The Seventh Circle

© Thomas Bauer 2020

ISBN: 978-1-09831-906-9

eBook ISBN: 978-1-09831-907-6

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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FOREWORD

The forgotten victims of the Holocaust are the men who wore the pink triangle, Europe’s homosexuals. Under Paragraph 175 of Germany’s penal code, homosexuality between males was forbidden. Thousands of gay men were rounded up and sent to concentration camps, where they faced unbelievable horrors. Few survived the tortures, the hard labor, or the starvation.

Among the survivors of the camps, few were willing to describe their experiences until an Austrian, Heinz Heger, published his book, The Men with the Pink Triangles, in which he chronicled the abuses and degradation he and his comrades faced. Any similarities to my novel, The Seventh Circle and his memoir is intentional. Like Heger, my hero, Karl Weber is sent to Sachsenhausen and Flossenbürg, because the events and abuses there are so thoroughly documented by the Austrian. The most imaginative writer could not envision the horrors that actually occurred in Nazi concentration camps.

I have chosen to relate an unpleasant story because I feel it is important to remind ourselves of the darkness around us in hopes we can continue to live in the light. Faced with a tale of man’s inhumanity to man, perhaps we can be moved by the pain others have endured, which hopefully will result in a rebirth of empathy and compassion.

The Seventh Circle is not a book about homosexuality, for most importantly, the men in pink triangles were human beings. Rather it is a condemnation of the abuses man can inflict on his brethren. With the current political climate and rise in hate crimes, it seems necessary to once again raise the ghosts of our not too distant past. In a world that never seems to learn the lessons of history, repetition is a necessity.

Thomas Bauer 2020

1

The quaint Bavarian town of Füssen lay on the banks of the Lech River not far from the Austrian border. The oldest fresco in Germany could be seen in the crypt of Saint Mary’s Basilica. The history of the town could be traced back to the ninth century and the founding of the Benedictine monastery of St. Mary’s. Violin and lute making were the pride of the town.

As Füssen was the closest town to Ludwig II’s castles, Neuschwanstein and Hohenschwangau, the town was teeming with tourists in the warmer months of the year and the hotels, souvenir shops, beer halls, and cafes prospered. Merchants, waiters, innkeepers, and those in the transportation industry treated the tourists with a calculated friendliness and respect, but made few lasting friendships with their guests. When the season ended, the locals bid them farewell as if to say, Thank you for visiting, but we hope you vacation elsewhere next year. With the onset of colder weather, the people of Füssen returned to their more rigid lives and the values they had shared for centuries. The only visitors tended to be skiers on their way to the slopes of nearby Tegelberg Mountain.

The town had hardly been affected by the freedoms that came with the Weimar Republic. Life went on as it had under Ludwig or the Kaiser. When locals returned from visits to Munich or Hamburg or Frankfurt or especially Berlin, the tales they told seemed more like horror stories than traveler’s memories. The cities were decadent, their inhabitants depraved and involved in constant debaucheries. Women danced nude in cabarets and clubs while patrons openly sniffed cocaine or fondled each other in the most disgusting ways. Men had no qualms about exchanging amorous embraces with other men and women could be seen at their booths touching each other in the most lascivious ways. The picture painted for the people of Füssen of the country’s metamorphosis had resembled Hieronymus Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights.

Now that the Weimar Republic had been replaced by Hitler’s Third Reich, natives returning from the cities brought new tales. Some thought the changes positive. Others were alarmed by the presence of Brown Shirts on the streets, harassing Jewish merchants or intimidating passers-by with political slogans or insults. Their arrogance was surpassed by their vulgarity. Some found the thugs to be protectors of the people. All who returned to their home town agreed that at last, the trains were running on time.

