Dr. Zieglers dead eyes stared at them. He was judging the young assistant and the polish doctor even in death. The second Wojciechowski had gotten the body he'd binded the knife wounds again correctly; they'd been wrapped too loose and blood had sickered through. This was by far the worst corpse that Werner had ever seen, but only because he'd known the man when he'd been alive. He'd shouted at Ziegler, worked side by side with him, threatnened him, assisted him and once in a while, exchanged a smile. This brutal man who now lay stretched out on the operation table as if he'd never been alive, this man was his former head and now, his tumor sucsessor.
"How excactly are you going to take the tumor out of my brain?" Werner asked nervously.
"I'm going to operate it out."
"Isn't that going to kill me?"
"I hope not."
"They've tried too before, it never worked. They never got all of it. It's not in a good place, taking all of it out would mean to make me lose too much brain to live. You're not going to take it all out, right?"
"Of course not, Werner. I'm only going to cut some of it out. And then we'll cut Dr. Zieglers skull open, take a wad of his brain out and string them together. We'll call in the Lagerführer and all will be well."
"But, if you operate on me first won't I be asleep? Won't that raise suspicion?"
"You can sit on that chair there. I'll cover the side of your face that'll be bandaged with a scarf." Wojciechowski answered calmly. Werner felt as if he was about to puke. He couldn't do this, he just couldn't.
"I don't think I can cooperate." He said weakly. He could already taste the sour acid from his stomach in his mouth. "Can't we take some of the tumors we practiced on?"
"No, they're clearly old and dead. We need a fresh one."
"I can't do this." Werner repeated.
"It's alright to be scared, Killian, it's all going to be alright."
"I don't think so." Werner answered truthfully. "And I don't want to die here, not in Auschwitz."
"Nobody does, Killian."
"Isn't there another way?"
"I'm afraid not." Wojciechowski gave him a sorry look. "If we don't do this; both of us will be gased. It's your choice."
"I can't do it. Can't we do anything else?" Werner pleaded. He was unlike himself. Normally, he'd been fine before operations that attempted removal of the tumor, but he'd used to be in a place he trusted, holding his mothers hand when the anastesia kicked in, and not in a cold and damp place where the instruments were simpy not enough.
"I assure you, I am a professional. I have removed plenty blood clots from many brains, and my patients usually lived to tell the tale. Blood clots and zysts are harder than tumors, at least, in my opinion."
"I still don't want to." Werner said. He felt the panic rise in him; and it ate him up, making him lose the ability to realize what he was doing. He darted to the left, as if he wanted to escape, but there was a wall; a brick wall he slammed into. He felt like a fly trying to escape a room, a room where the windows were open but invisible to his eyes. The freightened animal inside of him reared up; he lashed out at Wojciechowski as he tried to grab in in an attempt to calm him down. The next thing Werner knew he was on his knees, sobbing, grabbing the bottom of Wojciechowskis operating coat. He begged him to let him go, to not make him do it. "Please, please, please Wojciechowksi, don't make me do this! Please!" And his sobbing turned to screaming, it was an unparalleled agony for Werner. But the polish doctor had seen worse. He'd heard father's screams after having lost their children in war, he'd heard mother's wails at childbirth, he'd heard the sound of a man being devoured by wild animals alive.
"It's going to be alright Werner. And once I'm done I'll send you off to a hospital in Warsaw where they can do a better job. We can say you had a burn-out and need mental health. They'll support you, I'm sure of it. Especially after clearing up Dr. Zieglers case." He spoke soothingly but his words still alarmed Werner. He lay curled up against the wall, knees to his chin. He wasn't sobbing anymore, but his words bubbled over his lips from the tears streaking down his face and the spit that had gathered in his mouth.
"I don't want to die." He whispered. And then he whispered it again, a second time. At least that's what Wojciechowski thought. "I want Nikolai." He repeated. Wojciechowskis ears pricked up.
"You want me to get Nikolai? Would that make you feel better?" Wojciechowskis glasses lay perched on the arch of his nose, and they seemed to slide down as he spoke which caused Werner to smile. Nikolai would have had something funny to say about that.
"Yes, I want you to get Nikolai."
"Alright, I'll get him."
And, Werner never found out how, Nikolai came. It didn't take long. It was as if Nikolai had been nearby, waiting for the call. It was nothing short of a miracle that the famous Nikolai was able to sneak inside, past all the guards and find the room he needed to be at. It was one of two miracles they'd need that night.
Werner didn't hear Nikolai come in but all of a sudden he felt his arms tightly around him. "It's going to be alright Killy, I'm here. And since I'm here, nothing bad is going to happen to you. I won't allow it, my friend. I won't let him hurt you." He kissed Werner on the forehead, wiping the strands of hair out of his friends face. "Here Killy, look at me. You can trust me. At least more than you can trust this pole. Be carefull that he doesn't steal more of your brain than just the tumor."
"What else is he going to steal? Naked pictures of Nazi-girls?" Werner joked. Nikolai burst out laughing and squeezed his friend more tightly to his chest. He was happy that the young lad had been able to crack a joke. That was a good sign.
"Are you ready, Killian." Wojciechowski asked. Killian shook his head, but he held his arm out as Nikolai held up the injection, and in a smooth and almost experienced manner, Nikolai injected the sedative into his friends arm.