The Commandant of Lubizec: A Novel of the Holocaust and Operation Reinhard by Patrick Hicks Read Free Book Online

arm. She looked bored.
    Guth asked about their day. He leaned in close. He smiled.
    Karl held up a soldier and talked about killing dirty Communists while Sigi stood back and waited for her younger brother to finish. He spoke quickly, with long pauses and exclamation points.
    “I!… used my soldiers!… and we attacked!… the Soviets!”
    “I see.”
    “Yes! And … and … and … it was hard!”
    “Did you get Stalin?”
    “No!… He … he ran away!”
    When the little boy no longer talked about machine guns or planes or bombs, Sigi stepped forward and explained her day. She was in the middle of reading yet another book by Karl May and she liked how he brought the American West to life. She especially loved his stories about Old Shatterhand and how he did everything with his Indian friend, Winnetou. Together they roamed the wilderness and sometimes they were chased by mountain lions.
    “Karl May is a good German writer but”—Guth raised a finger in warning—“don’t get too dreamy about his idea of America. It is a country of mixed races and Negroes.”
    Sigi nodded and walked across the carpet. She curled into a wing-backed chair and went back to reading. Karl was sent upstairs to put on pajamas while Guth sat down to roast beef, apricots, and peas. He poured seltzer water into a crystal glass and watched it effervesce into stillness.
    We have access to these snapshots of domestic life thanks to Sigi’s book. More specifically, she mentions how her father ached for love and, at least from this account, we are led to believe he liked how Jasmine looked at him when he was buttoning up his uniform.
The Commandant’s Daughter
is bloated with stories of a doting father and there are many photos of Guth standing beside his children with his long arms draped around them. He looks happy. He is smiling. It is very odd seeing him in a sweater. It’s also very hard to balance these images against the murderer we know him to be and it makes us wonder how he could switch so easily between his two selves. It’s almost as if we are dealing with two different men, a Jekyll and a Hyde.
    Through this book we also gain a deeper understanding of Guth’s relationship with religion. Jasmine was a practicing Catholic—we know that much—but we also know that Guth formally signed a document in 1934 stating that he was no longer a
Gottgläubiger
(a believer in God). The Party had never been too excited about religion in the first place because it believed the survival of the Fatherland was the only true faith for any good German to practice. In spite of this, Guth still attended Mass every Christmas, but he probably did so to appease his wife. Although there were several crucifixes in the house and one image of the Sacred Heart, it’s hard to imagine he gave them a second glance. To Guth they were just old icons of a dead spirit world. They meant about as much as Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny.
    “Hans,” Jasmine said. “You forgot to say grace.”
    Guth opened his mouth as if to argue but he folded his hands in prayer. He made a steeple of his forefingers and pressed them against his lips. They said the Our Father together and in that moment Guth was obedient, submissive.
    When the prayer was over, he picked up his silverware and went back to his undercooked beef. His knife squeaked on the bone china plate and, after a few hesitant chews, he reached for Jasmine’s hand.
    “I see the Polish girl still isn’t cooking food long enough. Maybe we should replace her?”
    “No. The children like her, Hans. And the dinner she made for us earlier was just fine.”
    “Boooom!” Karl said at the base of the stairs. He was playing with his tin soldiers again. “Boom-crackle-rackle!”
    “Why aren’t you in bed?”
    Karl shrugged and went back to making explosions. A tin soldier was tossed high into the air. It hit the ceiling.
    “Stop that. I asked you a question,” Jasmine said. “Why aren’t you in