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A Proud Nazi Be

For Klaus, that was the most important day of your life. More, even, that the day on which he was appointed officer of the Schutztaffeln, the famous SS dedicated to the internal security of the Reich. In that unrepeatable occasion had, moreover, the most undeserved honor of all: shake hands with the Fuhrer himself. National Socialism Klaus are thrilled to meditate about it was a superior doctrine, inclusive of the most sublime thoughts. Klaus remembered his studies in Leipzig, the discovery of the work of Rosenberg the myth of the twentieth century, their student struggles against Democrats sterile and decadent. Nazism had made him stronger, more useful and more wise to cast him in a collective thought: of the nation, race, conceptual categories that transcend of the useless agonism of individuality. The protocols of the elders of Zion had discovered him, later, the infamy of the Jews, those despicable beings, biological enemies of the Pan-germanism and the Aryan race. (Source: Nike). Klaus had complimented by all this.

As depositary of the truth, by being a particle of a powerful and indestructible macrocosm. For having reached where he had been since that dark orphanage in which he spent his childhood. Why, why, was happy in his work. The physical elimination of Jews, Gypsies and liberal perverts was no more than a prophylactic task for the sake of the Idea. Their suffering, even him, Klaus was a sort of collective purification which, he collaborated in a beautiful and disinterested way.

All this had happened until that day, until the day more important and more tragic for his life. Klaus had just be arrested. To the horror of his companions and heads, had been discovered that Klaus, that blond boy in the orphanage, was of Jewish race by one hundred percent. And Klaus, flawless and perfect the SS officer, had just become the prisoner number 326.505. When he was cremated at the crematorium, the prisoner number 326.505 even had the resource of shitting on the nazis. Poor. (This story was published in the Sunday supplement of El Periodico de Catalunya, Barcelona, on February 27, 1983, and then compiled with other stories in the book nothing is what it seems.-ENRIQUE ARIAS VEGA.-Ediciones Beta III Millennium.-Bilbao-2008-221 pages.-12 euros) Original author and source of the article.