The Assassin

Klaus Osterlitz was a valiant soldier, a true Republican, and worthy of his rank of lieutenant in the French army. He was also a German émigré, a Jewish intellectual from Berlin who had left Germany when his father, a university professor, was arrested for treason. It was not exactly clear why his father was arrested. He was far from an extremist, and would never have consciously rebelled against the government. However, he was well-aware of the Kaiser’s acts concerning the Jews, and Klaus suspected that he may have said something against them in one of his classes.

            When Klaus’ father was arrested, the Osterlitz family was put into a state of pure disarray. Klaus’ mother was forced to take a job as a seamstress in a local factory, and his younger sister, a highly precocious young girl, was forced to drop out of school. Klaus himself was extremely bitter. Some of his friends tried to convince him to join their secret insurgencies, but Klaus felt that there was no hope for such clubs. He felt the best way to fight back was to go over to the French side.

            Not long after joining the French ranks, Klaus proved himself to be a valuable soldier. He was vocal, both in strategy and on the battle field, and he was brave. It wasn’t long before his superior officers began mentioning his name for promotions.

            Klaus was stationed in the woods around Artois when rumors began to spread of assassins. A high ranked officer was found dead in his sleep one morning, and the day before a man had been spotted near the river. Klaus’ superiors ordered him to take a team of men into the forest and hunt down this assassin.

            It was late afternoon and Klaus and his team were trekking along the hills next to the river. The light seemed soupy as they edged their way along the hill. The forest was not so thick here, and they could see the other side of the river with relative ease. The hill was steep, however, and their boots fell heavily into the thick covering of leaves.

            Up ahead, on the other side of the river, the hills became rockier, and a solid rock face jutted out into a cliff over the river. Klaus gazed at the cliff, and though the sun was very bright, he thought he could make out a figure. He stopped and put his binoculars to his face.

            “What is it, lieutenant?” one of the men asked.

            “It looks like a man,” said Klaus.

            And indeed it was a man—kneeling on the edge of the cliff with his hands to his eyes. It looked as if he were either praying or weeping.

            Klaus led the men down the hill and across the river. They climbed up the hills on the other side and up the rock face. They used a great deal of energy to reach the cliff. They climbed hurriedly, for Klaus suspected that this man was indeed an assassin. What the man was doing at the edge of a cliff, he could not begin to surmise. But he suspected that he was guilty of some crime, as all men who reach a certain point of destitution seem to be. And if the man was not an assassin himself, he would certainly be able to point Klaus in the right direction.

            When they reached the edge of the forest where it merged with the rock face, Klaus told his men to hang back. He would approach the man himself, and his men would serve as back-up. The man was still kneeling on the edge of the cliff, his rifle at his side. Klaus walked with cautious steps towards the man, with his gun aimed at his back. The man was wearing a dark blue cloak, which was threadbare, and his hair was silver, long, and curly. Klaus had a strange feeling as he saw the man bellowing with his hands before his eyes.

            “Sir,” said Klaus. The man didn’t turn around.

            Klaus moved up behind him and touched him on the shoulder. The man looked back.

            His face was haggard. It was the face of a man in the throes of a spiritual crisis. Klaus recognized the man immediately. It was his father.

            “I don’t understand,” said Klaus, dropping his gun to his side.

            “My boy,” said the old man. He stood up.

 Klaus gestured to his men to wait. He turned back to the old man. “What are you doing here?”

“They let me out of prison,” said the old man, “and sent me here.”

“As an assassin.”

Klaus’ father nodded.

“And who are you supposed to kill?” asked Klaus.

The old man looked down, as if ashamed. “You,” he said.

Klaus didn’t have to ask. He knew that if the old man failed at his mission, the German government would either kill him or send him back to prison.

“But of course I won’t,” said the old man. “That’s why I came here, to…”

The old man looked back and gesture at the scene below the cliff. The hills stretched on endlessly towards the horizon.

“Father,” said Klaus.

He took his ID tags from around his neck, and handed them to his father. “Here,” he said. “I am dead.”

The old man looked in disbelief at the name tag, then at his son. As Klaus walked back into the forest, the old man wept, for he knew that he had raised a good son.