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The following handwritten letter was recently found between the attic floorboards of a cottage in Schenbein, Germany. The tiny village is located 45 kilometers to the southwest of Dakow. My name is Carl Robeson, and I am 73 years old. I dont know exactly why I am writing this lettermaybe just to let somebody know what happened to me. I am very ill, and I will die soon. I have spent the last 20 years of my life working as a housekeeper for a German woman who was a military research clinic Commandant during the war. You see, I amwasan American, once, a long time ago. I was in the U.S. Air Force, a career colonel, in fact when we entered WWII in 1941. I was 51 years old at the time. I was in an intelligence unit and it became my job to monitor enemy activity certain portions of southeastern Germany. Our team flew reconnaissance missions at night, out of a base in England. Of course being an officer, I normally did not actually go on any of these long and dangerous flights. But on the night of September 7th, 1942, I did go along. It was my first mission and, as you will soon find out, my last. The reason I decided to personally accompany my team is that I simply did not believe the information I was receiving about the movement and locations of the enemy in one key sectorthe incoming data just didnt add up. I wont bore you with any more details, as they have no bearing on what Im about to tell you, whoever you are reading this. I should warn you in advance, toomy dear readerthat what Im about to tell you is quite shocking. So maybe you better stop reading here. I would like to stop writing here, too, but some unknown force compels me to continue. As I was saying, on that fateful night, as Im sure youve already guessed, we went down. Neither I nor anyone else on board the aircraft knew exactly why, eitherall we knew is that both engines gave out within two minutes of each other. It had to have been some problem in the fuel system, maybe condensed water in the linesno amount of switching between the two tanks would get either engine started again. Or maybe it was sabatoge. In any case, we glided down from 10,000 feet and crash landed in a field. The plane broke into pieces before finally smashing through a high wooden fence with barbed wire looped along the top. I was the only survivor. I was tightly strapped into a jump seat in the tail section, which broke off and came to rest just inside the fenced-in area. Even though I knew of no camp or base on our intelligence charts in this sector, I had the feeling we had crashed onto the grounds of some unusual German military facility. There were four of us on board, and I was just checking the pulse of the pilotthe only one whole enough to have even the slightest chance of having survivedwhen I heard the dogs barking in the distance. My only injury was a badly twisted ankle, which I feel foolish telling you I sustained after the crash, in my mad scramble to get free of the mangled tail section. Even though it wasnt much of an injury compared to those sustained by other men, it was enough to make any escape attempt ludicrous. In a matter of minutes, I was surrounded by a half dozen German soldiers with guns pointed at my face and a few barking, snapping dogs. This group dragged me through a half kilometer of darkness and down into what appeared to be an abandoned wine cellar. One of them spoke passable English and looked excited when a closer inspection of my uniform, which was amazingly intact, revealed the fact that I was a colonel. He asked me how many men were on board. I told him the truth, but he seemed doubtful. They locked the door and left me there for what seemed like two or three hours while they combed the area with dogs, checking for more survivors. Finally they came back, and thats when the real fun started. The English speaking soldier was apparently in charge. He produced a rubber hose and began beating me with it in between questions. Questions about which unit we were with, where we were based, what our mission was on this particular night, the usual things. I dont want to appear a hero of any sort, but I did mange to resist giving away anything but the standard name, rank, serial number. For a while. Its not like in the movies, believe mewhen he started working on my kidneys I started to sing like a baby. I guess its a good thing I did, tooas soon as he learned I was in Air Force intelligence, the beatings stopped. He and the other men began arguing about what to do with me, or at least Im pretty sure thats what they were arguing about, as my German was not that good back then. They kept talking about the Commandant, who I gathered was away somewhere, not at the facility, whatever its function was. To my great relief, they finally left me there in the dirt to lick my wounds. They kept me in that hole a few days, only opening the door long enough to toss down bread and water to eat, along with some moldy cheese and sausage that was tough as shoe leather. Dull and barely edible food, but they