in the most personal of ways. His Apostle name of Judas was fitting.
The Nazi hunter continued to peer at the cross. For all his “big game hunting” that took him across the globe, those he most dreamed of having stuffed on his mantle were right under his nose. But the ironies were just beginning.
“What does this symbolize?” he demanded.
“Why are you dragging this out? You came to kill me tonight—so get on with it,” she bristled at him.
“If you don’t answer me, I will not only eliminate you, but the rest of your family.”
His threat was laughable. He’d already begun to “defoliate” her family, and once the gypsy moth began spreading its larvae, it wouldn’t stop until the tree was dead. She did find it interesting that his threat to kill her family was synonymous with the Nazi tactic of sippenhaft. She always found it fascinating that victims seeking revenge often ended up resembling those responsible for their pain.
“It symbolizes the seeds that grew into a tree, and eventually became a forest—one that would one day spread over the land. And that day is here.”
“Why would you tell me this?” he asked, still staring at the cross.
“Because I believe you’re the only one who can stop it.”
He tried to conceal his surprise. “Why would a Nazi like you want to stop the expansion of this forest, as you call it?”
“The struggle has led to nothing but suffering for my family. My children have been taken from me, and now with the moment so close, I fear an even worse fate for those who remain.”
“Any suffering you faced doesn’t remotely compare to what you’ve inflicted. The only way to stop another generation of evil is to remove the tree at its roots.”
“Evil is not passed on like brown hair or the shape of a nose—it is taught. Using your philosophy, you would kill all the flowers in the garden just to ensure there are no weeds. But all you would accomplish is to steal beauty from the world. Are you saying that all those SS men were genetically inclined to murder? And if so, why did most return to peaceful lives when the war ended?”
“What your family perpetrates is far greater than the acts of the common SS man, no matter how vile he was. Because you have the ability to transfer it to others and inspire them to spread your hatred.”
“Was my grandson transferring evil when you murdered him? He was an innocent victim—a father, a husband—just like those you claim to seek justice for.”
His tone remained cold and unyielding. “Once I learned of his heritage, there was no other option. He wouldn’t have been able to help himself … it was his nature.”
Ellen didn’t have time to advance the ‘nature versus nurture’ debate. It had been going on long before they arrived on this planet and would rage on long past their deaths. Besides, her plan wasn’t to dissuade the Nazi hunter from his beliefs—there was little chance of that—what she wanted was his assistance.
She pointed to the drawer of the end-table. He was now under her spell, and followed her instruction. But when he slid out a piece of paper from the drawer he looked disappointed. This object was not gold, nor did it have historical significance. It was an invitation to witness her great-granddaughter present her Heritage Paper to her sixth grade class.
“If you want to protect your family, as you claim, why would you provide me such access to them?”
The irony caused the smile to finally appear on her face. “Because if you’re going to stop the Reich from returning to power, you will need Maggie’s help.”
“You will use any lie or tactic to save yourself. How else can you explain hiding out all these years under the cover of being a persecuted Jew? As if the actions of you and your fellow Nazis were not depraved enough!”
“I’ve lived many lies throughout my life, many of which I’m ashamed of. But I never lied about being Jewish.”
“More lies! Your deception can’t save you anymore!”
“My mother’s name was Etta Sarowitz—a Jewish prostitute from Munich. Perhaps your doctor friend failed to mention that part in his story. History tends to pick and choose the truth, depending on whether it fits the narrative of the author. Without a father around, I took her surname of Sarowitz—the name I used upon coming to America, and until I married. While many of my fellow Apostles took aliases to survive, Ellen Sarowitz