'm going to burn it. It shouldn't exist. You shouldn't exist. Get out and stay out."

I turned at the door for one last look. She was still naked, long and lean but with nice breasts. The Jewish Princess I'd always wanted. 

"You liked it, Jenny. You were turned on by it."

"You're a sick fuck. Get out."

***

The schmuck and Jenny were lost in their lovemaking. I slipped out from under the bed. I reached up to the dresser drawer and pulled it open silently. Jenny would be on top, grinding for an orgasm, her eyes closed.

My fingers felt the butcher knife, traced down to the handle, pulled it out. It's tip caught the top of the drawer with a ping.

Sudden silence and then Jenny's scream as I rose up. I'd taken off my clothes while under the bed. I had a raging hard on. I slid the point of the knife into the open mouth of the schmuck. Jenny moved faster than than I'd have thought possible, running for the closet. She turned, pointed her pistol. Nothing happened. 

I stood in front of her grinning. I pulled the gun from her hand, checked to see the safety was on. She stared at me with her big dark eyes as I slammed the pistol down on top of her head. She slumped into my arms. I put her on the bed.

It took me an hour to find it. Grandfather would have never forgiven me for losing it. Even though the old man was dead for all these years, I still heard his voice. "We should've finished the job. You wait, it will all come back. Our cause is too strong. It'll return and when it does, you be ready. You tell them who I was, you show them the flag. I made it from the skin of a Jewish resistance fighter. Sewed and colored it myself.”

I pulled out the floppy parchment. It always had an odor to me of rotting flesh though I was pretty sure that was in my head. The red color was faded, all but black zigzag, which was as sharp as ever.

I turned, caught a glimpse of the picture of Jenny's grandfather. I'd planned on leaving, but Jenny's story of his escape, the pride in her voice, came back to me.

Pulling the knife from the schmuck's mouth, I turned to Jenny.

Time to make another souvenir.

I placed her grandfather’s picture so the old Jew could watch. I leaned over Jenny. Shame to waste such beautiful skin.

There was a shuffling sound behind me. Jenny’s grandfather stood at the door looking even older than the picture. He didn’t look surprised or alarmed…he looked mad. There was a darkness around his eyes that froze me in place.

He lifted his cane and shed the top half. A wicked looking blade emerged. He rushed me, and I raised the butcher knife.

The old man’s sword was longer. It caught me in the chest, ground against one of my ribs, and slipped past the bone and into my heart. I felt something against my skin as he withdrew the blade. Blood spurted out, and without thinking I placed grandfather’s flag against the wound to stanch the bleeding.

I fell, the now bright red flag falling to the floor beneath me.

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