gave me a surprisingly large quantity of it. I soon realized that they wanted my wounds to heal as much as possible before this Commandant got back, that maybe they had made a mistake by trying to interrogate me without authorization. The Commadant showed up on what I believe was the afternoon of the fifth day. I heard the sound of footsteps, a very respectful snapping of heels by the guard outside . . . and then a lighter clicking sound. I will never forget that soundit still haunts me to this day. It was the clicking of high heel shoes. I heard a confident female voice tell the guard to come over to the door and unlock it. He warned her that I might be dangerous, but she dismissed this possibility and ordered him to do as he was told. I was already on my feet by that time, at the bottom of the stairs. I prepared myself for the blinding blast of daylight I had grown used to when the food was tossed down. The door opened slowly. As I squinted, I could make out the guard pointing his machine gun down the stairs trying to see where I was. Back up! he snapped at me in German, and I took a few steps away from the stairs, my right ankle still smarting as I did so. He cautiously came down the stairway. Then, behind him, I saw the high heels. And then the legs, firm calves visible beneath the uniform. The woman descended slowly and deliberately, coming to a stop at a large flat stone at the bottom of the staircase. Her feet precisely together, she stood proud and tall in her uniform, her hands behind her back. As my eyes continued to adjust to the light, which illuminated her from behind, she came more and more into view. She was my height, or a little taller, at least 6 feet. And a redhead, I could see a few tufts of hair sticking out under her cap. She had very fair skin, a firm, Slavic jawbone, and a few scattered freckles on her rather intense looking face. Red lipstick made her skin seem ghostly in the dim cellar light. She smiled formally. Colonel Robeson, I am the Commadant here. I want to apologize to you for the treatment you received. I was away for a few days and only learned of your capture a few moments ago, when I just arrived. I was taken aback my these words, but of course I though they were hollow. Formal introductions before the rough stuff started again, this time under her direction. A woman. I had heard they could be much worse, much crueler, than men during interrogations. Now I could see her well enough to make out her cold blue eyes. They looked me up and downshe didnt look pleased at my physical appearance, the dirty uniform, and the smellof course I had been urinating and defecating in one corner of the room, having no other choice. She asked, May I ask how you are feeling? Have you been treated well? This question seemed silly, considering how I felt, but I supposed she might not have known about the rubber hose handiwork. Im allright, I said, shifting my weight off my tender leg. I think I sprained my ankle when we crashed, but its a lot better now. She gave the guard an annoyed glance. Well, I apologize for any discomfort you may have experienced here while waiting for my return. You are an officer and should be treated with respect. She paused and smiled, as if she wanted me to understand that she wasnt the monster I probably thought she was. In fact, I would be very honored if you would be willing to have dinner in my quarters tonight. I have to admit, her behavior surprised me. As well as her manner, and apparent sophistication. She spoke with a British accent, pronouncing her words carefully and exactly. I would be happy to dine with you, but . . . I looked down at my clothes. We will have your uniform cleaned immediately. Please follow me and Ill show you to some better quarters, more appropriate for your rank. She turned formally and began to climb the stairs again. I noticed her seamed stockings from the back, and the strong, shapely calves. She was a strong, robust young woman, remarkably confident for her years. I was sure she couldnt have been more than 27 or 28. The machine gun poked into my back and I hobbled up the stairs behind her, with my head down submissively, afraid to look at her legs againI thought the guard behind me might notice. When we emerged into the daylight she shot a flurry of German at the guard, then turned to me. Shall we dine at about seven, then? I nodded. It was hard to believe I was being asked to dinner after what I had been through. I look forward to it, Colonel, she said, giving the polite smile again. She turned on her heels and walked smartly away. The machine gun poked into my back again and I moved down another stone path, in the opposite direction. We passed through a copse of trees and emerged into grassy area with a large, nondescript white building, with camouflage netting draped over the roof. It seemed desertedno one was in sight, and there wasnt a sound in the air except that of birds chirping. We entered a door on one end and I immediately noticed the medicinal smellit was some kind of clinic or hospital. The guard stopped at the