Free The Diaries - 01 by Chuck Driskell

me do the same
afterward, while pressed to my backside, whispering his penitence into my ear,
touching me as the flame seared my hand down to the bloody center.   He squeezed my neck very hard when I began to
cry, then, as always, sent me to quarters and told me to cover the atonement
mark.
    And I still didn’t tell him.   I was catatonic each time I tried.   Why!?

    Gage rested his
forehead in his left hand, staring down at the diary.   Surely worse atrocities had occurred, but
there was something soul-wrenching about the way this Greta had poured out her
worries into her diary.   He’d begun to
make notes, writing her name, Aldo’s name, Austria, pregnant.   More searches.   Nothing.   Greta Dreisbach and Aldo were common names in
Germany.   There were thousands of
matches, none of which seemed relevant.
    Why was she so scared of this sicko?
    Last night, he’d
read through the copious March entries.   He flipped the page to April.   After days and days of entries of Greta languishing over the fact she
couldn’t tell Aldo of her pregnancy, he ran across a new name: Elsa.   He searched the combinations again, finding
nothing.   Apparently, as Gage connected
the dots, Elsa was Aldo’s “official” significant other.   They didn’t live together, so he assumed her
to be a girlfriend or fiancé.   She was
good to Greta, and Greta remarked numerous times how she felt for “poor, sweet Elsa.”   And then on Tuesday, April 12 th ,
on a day Aldo was high as a kite over some sort of business victory, a man
named Albert visited Greta’s place of work with his wife Margarete .   At first Gage thought her name might be a
misspelling, but Greta continued to spell it that way.   Before he searched the names, Gage read the
passage:

    It’s as though, every time he visits, Albert can
see right through me.   At first I thought
he, like some of the other men before him, might try to have his way with me,
but that isn’t it.   I noticed him looking
at the burn marks on my hands when I served tea.   I caught his eye, he was looking at me with a sort
of empathy.
    I feel strongly he knows, or at the very least
suspects, I’m Jewish.   I do not know how,
but I can see it in his eyes.   As he
spoke over the plans for the new grand building, he turned to me several times,
nodding his head slightly as I stood there nervously waiting in the corner.   It was as if he was comforting me!   He’s the smartest man I’ve ever been around
and, even from a distance, to glean from him, is almost intoxicating.   He speaks to Aldo frankly, challenging him
often, unlike so many of the others.   It
truly feels as if he’s privy to all that’s gone on between Aldo and me, without
ever having heard about any of it.
    Albert’s manner and bearing have bolstered
me.   Tomorrow I will tell him…tomorrow I
will tell Aldo.

    There was no entry
for the next day, or any of the following days.   The next one was marked April 19 th .

    I haven’t been able to write for a full week.   I’m so scared, yet so thankful to be
alive.   I never told Aldo.   (I knew I wouldn’t!)   Instead, I told Elsa, pouring out my guilt and
sorrow before seeking her advice.   She
wasn’t angered, even confiding in me that she tried to kill herself once, all
due to the fears he has wrought inside her.   It was an effort to make me feel comfortable,
and it worked. She didn’t have to be as understanding as she was, given the
circumstances.   I expected some degree of
jealousy but received compassion in return.   It makes me think I wasn’t Aldo’s only illicit lover.
    On the day I told Elsa, Aldo was away…I never know
his schedule…but she did.   She implored
me to leave, to go right then and never turn back.   I was unable to carry my things because of my
diaries.   They are large and heavy, but I
couldn’t part with them.   They’re my
soul, my most prized possessions.   Elsa
told me to disappear forever and to never tell a