1
Baron von Klausmann was an aristocrat of the old world, but the age he lived in was of the new. It was a time when mankind was entering a new era. It was on the eve of the Second World War. But in terms of pomp and pedigree, Von Klausmann was from an older era. In his youth he served as a soldier in the First World War, fighting for Germany. And like all Germans, when the end came, he was forced to feel the humiliation of defeat.
He resented it and like many others came to see the world as a world in which one had two choices, to eat or be eaten.
He chose to eat.
2
His estate was in Bavaria, somewhere close to a set of mountains. It was an ancient home. His family name went back far into distant time. He was descended from Teutonic knights, the son of proud warriors, the kind of man that the new Nazi regime saw as the kind that should lead the rest of the world. He was what one would call the perfect Aryan. His hair blonde, his eyes blue, he had a strong build, but by now the blonde hair had turned grey. He was past fifty. His time had passed, but he could carry on the torch and he had a point to make, a point that some would find revolting and despicable. But is that not the kind of world we live in?
The new regime had made that clear and now it was becoming not so new. The year was 1939. Germany had not invaded Poland yet, but she would. Von Klausmann could not foresee it, but he could foresee that a war was coming. If one were astute enough, one could see what the writing on the wall was in those days and Von Klausmann saw it as Germany’s redemption. She would come into her own and would be the leader of a new Europe, a new world, an Aryan world.
It was clear that there would be those who would suffer for this world. There was nobility to be found in sacrifice. The German people would give up their sons to shed their blood and as for the inferiors they would have to be eliminated. The Holocaust had not happened yet, but the anti-Semitism was there and Von Klausmann was an anti-Semite. Even before the Nazis came to power he had those sentiments. He saw them as a danger to German culture, and all European culture in general, that they along with Bolshevism would destroy civilization. Never mind the fact that the Jewish conspiracy, he and all the Nazis believed in was not at all based in fact and that no such conspiracy existed.
But what did it matter? It existed in their collective mind and when one is that paranoid their perception becomes reality and when that happens, no amount of evidence can make them think otherwise.
That is the tragedy. That is the curse of the human mind.
For Von Klausmann the reality could not be otherwise. The Jews had conspired and had brought down the former German Reich. The Germans had been stabbed in the back, betrayed and their victory had been stolen from them.
3
Von Klausmann had his circle of friends. Hans, Heinrich, Thomas, and their spouses, Eva, Olga, and Hildegard. They all came from traditional German families. Like Klausmann they too were caught into the web that was Nazism. He invited them to spend the evening at his estate for his annual dinner party and like always the meal was superb.
It was customary for Klausmann to serve them a mystery entrée. Usually the meat was the source of the culinary conundrum, and as such it was common practice at his parties for the guests to guess what it was they were eating. It was a form of entertainment, sort of like charades that they used to pass the time, as well as a way to stimulate lively conversation. They were all noted gourmets who only ate the finest of dishes.
Whatever they were eating this time was assumed to be pork, glazed in a savory sauce.
The conversation as usual concerned the politics of the day.
Klausmann was certain that Germany would go to war. As for the others they believed that the Fuehrer was trying to prevent war, after all ordinary Germans had no desire to enter another war, not after the trauma of the Great War, although they ignored the fact that Hitler had embarked on what was a fierce and aggressive re-armament. Who could deny what this rearmament was meant for? And yet deny it they did and so too did everyone else, until it was far too late.
“War is inevitable,” Klausmann explained. “It must happen. If the German people are to claim their rightful place in Europe, blood must be spilled.”
“Has not enough blood been spilt?” countered Eva, Hans’ wife.
“No, not enough,” mused Klausmann. “It may never be enough.”
“The defeat left us ruined. Don’t forget that,” answered Hans.
“But there’s nobility in death,” Olga remarked.
“Quite right,” said Klausmann. “After all it was Darwin who pointed out how savage nature really is. Animal devours animal, is that not what we are doing?”
“Perhaps so,” said Heinrich.
“Indeed,” Klausmann answered.
They often had such morbid conversations. They were inclined to talk of death, to think of death. They were too enraptured in a Wagnerian sense of death to speak of anything else.
The dining room was large and spacious. Carved out of stone with a floor of dark wood, it was a stately and gloomy room. It made one think of death, since it like most of the mansion felt more like a tomb than an actual home.
Klausmann liked to keep it that way. He saw it as dignified and used it as a tool in which he could challenge the frivolity of his friends. They took such topics less seriously than Klausmann who was annoyed by such sentiments from his friends. He saw himself as the more educated of the bunch, the one who was awakened and therefore ought to teach them the ways of the world.
He was to indoctrinate them into his cult of death, a cult in which one must devour another in order to become strong, in order to become a superman.
More importantly he wanted to know what they thought of the meal.
He always served a different main course with each meal and they would have to guess what it was he gave them. And he would only serve them the best. Once he served them goat. One year he served ostrich. Another time he served duck and then one year he served rabbit. There was also one where he served quail. But there were only so many animals to serve; there was a limit to what was edible in the animal kingdom. He had to find something new; something that would outshine all the others and express what he felt was most appropriate for the times they lived in.
“What do you think this dish might be?” he asked. As always this was how he started the game.
“I suppose it might be boar,” said Hildegard, sipping her wine, her auburn hair elegantly coiffed.
“Not quite, but that’s a good guess,” Klausmann answered.
“I can’t see how it can be anything else,” said Thomas, peering at his plate through his spectacles. “The texture reminds one of pork.”
“Maybe it’s ostrich again,” Eva observed.
Klausmann chuckled. “No. What I’ve served today is only the best.”
“Then tell us. We give up,” said Olga. Unlike Eva and Hildegard, she was blonde. Her blue eyes widened as she gave her demand.