second door on the right, unlocked it, and pushed me inside. Take your clothes off, he said in German, and then shut the door and locked it. As I took off the filthy uniform, I head his footsteps move down the hall, another door opening, and then the footsteps returning. He opened the door and shoved a handful of pressed clothes at me, then took my wad of dirty military clothes, making a face as he did so, and locked me back in. There was a little peephole in the door. The room had nothing it in except a bed, toilet, and washbasin. Everything was white and spotless. I put on the clothes, just a trousers and loose fitting shirt, and sat down on the bed. I had no idea what time it was. But as the sun was almost overhead, it must have been around noon. There were heavy bars on the frosted window, and the door and lock were very solid. And the guardor some guardlingered outside, I could hear footsteps and occasional idle chat with other soldiers. A long couple of hours passed. I heard the hall door open, and the guard barked at me to stand back, his eye peering at me through the peephole. He unlocked the door and then pushed it open with the butt of his gun, tossed the uniform on the bed, then quickly locked it again. What time is it? I called, but he did not reply. I was actually getting pretty nervous about this dinner, whatever it was. No matter how nice the Commandant appeared, I didnt trust her an inch. The uniform was spotless, expertly pressed, and even my shoes were polished to a mirror-like shine. There was a towel and soap by the basin, so I took off my clothes and gave myself a thorough washing, even washed my hair as best as I could. While I was doing this, I heard more footsteps outside, then a razor slid under the door. Use this and then slide it back under the door, a voice said in German. The doctor wants you presentable at dinner. So the Commandant was a physician. That explained her confident, in-charge manner, and maybe her distaste for poor physical health and conditions, even for prisoners. I quickly shaved off the five day stubble and slid the razor back under the door. That was a hard thing to do, such a nice weapon. But under the circumstances I didnt think it would be of much use for anything but shaving . . . or slitting my own wrists. Anyway, meeting with the Commandant might give me an opportunity to escape, or at least get a better idea of the scope of the facility I was held in so I could plan it. When I was dressed, I actually felt good for the first time since the crash. I thought I looked pretty good, too, but of course there was no mirror in which to see myself. I sat down on the edge of the bed and waited. I heard no sounds from the inside of the buildingit seemed as if I was the only one there. After another long while passed, there were footsteps in the hall again. The same guard appeared, and, after looking me over as if he were personally responsible for my acceptable appearance, I was escorted out of the building. With the gun barrel at my back I was escorted down another long stone walkway which led through some woods to a wooden cottage, quite charming from the outside. As we approached the front door, it opened. The Commandant stood there, now wearing a grey military dress uniform. She wore no hather red hair was pinned up in an attractive but strictly business kind of way. Come in, Colonel, she said, smiling, as if this was purely a social visit. I entered the foyer, trying not to limp. She looked me up and down. Well, you certain are a changed man! Now you look like a military officer! Thank you, I managed. Her hands were folded formally in front of her. I noticed she had red nail polish that matched her lipstick. And I could smell the faint scent of a perfume, or maybe it was just scented soap. Please come into the dining room. She turned nattily on her heels and I followed her through a hall, fitted with an ornate grandfather clock. The guard with the machine gun was on my heels, the butt of his weapon gently pressing into my back every now and then as we moved into the dining room. It was elegant, to say the least. An embroidered white cloth covered the long, candlelit table, along with fine china and silverware which glittered under a small but impressive crystal chandelier. There were two places set, one at each end of the table. Motioning to a chair on the far end, the Commandant said, Please sit down, Colonel. She nodded to the guard behind me. When I took my seat, the guard went around behind me and began attaching heavy iron hand and foot cuffs to my limbs. The Commandant said, Im terrible sorry, Colonel, I hope you understand that these precautions are necessary. I understand, I said. The guard clamped one of the cuffs around my tender ankle, and I winced as he snapped it shut. There were thick chains attached to each of the cuffs, and the other ends were loosely attached to something directly behind me which I could not see. But I was free to move my arms and legsI just couldnt get up and run away. Or attack the Commandant. That will be all, she said