The Nazification of little Füssen, hardly a major hub of the Third Reich, was slow. At present, there were just a few visual reminders of the transition. The Nazi flag hung at City Hall, the court house, and the post office as well as certain businesses. Photographs of the Führer were hung prominently in living rooms and businesses and many proud party members wore the familiar arm band with the black swastika in the white circle surrounded by red. What was missing in the town was a government. Nothing else felt any different than it had in the past. Life went on as always.

Twice the Gauleiter of the region had pulled into town in his limousine, accompanied by a small entourage. He had stayed at the luxurious Castle Hotel and dined at the town’s best restaurants. He could be seen walking about the town apparently looking for sites to occupy at some future time. The mezzanine of the Castle Hotel was being remodeled with offices for the Gestapo, once it had established itself in the town. The Gauleiter left a deputy in charge and disappeared. At the beginning of the regime change, most local governing was left in the hands of those who had been loyal party members from the onset of the movement. Mostly, the town was run as before with little or no intimidation from the federal government. A few idle youths began to don the Brown Shirts and wander aimlessly about the town trying to look dangerous, but being a joke to those who had known them before the change of costume.

The deputy Gauleiter was Heinrich Hartman, a retired colonel who had fought with distinction in the last war. He and his wife were given a suite at the Castle Hotel. His first duty was to find those who had been early converts to the party, hopefully to be given positions of leadership or be instruments of intelligence. Once that was accomplished, he was to set up an administration that would report directly to Berlin. Finally, he was to prepare a headquarters for the Gestapo.

One could tell from the deputy’s attitude that he hoped his residency in the town would be brief. He was obviously accustomed to the faster life of a metropolis. Füssen was provincial and its minimal charms would wear on a man such as Colonel Hartman. He was a bit of a dandy. He was usually seen in civilian clothes, always the most fashionable from the best tailors in Berlin. He was always a visible entity, dining at the best establishments and hosting lavish parties in the hotel’s ballroom. For special occasions such as these, he would always wear his dress military uniform with medals and ribbons that seemed to hang from his shoulders to his waist. No one dared question his ostentation with the ears of newly recruited spies seemingly everywhere.

On the Gauleiter’s next visit, the deputy led his superior on a tour of all he had accomplished. What witnesses saw of the Gauleiter’s body language indicated he was pleased. He nodded often and patted his underling on the back. When the tour ended, Colonel and Frau Hartman’s bags were packed and loaded with their owners into the limousine. The next day, the arrival of the Gestapo was accompanied by a sizeable troop of SS officers and non- commissioned officers, intimidating in their black uniforms with lightning bolts on the collars. They were welcomed into their new offices on the mezzanine of the Castle Hotel by the owner, Otto Schrecht, who had been the town’s first party member and carried great influence, mostly due to his wealth. He was immediately named mayor of Füssen.

Franz Weber was a merchant of the town, who could trace his family’s roots back to the Seventeenth Century. He owned and operated a well-stocked dry goods shop. It had clothing for children and adults, tools, kitchen ware, and ski equipment. For tourists there were shelves filled with porcelain and cheap metal replicas of the castles and Saint Mary’s, snow globes, small sculptures of the figures in the passion play at nearby Omerammergau, as well as china and glassware with painted images of the castles or nearby mountains. The business was successful and Franz and his family lived in a comfortable two-story house built in the Seventeenth Century and remodeled several times over the centuries.

Frau Elsa Weber was a devoted and compliant wife to Franz and a doting mother to their son, Karl, who spent most of the year studying at the university in Munich. Whenever he was home, Karl would help his father at the shop. Franz longed for these brief vacations, because Karl was more than adept at figures and kept the ledger neat and accurate. The elder Weber hoped his son would one day take over the business, even though Karl had shared his ambition for an academic career with his parents. Franz was disappointed, but never gave up the hope that the boy would come to his senses.

Elsa was devout in her Catholic faith. She prayed before meals and at bedtime and attended mass every Sunday. If she was lucky, she could drag Franz to church at Christmas and Easter. Sunday was his time to meet with other merchants and friends. They would breakfast together at a café or the town square and adjourn to a beer hall, where they exchanged jokes and shared exaggerated tales of their adventures. Elsa had no choice but to abide her husband’s infidelities to the one true faith.

