ises of his attorneys, he had enjoyed his work as executioner. He had been good at it. He had relished it. And it was really this fact, rather than its negation, which proved his innocence. The guilt would have been in, performing acts against his most basic inclinations. But the looks of fear on the faces of those despicable people, the fatuity and hysteria of their pleas for mercy, and their ultimate screams and choking pleased him to the profoundest reaches of his soul. The judges had clothed his actions in a rhetoric of contradiction, calling them unnatural and inhuman. But they were absolutely wrong. For him the performance of the executions had been the most natural and human thing in the world. How ridiculous then that he should die, if that was the only reason. If anybody should be executed, it should be the entire German people: not because of the stale argument that he had been a mere tool of their will (as though a thief could be exonerated by laying all blame merely on the fingers which had snatched the purse), but because it was they, not be, who had performed the unnatural act-the annihilating edicts so opposed to common human nature. If the term natural had any meaning at all, it meant the type of behavior characteristic of the great majority of ordinary men; and therefore the execution of the Jews, natural for him (the natural killer) had been unnatural for the German people. It had been their sin, their transgression. Let them atone.

Towards the end of his last week, his thinking grew more involved and he drew completely inward, no longer speaking into the tape recorder, no longer responding to Avram's taunts which became more vicious by the day. He knew what Avram wanted: the same thing that Reber's own victims had lavished so generously upon him-the looks of fear, the entreaties, the weeping. Avram was probably a very quiet and decent sort of fellow: an obedient son, a patriotic citizen, a good provider for his own wife and children. But the season was open-this time on the former hunter, the unnatural war-criminal. Reber chuckled. Unnatural? Why it was the most natural thing in the world! On the last day of August he was visited by the prison warden who informed him that he had been granted an indefinite stay of execution. He would not explain why. And, on the following day, on which he should have died, Reber was puzzled by the look of great disappointment on Avram's face and the sudden silence that had descended upon the youth. Strangest of all, perhaps, was the fact that none of his lawyers paid him a visit.

He turned over various explanations in his mind. One in particular appealed to him: it didn't seem too far-fetched that the judges had gotten together and commuted his sentence to life imprisonment, the way so many of the sentences of war criminals had been commuted. So he would live after all. He did not consider what he would live for: his relief was too exclusive of such peripheral concerns. Life is its own justification.

mattachine REVIEW

The warden paid him another visit on September 10, opened his cell, and led him back into his private office. His attitude was one of forced cordiality. "Will you have a cigar, Herr Reber?" he said, extending the copper humidor.

"Yes, thank you." Reber leaned across the desk while the warden lit it. """Well," he said slowly, "I suppose you have some news for me?" "Yes, Herr Reber. Within another week you will leave this prison." "Oh? I'm being transferred?"

The warden grimaced sardonically. "Yes, in a way. But not to another prison. Your sentence has been lifted-completely. You will no longer be under the jurisdiction of Israel. You will, in fact, become a free man.” Reber felt dizzy.

"You are joking!" he gasped incredulously.

"I would not think of joking about such a matter, not even with..." He hesitated, then changed to another tack. "Tell me, Herr Reber, during your stay in prison, have you been keeping abreast of world events?" "Not recently," Reber said, frowning "My memoirs..."

"Yes, yes," interrupted the warden. "Well, let me bring you up to date, sir. A curious thing has taken place in the United States. It seems to have started with the recent depression. You know how they tried one remedy after another, all without success. Then finally, one of their senators gave a speech in which he accused the homosexual population of that country of having undermined the national economy. Almost overnight, in every major city, the police began arresting all known or suspected homosexuals. There were lynching incidents in Tampa and Mobile and-I believe-Savannah. And then, two weeks ago, the federal government formally declared that all homosexuals were enemies of the nation, who had deliberately and systemat ically attempted to destroy the moral fiber of their fellow citizens, and they ordered the FBI to..."

Reber's eyes were already glowing with feral awareness.

"You needn't tell me more," he said. "I've heard it all before. Now that the Americans have chosen their victims, it remains only for the...uh, the' sacrifice to take place. And, in order to carry it off successfully, they need an expert!"

The warden nodded grimly. ·

"The Israeli government was contacted by the secretary of state, asking in the name of the United States that you not be executed, but rather that you be turned over to them."

Reber let out a deep sigh. Resting his arms over the side of the chair, he gave himself over to that feeling of warmth and contentment that comes from knowing that you are truly needed.