to the guard, and he walked out, pulling the door shut behind him. Well! the Commandant said, taking her seat at the other end of the table. Here we aretwo high ranking officers representing two countries at war. She smiled again, revealing a few laugh lines around her blue eyes, which were quite striking. In the brighter light, I knew I had been right about her age. She could have been my daughter. Yes, I said, giving a slight smile and not quite knowing how to respond. Here we are. Colonel, I see no reason we cannot be respectful of each other, as both of us are certainly due respect in our positionseven though we are on opposing sides of the conflict. I nodded. Did she really think I would be stupid enough to fall for this kind of buddy-buddy approach to get the information she wanted? David? she called towards the hallway. This took me surpriseanother American was here? A moment later a man entered, dressed in a servants uniform. He glanced at me but quickly looked away, at the Commandant. She said, Please bring the brandy now. Yes, Commandant. He gave her a little bow, then gave me one more hesitant glance before he went back out the door. She smiled again but offered no explanation about who he was. But I could tell she knew I had noticed that he was an Americanhe spoke with no accent. And he simply looked like one. But he certainly acted strangely. When he came back in, carrying the sherry on a silver platter, he kept his eyes downcast. I watched him pour the sherry, his gaze empty and distanthe seemed totally submissive. If he was an American soldier and had been captured, he had been totally broken by this woman, or by the rest of the people in this facility. After he handed us our glasses and walked out, I was tempted to come out and ask the Commandant about him, but of course I didnt. My instincts told me it was better to simply let it pass. She raised her glass and said, To the war, Colonel. I didnt quite understand the toast, but I followed her lead. To the war. We both sipped our drinks. She said, This is Armenian brandy, it arrived just yesterday. What do you think of it, Colonel? Its excellent, I said honestly, swirling it in the glass and inhaling the aroma. I dont think I had ever tasted such a rich, full brandy before. I hesitated momentarily, wondering if she could have drugged me, but then decided she hadnt done thatI hardly knew her, but it just didnt seem like her style. I nodded to her. It has a very unusual flavor, very smooth. Im delighted you like it. She sighed and sat back in her chair a bit more, gazing at me thoughtfully. I noticed a flush in her cheeks that made her freckles fade. You know, Colonel, I must say, you remind me of my father. Just a bit. Your father? Maybe that explained this rather odd behavior. I had triggered some kind of emotional childhood memories. Not that you appear old in any way, she added quickly. I mean you remind me of him in character. He was a very distinguished man, also a military officer. She paused. Quiet, strong, dignified . . . I see. I paused, wondering whether this might be a good entry point to gain the upper hand. Were you close to him? I immediately realized this was a mistake. The Commandants face darkened for an instant, then she diverted her eyes to her brandy, covering her reaction so fast I almost wondered if I had imagined it. He left my mother and I when I was only a girl. Im sorry, I said, but it was too late. Her blue eyes became a little colder, her expression harder. Aware of my vulnerability in this position, I added, I shouldnt have asked that, its none of my business. Fortunately, she brightened again. Anyway, what I meant to explain was, youre obviously some years my senior. Its rather pleasant to be around someone whos older and more experienced, an officer. Someone whos wiser. Do you understand what I mean? This almost made me blush. Well, I thank you for the compliment, but I dont feel very wise at this particular moment. I smiled and tried to make light of the situation. We all make mistakes, Colonel. She sipped her brandy again. Anyway, you obviously were not the pilot of your aircraft. Did you have engine trouble? I felt myself closing up but tried not to show it. Now you must forgive me, she said, holding her brandy glass to her full chest. I shouldnt have asked you thatthis dinner was strictly an off duty affair. I merely shrugged. I understand. She sighed again. Of course, if you wanted to share anything with mesuch as the purpose of your missionI would greatly appreciate it. I cant do that, I said quickly. Of course not, and I feel ashamed for asking. She called to David again, then looked at me and said, Lets not talk shop anymorewe must enjoy the meal. I think youll find that David is an excellent cook. David came in and took away the brandy and glasses and soon returned with two plates of greens. When I saw them, I forgot all about David, the Commandant, and everything else. I was ravenous and the food looked absolutely delicious, especially after what Id been eating the past five days. You look positively