Karl was fair and slightly built with a handsome face and blue eyes that always drew one’s attention to the young man. He was sociable and polite, but not one for the riskier behavior of some of his fellow students, who staggered nightly back to the dormitories in a drunken state or indulged in foolish pranks. He had become aware long before that he was different from most of his peers and had adopted the skills to hide it from most people he came in contact with. He enjoyed the company of women who were drawn to him, but when it came to the ultimate act of affection, there was always a ready excuse. He was attracted to other males. At the university, he had found a few who shared what many believed to be an affliction. He had begun to express his sexuality with them.

His mother recognized the signs early on and was supportive. Karl felt free to discuss it with her and was appreciative of the show of motherly love. It is how God made you, Karl dear. How could I love you less, she would say. When Elsa tried to discuss it with her husband, he would refuse to listen.

Ever the coddling mother, was always his response. To him, Karl was simply too sensitive. Franz was always ready to blame the university for his son’s persona. I never should have permitted him to go to that school. I expected him to come home to manage the shop, or at the very least to become an architect or a lawyer. Now he wants to continue his studies until God knows when, and then what will he be? A lonely professor giving the same lectures year after year with no sustainable purpose in life.

Fortunately, it was summer and Karl was home for three months. He would be invaluable in waiting on the influx of tourists as well as the regular customers. Business always seemed to increase when Karl was behind the counter. Customers were drawn to his boyish charm and good looks, plus he was skillful at making the products in the shop seem indispensable. He was even more valuable in the back room, going over the ledger, making corrections, calculating the profits and keeping track of the stock. For his part, Karl saw his duties in the shop as payment due to the parents, who had raised and nurtured him. His father could be cold. He was not an openly affectionate man, but Karl never doubted the man was devoted to him and loved him as much as he was capable of loving. The very fact that Franz wanted his son to ascend to the ownership of the business, merited Karl’s respect. Still, the younger Weber had no intention of becoming his father. He was meant to be his own man in a career of his own choosing and in the way he would conduct his life.

Even though he had once been an acolyte at Saint Mary’s, Karl did not share his mother’s passion for religion. The university had changed him to some degree, but mostly he had gradually come to doubt the theological lessons that had been drummed into him from an early age without the prodding of his professors or discussions with fellow students. He also rejected his father’s world view that prosperity in business was at the top of a moral code and that Füssen was perfect place on earth to reside. Karl was lured by the world outside his family’s areas of comfort. He was passionate about learning, desired to travel the world and experience the unknown. He was both a dreamer and achiever. He had scored high marks and had achieved high praise from his professors who were certain he had a promising career in academics ahead of him.

While his mother was in church and his father clicking steins with his cronies, Karl was most likely sitting on the bank of the river studying the progress of the water or lost in thought, or perhaps hiking in the hills above the town. These were places he could think or day dream or solidify his plans. These were places he could discover what made Karl Karl, self-analysis in Alpine beauty. He longed for success as much as his father did, but he also longed for the love that had thus far evaded him. There had been flings, the release of sexual energy, a process of learning, but not that spark he had read of and heard others speak of. Then again, if true love materialized, it would have to be a clandestine one, unless he was fortunate enough to live in an enlightened city such as Paris or pre-Nazi Berlin. Anxious to return to school in the fall, he continued to please his father at work and his mother at home, recognizing he was in transition between dependence and independence, boyhood and manhood, being used and using, sowing and reaping.

2

One night, Karl stopped at the Unicorn for a stein of beer before heading home. There were a few familiar faces, customers he had dealt with and a few old school mates he had chatted briefly with. As he sat at a table by himself sipping a lager and munching on a pretzel, a voice asked, May I join you?