“I could do that, but that would spoil the fun,” said Klausmann.
“Then it must be special,” said Eva.
“You’ve outdone yourself,” remarked Heinrich. “This is the most delicious entrée you’ve ever served.”
Everyone agreed. And surely anyone else would agree. It was a filet of some sort, served in a savory and sweet sauce that had the perfect balance of flavor. The vegetables he served with it only added more to the balance. Before the meal they had indulged in the best hors d’ouerves, cavier, and escargot.
Elegance was what they wanted and demanded. They would not be satisfied with anything else.
“We are living in a unique time,” Klausmann observed. “Our future stands on the brink. We will either rise or we will fall.”
“But we have already fallen,” said Heinrich, referring to Germany’s loss in World War I.
“I know this, but we could fall even lower. It could happen,” Klausmann replied.
“Good Lord, I hope not,” Eva remarked.
“How awful would it be to see such a defeat happen again,” said Olga.
Everyone grew quiet and still. Klausmann continued.
“It is a fate we hope that never happens again. But happen it can. What can we do? We must grow strong. We must become powerful. We must fulfill our destiny as the master race.”
As much of a fanatic as he was, the others were not as fanatical. They believed in the Fuehrer, but when it came to the notion of the master race, they tended to remain reticent.
Klausmann noticed this and decided he would be the one to change their minds.
He had nothing left but to believe that he was a member of the master race. Childless and with no wife, she killed herself twenty years prior, he had only his thoughts to keep him company, his books, and his dinner parties. And in his isolation, he indulged in the hatred that was Nazism, becoming a model Aryan and Jew hater.
For that is what Nazism was, hatred, pure and simple, born from the darker aspects of what make man what he is, sprung from that which also springs murder and destruction. He was a disciple of this dark religion and he sought new converts.
But what was the mystery entrée? It was tied to his sentiments about the cult of death, but he would not name it as such. He like the rest of Germany called it National Socialism, but when one looks at what he believed, that is Nazism, one sees the cult of death, and he worshipped it.
He could not evade them anymore. It was time to tell them what the entrée was. In case they rejected it, he had a plan. He would act appropriately.
“I have tried throughout my life to become more than what I was born to be. In fact that is just what we are trying to do,” he mused. “To do so we must take from others, we must gain their power. And to do this we have to consume what we would normally not consume.”
The guests felt uneasy at this point. They knew now without any doubt whatever Klausmann was going to say next, it wouldn’t be pleasant.
“What I have served you today is the rarest meat of all. It is man.”
All of them were silent. They sat still. Had they heard him correctly? Had he really said what they thought he said? Cannibalism.
Olga stopped eating. Her stomach churned. Heinrich turned red.
“No,” Thomas laughed nervously. “Is this your idea of a joke?”
“No my friend. I wish it were a joke. But it is what we must do. It is what we all have done, to become what we’ve become, figuratively, only now we must do it literally. To be strong, we devour our foes, we devour our enemies, and this is what Germany must do. She must devour France. She must devour England. And as for the lesser races, she must burn them, lay waste to them, until she stands alone.”
He knew that primitive tribes from long ago, and some in remote places engaged in cannibalism. They ate their foes so that they could gain their strength, their power. This is what he meant.
“If you don’t believe me, let me show you.”
He got up. He reached inside his tailcoat. Should they prove unworthy of the cult, he would eliminate them, with a pistol he hid within his pocket.
He left them for a moment and came back from his kitchen. He pushed a serving cart forward. His guests could see lumpy shapes on it, hidden underneath a white tablecloth. It looked like human bodies and the tablecloth was covered in bloodstains.
“Behold,” he declared. “Here is what man must do, should he become like gods.”
What they saw was utterly horrifying. Three naked human bodies, pale, dead for at least a day or so. One man and two women. Blonde. Aryan, for that was the best of the best, the strongest of mankind. The flesh removed from their buttocks and calves. The man was a strapping youth and the women were like delicate swans. They must have been beautiful in life, but now they were nothing but an ugly ruin of mutilated flesh. And they had eaten them. Whoever these three nameless individuals were, Klausmann and his guests had partaken of their flesh and now that flesh was being digested in their stomachs, to be expelled like anything else they ate.
Olga immediately threw up. Eva fainted. Heinrich threw aside his plate in disgust. Thomas was too stunned to speak. Hildegard screamed. And Hans lunged at Klausmann intending to kill him.
Such a pity, thought Klausmann. They weren’t ready. He took out his pistol and he fired at each of them. First Hans, then Olga. Heinrich ran for his life. Klausmann shot him in the back. Thomas tried to hide under the table. Klausmann walked up to him and shot him in the head, execution style. Only Eva and Hildegard remained. Hildegard kept screaming. Once he fired the first shot, Eva came to and she began to scream as well.
Klausmann shot them both.
With his grisly work done, he stood still, surveying the wreckage. It was a shame. He had such high hopes for them. For what it was worth, he would have plenty to eat for the next few days.
4
A few days later, Klausmann sat alone in his study. He had on the radio and listened to an announcer report that German troops had begun invading Poland earlier that day. He ate his meal with satisfaction. It was human meat, prepared the same way for his guests a few days prior.
He was eating Heinrich. So far Heinrich had tasted the best out of all of them. He had been a plump man and so he had made a better cut of meat than the others. There were only so many places one could eat from a human. The arms were usually no good, but the calves, shoulders, and buttocks were always the best.
In the end his guests had proven to be unworthy, but no matter. It would not affect the future of the country in the long run. He hoped for it to be an auspicious future. But he had his doubts. Was Germany worthy? Only time would tell.
But he knew one thing for certain. She would have to devour her enemies or she would fall.