starved, Colonel, the Commandant said, smiling. Eat, please. I felt a little embarrassed, not meaning to show how hungry I was. I unfolded the linen napkin, placed it in my lap, and began to eat the greens at a relaxed pace, though it was hard not to wildly devour them. The chains on my wrists clanked as I moved my arms, making me move more slowly, which was good. But the noise ruined the atmosphere and reminded me of the true state of things. Tell me, Colonel. Do you enjoy art? Yes, I said with false enthusiasm. I really didnt care much for art, but I wanted to keep the conversation moving in any direction but towards the information she wanted. I like it very much. I do as well. And who are some of your favorite masters? I hesitated, pretending that this was a difficult question, there were so many great artistswhen in reality I was trying to remember anything I knew about the subject. I finally told her that I liked the Impressionists, especially Monet and Van Gogh. I was almost sure they were Impressionists. Oh, I love Van Gogh also! she said, almost rapturously. She began to talk about Van Goghs lifeit was clear she was quite an expert on him, citing various paintings and periods in his development. I continued to eat while I listened to her, nodding and giving polite but reserved smiles at appropriate moments. It actually seemed as if she was flirting with me, in a kind of little girl waythe way a daughter will flirt with her father when taken out to dinner, when she has her daddy all to herself. The discussion of art, or rather her discourse on the subject, continued throughout the meal. Which was fine with me. The second course consisted of various meats and cheesesalso delicious. Then there was onion soup, and it was superb. The main course was duck, expertly broiledthis David had really outdone himself on this dish. The taste was heavenly, I will never forget the taste of that duck. The Commandant was still talking art when David took our plates away. She asked me if I wanted coffee before we had dessert, and I graciously accepted. After David brought a freshly brewed pot and we were sipping from our cups, the Commandant said, Colonel . . . please excuse me for another breach of etiquette . . . its completely out of place, its simply inexcusable for me to do this, I know . . . but I wondered, as we have become at least a little bit friendly this evening, and we have so much in common . . . if you wouldnt care to share just a little something with me about your mission . . . I cant, I said stiffly. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, and the chains jingled a bit. I understand, she said, waving her hand as if she were immediately ashamed of asking. Please forgive that transgression. Im an ill-mannered bore. No, youre not, I said, though I felt uneasyfor an instant, I saw her face flash that dark look again. But she was again smiling now. Youre in for a real treat, Colonel. Im going to make dessert myself tonight. Really? I said, grateful for a change of subject. Yes. Im going to prepare it right here at the tableside, just like they do at La Roque in Berlin. She blushed for the first time. Im afraid Im not a very good cook, not nearly as good as David. But I hope youll at least taste it. Im sure Ill like it. What is it? I smiled and added, If its not a surprise, that is. No, its not a surprise. Its sautéed testicle. Its my own recipe. I know that my expression fell flat. Sautéed . . .? Testicle, she repeated, just as clearly as she had said it the first time. David? she called. Will you bring in the dessert table? I heard David rolling some kind of cart through the hallway. Uneasily, I asked, I assume you mean cow testicle? No, the Commandant said, glancing at David distractedlyhe was having a little trouble wheeling the cart through the doorway. Human testicle. I had a sinking, horrible feeling as David rolled the cart into the room. What the hell was she talking about? Human testicle? We were going to eat a cooked human testicle for dessert? I knew this had been all too good to be true, that there was a catch coming all along. An image of the empty building I was in flashed before my eyeswhat the hell were these fucking Nazis doing in this place, this clinic or whatever it was? Then a horrible thought struck meshe was going to make me eat the balls of American soldiers that had been captured and killed. The Commandant said,Colonel, would you stand, please? David stood to my right with the cart in front of him. David needs to push the cart past you. Yes, of course, I said, shakily bringing myself to a standing position. Then, awkwardly because of the chains, I pushed my chair back a few feet. David rolled the cart between me and the table. The Commandant stepped around behind by back and, to my surprise, took the chair away. As she did so, she said, Do you know why many experts think Van Gogh went insane? Suddenly I heard a cranking sound and I found my arms and legs being dragged backwards by the chains. My spine was pulled up against some hard but padded thing, and as the