|THE CASTLE OUROBOROS by Rob Bliss|
We retired to the parlour where wingback chairs offered us repose. Gustav made the rounds ensuring that we each had a snifter of brandy and a box of cigars on each of the tables beside our chairs. He lit a fire, then left us to our conversations.
Due to my current circumstances, I can now see into every shadowed corner of my own life, of the lives of those surrounding me, of every mildew-encrusted nook of the castle. All time is one, lacking the divisions of past, present, and future. Yet I can only see so far into the future—far enough, I am sure.
I now relate to you the heart of Gustav, grand servant of our family. A man without eyes, yet who sees more than a sighted man. And a blind man still has ears. And an acute mind. One may unfortunately assume that the disabled members of the species are less intelligent than the able-bodied. I now beg to differ. (This formerly grated against my adherence to a Nietzschean logic, I realize, but I told no one—have no one now to tell. Every god achieves his devil, every devil his god—the world is a mass of contradictions, and always has been, yet mortals still refuse to accept that a mad logic will always govern the minds of the sane and civilized.)
Gustav saw all, heard all, knew every twisting passage of the castle. As a servant, it was his duty to listen and observe, but not to comment. Good servants have no opinions. If asked, they will revert their stance back to you; the true servant reinforces the master’s mind and will; the servant remains aloof, abstract, states fact as it is, not as he perceives it to be.
If I asked Gustav, “Do you believe it is my right to murder one’s enemies and stack their bodies in locked rooms?” His answer would be, “It is as you say, m’lord.”
He knew the contents of the castle, of course—the stench alone would give away the holocaust within the castle walls. But he was a servant. If it was his master’s wish (and I was now his master, not my father), then the decision was the correct one. Only in silly fantasies, romantic women’s novels, frivolous plays and operas, would a servant inform an authoritative figure of law that a crime had been committed, leading to his master’s undoing. Fiction. Gustav was a faithful manservant.
And I knew he overheard my and the cabal’s plans for the race of masters, genetically superior men and women. The blind, for example, would have no place in such an empire. If a child was born blind or deformed, well then, the ancient ritual of taking the babe into the wilderness to be consumed by the elements or by savage beasts would be made mandatory. For the betterment of the race.
Knowing of his own demise within my world, he still kept his silence. He was an old man, so perhaps that is the simple reason why he played a part in the theatre of that night. Why he betrayed me. He had served enough, and saw his death imminent. I mistook his soul, thinking that his servitude had overcome his humanity. I can now (in this realm) admit that my assumption was incorrect.
We drank and smoked and conversed, but all were eager to move our blood-lust, our libidos (as Herr Freud would say), down to the dungeon. Herr Hitler felt little lust, but he agreed with the divine purpose of his insemination of my sister.
He was reluctant to have the cabal witness such a private act, and requested that they remove themselves from the room itself, inhabiting instead an anteroom at the dungeon’s entrance until the act was consummated.
I agreed, yet insisted that I alone must be present for the consummation. If for no other reason, it would be symbolically necessary to have me witness the conception of the first soldier of the new race.
He agreed, and we all descended the stairs to the lower depths.
CONTINUES NEXT WEEK