Herr Franzmueller has come to use the Wish Machine to kill a man. He begins his story of the Third Reich and Hitler’s Germany in the early days.
I buried my fears. This poor man was another volunteer. By the looks of him he had a devastating accident. He appeared to be sane and he was intelligent. By the looks of Mr. Franzmueller, no doubt his life experiences were a cut above most of us. He might prove to be an excellent subject. Yet, as much as I wanted to conduct more experiments, I hesitated.
I had another reason. Lately, I had come to the conclusion, based on the evidence I saw in the words and the faces of my subjects, that the Wish Machine might be more dangerous than I thought. The Wish Machine sent the subject’s mind into the past; not hypnotically, but literally and actually. The past events they experienced were every bit as genuine as the real world. If the test subject was cut in that other world, he would bleed. He would feel the pain. What if the person was killed while he was in that other world? Would he come out of his trance dead? That terrible possibility had become my greatest worry.
“Why do you wish to use my machine, sir?”
His eyes burned with eagerness.
“I vant to kill a man.”
He said it in cold blood. He showed not the least shred of emotion. This man was dead serious.
I reacted. I couldn’t help it. I had thought, despite his mangled body, the man was sane. I had allowed a mad man into my office. Reaching carefully for my telephone, I was about to notify the campus police a madman was in my office; a sickly smile pasted on my face to disguise my panic. I did not want this stranger to run a muck when I was forced to refuse him.
Franzmueller was no fool. He saw my intent. He opened his crab-like hand in an attempt to placate me. His ruined lips stretched into a reassuring grimace. I saw that he meant me no harm. I put down the telephone and waited for his explanation.
“Please, Herr Doctor, hear me out. Then, if you choose to notify the authorities und they take me away, I vill not protest.”
I sat back and listened.
“Very well, Mr. Franzmueller, I will hear you out.”
His eyes peered into a distant past. He began his tale.
“I wish to correct a terrible mistake that I made many years ago.”
I was sure that his experience was related in some way to his awful infirmities. He was perceptive and he read my thoughts.
“I know what you are thinking, Herr Doctor,” he sighed. “Yes, it is so. My infirmities are great. The circumstance that created this misshapen creature you see before you is the very reason that you must allow me to use your machine.”
“My story begins a very long time ago; when I was strong and handsome. In 1937 I was selected by the fatherland as a perfect Nordic specimen.”
He gave a croaking sound that might have been a bitter laugh. Franzmueller changed before my eyes as he spoke, remembering better days. With a desperate attempt to straighten his wreck of a body he sat taller in his chair. His face became animated. I glimpsed the man he had been before his accident.
“I was tall and husky. I was handsome, blond, blue eyed and fair. You would never know it to see me now; I was so strong that I could lift a chubby fraulein on each of my outstretched arms at the same time to demonstrate my strength. “
He grinned and the sight was chilling.
“They were not delicate creatures, Herr Doctor. The flower of German maidenhood in Hitler’s Germany was healthy and well nourished. Those lovely ladies weighed more than 100 kilos apiece.”
I looked again at the wreck sitting before me. Two hundred and fifty pounds was more than most strong men could lift from the ground. He paused before resuming his tale.
Next episode: Otto tells all. The rise of the Third Reich, his regrettable failure to assassinate Adolf Hitler, and his personal destruction.
Gene Paleno is an author and illustrator living in Witter Springs.