cranking continued, my arms pulled slowly and steadily behind the small of my back. My legs were pulled tight by the chains until they were spread slightly apart. She stood before me. Colonel? Do you know why? Do I know why . . .? I said vaguely, watching David light a small gas burner under a frying pan on the cart. He bowed to the Commandant and left the room. About Van Gogh, losing his mind. The Commandant pulled up an extra chair and sat down beside me. From a lower shelf on the cart, she produced a small medical bag and set it on top, next to the burner. They say it was because of sunstroke, the she continued. She casually reached out towards my crotch, took hold of my fly, and unzipped it. I gasped, wide-eyed, as she reached into my boxer shorts and pulled my flaccid prick out through the opening. She then grasped my testicles and pulled them out so that they hung over the bottom of my fly. He painted all day in the hot sun, without wearing a hat. His hair was quite thin by then, didnt offer much in the way of protection. What are you doing? I blurted, as she reached into the medical bag. She produced a small metal bowl and set it down between my feet. Did you know he would often start a painting, then black out and wake up hours later, with it completely finished, and not remembering anything about the process of painting it? No, I said, swallowing hard. She reached into the bag and withdrew a wad of cotton and a glass bottle. What are you doing? I blurted out, panic now clearly evident in my voice. Thats how a few of his best Aryles period pieces were painted, in a kind of sunstroke-induced trance. She opened the bottle and my nostrils flared at the dry, medicinal smell of pure alcohol. She poured some on the cotton and began casually swabbing my testicles. At least, thats one theory. Please, I said, my voice now small. Ill tell you whatever you Im not sure I believe it, though. She took hold of my soft penis, stretched it upward, pushed the swollen head underneath my belt buckle to hold it in place. No one was around to witness Van Goghs sunstrokeit is pure conjecture based on some letters he composed to his brother. She withdrew something else from the bag. My heart gave a horrible, crazy thump when I saw the glint of cold steel. It was a scalpel. No! I yelled, but before I had even gotten the word out she had cut through my nutsack. The skin parted under the sharp steel like butter. A few specks of bright red blood flicked across her left check, adding to her freckles. What do you think, Colonel? She began reaching into her bag and bringing out different instrumentsmore steel things, clampsI couldnt look. The slicing through of my scrotum had merely burned, but now I felt an excruciating pinching inside my right nut. I began to cry. She said, Do you think it could have been sunstroke? I dont know! I wailed, and then she picked up the scalpel again. Please Goddont cut off my And then it was done. There was an instant of white, blinding pain, and then and empty numbness. I watched her pull away in her hand a round, whitish bloody thing. My right testicle. It was no longer part of meit was something separate, a meaty thing in her hand. She dropped it down into the bowl, into which a lot of blood was spurting. A bright red streak shot across the bust of her uniform. I looked away and felt her putting on more clamps, attaching them to places that had been cut. I felt a tight burning sensation, she was using some chemical to stop the blood flow, dabbing at the wounds. She finally picked up the steel bowl and set it on the cart, next to the frying pan. I watched, as if in a dream, as she cleaned the blood off the testicle with a small bottle of water. Yes, I dont know, either, she went on. Its hard to believe that such artistic genius could be the result of something like sunstroke. She shrugged, set my gonad down on a plate, and sliced it carefully into two halves, as if she were in the kitchen making a sandwich. The sight made me want to vomit. She turned up the heat on the gas flame, flicked a piece of butter into the pan, and it began to sizzle. She used a small fork to put each nut-half in the pan, the open halves down. They sizzled as well. The air was filled with a musky smell that faintly resembled frying pork. And him cutting off his own earghastly! I cant imagine a person doing something like that. She picked up a spatula and used the fork to press each testicle half down a little bit. There was more sizzling and some gray smoke. She looked over at me and smiled. In any case, art, and artists themselves, are a mystery to me. The most artistic thing I can do is cook a little bit, and Im afraid Im not very good at that. She reached under the table and picked out several small trays began flicking their contents into the pan with a kind of practiced flair. Walnuts, some various spicescinnamon and nutmeg. The secret in this dessert is in the flavoring. Its subtle. I was sobbing openly now, tears running down both checks, and unable to speak. I glanced down between my blood-spattered legs, at