It was Hermann Schrecht, with whom he had been briefly acquainted at school. Hermann was younger and had been in a lower grade. Of course, replied Karl, surprised not only because they hardly knew each other, but also by the fact they were not exactly in the same social class. Among the businesses he ran, Hermann’s father owned the Castle Hotel, the town’s most prestigious destination. The Schrechts were quite wealthy and the father one of Füssen’s civic leaders.

I recognized you and thought you might like company, said Hermann. To be frank, I’m a little bored with my daily routine and thought I might like to broaden my circle of friends. You are a university student are you not?

Yes. I’m surprised you know that.

Füssen is a small town and there is very little that happens here one doesn’t hear about. I don’t think many of our school mates went on to university. Obviously, I haven’t, so perhaps you could broaden my horizons. He ordered a round for Karl and himself. As for myself, I am merely an apprentice to my father, who hopes that one day I’ll inherit all the enterprises he owns.

Then you have a future of great promise.

Except for the fact I’m really not yet at that stage of my life where I care a damn about my prospects. To tell the truth, I think I’d be happier in Berlin listening to jazz, experiencing things Füssen will never offer, allowing my wild side to come out in the open. Have you been?

Karl snickered. No, but I suppose Munich offers a small taste of what Berlin must be like.

Father says that as soon as he can trust me to take over some of his responsibilities, I am to be married and have a home of my own.

Karl smiled. Yes, that sound like a father. Mine wants me to inherit his shop.

Except I’m not ready, Karl. I’m not sure I’ll ever be. There’s too much of life I’d still like to taste before I settle down.

Karl examined his new acquaintance’s features. Whereas his own were soft, Hermann’s were rugged and athletic. He was handsome in a more masculine way than Karl. He fought the instinct to find him attractive, knowing it could only lead to disappointment. I don’t know what to say, said Karl, trying to act the older brother. I’m fortunate I suppose. I was able to go to the university. I don’t have to listen to my father planning my future, as hard as he tries.

Maybe I should have gone to the university as well, said Hermann, though I never took to being a scholar. I’d probably spend all my time away from campus celebrating in the beer halls.

There’s no shortage of those. Perhaps you could find time to come visit me. I could show you around.

I’d like that, he said with sincerity. Perhaps we should have made friends at school.

Karl wanted desperately to linger and continue the conversation, but felt compelled to check his pocket watch, which indicated he had just enough time to reach home by dinner.

What kept you? his father asked.

Karl replied honestly. I stopped at the Unicorn for a beer and ran into an old school mate, Hermann Schrecht.

I didn’t realize you were friends.

We weren’t, but perhaps we will be now.

A frown appeared on Franz’s forehead. That is all well and good as long as you steer clear of his father. Herr Schrecht is the most ruthless man in town. He wields a great deal of power. I’m sure you’re aware that when the Gauleiter was in town last week, he appointed him mayor. As if he wasn’t dangerous enough before, now he wields absolute power.

Karl gave an uncomfortable laugh. I wasn’t thinking of befriending Hermann’s father.

As a chameleon adapts to his surroundings, so could Karl in social situations. He was an entirely different person in the company of a normal crowd than he was with those who shared his affliction. He was capable of feeling comfortable in nearly every situation. There was no reason not to enjoy more conversations with Hermann. The two began meeting several times a week and often Karl would ask his mother to place a fourth setting on the dinner table. Both the elder Webers were pleased their son had found a friend among the local youth.

Hermann reciprocated by asking Karl to dinner at his family’s home. Karl wondered what Hermann’s parents would think of him. He knew them by reputation only. The Schrechts were the wealthiest family in Füssen and both husband and wife were known to act the part. They only had relations with people they considered of their class, equals they thought of as not quite equal. They were not exactly arbiters of taste since neither was cultured nor particularly fashionable. What they had was money and the arrogance that comes with it. Though he acted like royalty, Herr Schrecht had been born into the same class as Karl’s father. He was crude and unsophisticated, but he