the bundle of clamps that dangled from the cords from which my right ball used to hang. This had to be a nightmare. I was dreaming, surely. But when I looked back up at Commandant, completely absorbed in her work, I knew it was no nightmareit was real. Well, I think its about ready, she said with a sigh. Using the spatula, she carefully scooped each nut-half off the pan and set them on two separate china dessert dishes. She reached under the table and produced a bowl of lettuce leaves, some oval shaped variety. She carefully arranged them around each testicle half, so that the impression was that of a flower with a crusty brown center. She cocked her head and admired her work. I think presentation is important when serving any kind of cuisine. Dont you agree, Colonel? I still could not speak. She looked over at me, for the first time. Colonel? Yes, I said, my voice hoarse with shock and pain. You seemed distracted. Is something the matter? No, I said, fearing for my other nut, the one I still had. Oh, I know what it is. Youve lost your appetite. I was afraid that might happen. A dish always loses its mystique when prepared in front of the guest. I think everything that David makes tastes better if I dont watch him prepare it. But you will at least try my dessert, wont you? I didnt know what to sayI didnt know what she might do if I made her mad, the crazy fucking bitch! Looking hurt, she said, Well, I wont force it on you, if you really dont want it. She took one of the dessert plates and sat down at her end of the table, the droplets of blood now dry on her face, the red streak across her bust now a maroon shade. Picking up her knife and fork in a ladylike way, she sliced very delicately into the testicle half on her plate, removing a small, triangular piece. She raised it on the fork to her lips, slipped it into her mouth, and then closed her eyes and savored the flavor. Mmmm . . . She opened her eyes and looked at me. This turned out quite good, if I may say so. Of course, its something you have to develop a taste for. She cocked her head at me. Are you sure you wont try some, Colonel? I looked away. Well, its a pity. I think youd find it surprisingly delicious, even if it was made by an amateur. She ate for a while in silence. I could not look. You know . . . I feel a bit of a pig tonight. She nodded to the other plate, which was still on the cart. Would you think me terrible if I ate your portion, too? I looked blankly at the other plate, at the other half of my testicle. No. Its just that it turned out better than I expected, she said, as she got up to get the other plate. Cooking is like that, isnt it? Sometimes you just dont know why a dish turns out a little better or worse than the last time you prepared it. I looked away again while she finished the second half, trying to ignore a couple of mmms she made. Some sense of reality began to come back to meI knew I had to think of something fast. She would either kill me or fully castrate me, or maybe both. When I heard her fork finally click to rest in her plate, I looked back at her. Ill tell you whatever you want to know. She was wiping her mouth on a napkin. She looked up, surprised. You will? Yes, I said, my voice trembling. Why, Colonel, I must say Im delighted. But why the sudden change of heart? I looked away again. She was absolutely insane, far more insane than Vincent Van Gogh could have ever dreamed of being. She said, Would you mind if I write it down? Im afraid my memory is not much better than my cooking. No. Go ahead. She rose and got a pen and notebook from a bookshelf, then sat back down at the table, the pen poised and ready. Please, Colonel. You have my complete and undivided attention. I took a deep breath, then proceeded to spill my guts in a way that I never thought possible. I told her everything I could think of, everything about myself, my unit, all our plans, our past plans, all our intelligence at present, our current strategyeverything. I was a human essay in military cowardice. I must have talked for 45 minutes straight, nonstop, and her officers hand scribbled down every word I said. When I finally finished, I was exhausted, my head hanging down, my body sagging from the chains on my legs and arms. Is that all you care to tell me? she said. Thats absolutely everything I knowmy head is completely empty now. You know as much about me and my unit as I know. Ive spared absolutely nothing. She gave a satisfied smile. Well, I certainly believe you, Colonel. She set the pen down and closed the book. And I appreciate you being so willing to share all this with me. It was very kind of you. You didnt have to do this, you know. I just nodded and looked away. She gave a big sigh. Well! I have to sayall that writing worked up my appetite again. She rose and looked at me, her red lips pulled back into a smile. Would you think me a shameless glutton if I prepared another portion? --- Ivan Jeffords welcomes feedback about his stories at [email protected], or posted on the Eunuch Archive Story Reviews & Author Feedback message board |