Excerpt

 THE INTELECTUAL NEO-NAZI 

The group of twenty-six neo-Nazis met every evening at eight o’clock in the centre of Tiersk to start hunting those they considered the enemies of Slavia, the parasites, the inferior races, and the degenerates. It was made up of young men between the ages of eighteen and thirty. There were students, building workers, electricians, male nurses, taxi drivers, shopkeepers, security guards and unemployed people. They practised martial arts, boxing, and bodybuilding in the gymnasiums. They practised fighting techniques in the street. They had shaved heads, and tattoos of swastikas and skulls, and wore black clothes and army boots. They went about armed with truncheons, knuckledusters, chains, and knives. As there were few blacks in the country, and most of the Jews were rich and well-protected, their victims were immigrants from Albania and Romania, gypsies, tramps, homosexuals, alcoholics and drug addicts. However, in the event that they did not find any of those, any citizen they happened to meet could become the target of their beatings. They had started patrolling the streets two months ago, and already had attacked over seventy people, two of whom had ended up dying. As well as interrogations, anyone who wanted to join the group had to undergo a test that consisted of beating up a designated victim, alone. The violence and mercilessness of the attack were vital for being accepted. Hesitation meant rejection and a thrashing. The police knew them, but did not mind them, as they thought they helped clean up the streets and intimidate gangsters. So they were allies, in a way.

That night one of the neo-Nazis named Jan had brought along a candidate for joining the group, and he was going to be put to the test. Jan was the only member of the group who had read Hitler’s Mein Kampf and knew anything about European History, the Second World War, and the western democracies. Jan worked in a butcher’s, had finished high school, used a library, and bought books about politics and history at the stands of second-hand booksellers in the streets. The other neo-Nazis had vague ideas about these subjects, which bored them, to tell the truth, as violence fascinated them more than ideology. As there was thus a sort of hierarchy in which punches and kicks ranked higher than knowledge, Jan, in spite of being a reasonable fighter, had never managed to achieve influence over his comrades. They called him ‘the intellectual,’ pejoratively. All the same, no one doubted that he was the best person to recruit the new neo-Nazis because he prepped them in minute detail before they were put to the final test. In the last six months he had introduced three new candidates, and only one had been rejected, because in a street fight he had been unable to beat a Romanian immigrant who had stabbed him in the arm.

The new candidate was a boy of twenty called Stefan, fair-haired and blue-eyed, and muscular thanks to boxing and full contact. Jan attended the same fighting school and had been impressed by the power of Stefan’s punches and the ferocity of his attacks on his opponents – the trainer had several times had to restrain him from causing serious cuts. One day he had invited him to train with himself, and after a bout in which both ended up bleeding, had taken him out to drink a few beers. That was how the recruitment process began. Jan asked questions and learned what he wanted to know: that Stefan lived with his mother and had never known his father; Stefan had given up studying and made a living by expedients like working as a bouncer in bars or entering illegal fights; Stefan had no girlfriend nor any real friends; Stefan knew little about politics, history, or culture in general.

Jan understood then that underneath the armour of the hardened warrior, an insecure child was hiding, who could easily be manipulated. First, he praised his strength, his courage, his fighting skills, and even the shape of his biceps – and Stefan smiled, avid for recognition. Then he told him that he believed Stefan would become a professional fighter capable of competing abroad – and Stefan started punching the air. Only after half an hour of conversation and four beers did the political indoctrination begin. Did Stefan know that the country was being robbed by Jews, by immigrants, and by scum who did not work but received social security payments? Of course Stefan had never thought about any of that. Did Stefan know that the inhabitants of Slavia were a superior race who were being corrupted by mixing with inferior races? Stefan did not know that either. Did Stefan know that within a few generations the country might be overrun by foreigners? Stefan shook his head again. So, something had to be done. Stefan agreed. Since the politicians were corrupt, it had to be the citizens who would fight for their country. Stefan agreed again. Slavia had to be purified and that struggle was starting in the streets. Stefan smiled; this was something he understood. Would he like to join a group of brave lads who were defending their country? Did he have the courage to take on the Jewish scoundrels, the immigrants, the queers and drug-addicts? Did he have the urge to break teeth and skulls? Yes, yes, they could count on him, said Stefan, they could count on him to start beating the hell out of those sons of bitches.

Jan had no need to peer further into the abyss that had opened in Stefan: on the surface there was sufficient hatred, revulsion and ignorance to make of him an attack dog.

The night was warm and the sky was full of stars. A group of neo-Nazis had met in an old district of the city where restaurants, bars, clubs and brothels were beginning to appear. It was a pedestrian street, wide and well-lit; the walls of the buildings were covered with graffiti and there were rubbish bags on the ground; some corners smelled of urine. The place attracted many people, but a clearing formed around the neo-Nazi group. No one dared approach them and some went away as soon as they saw them. The bar owners greeted them with their heads lowered and offered them beers. The restaurant owners asked them if they would like to eat anything. No club bouncer barred entry to them. The neo-Nazis loved such gestures; the fear they inspired made them feel powerful and invulnerable, lords of the streets. They were loud, they pushed each other, showed their knives and simulated fight scenes, letting out tremendous yells. At such times everyone stared at the spectacle of them showing their strength, and straight away many people left.

When Jan arrived with Stefan he saluted his comrades by raising his right arm and went up to the leader to present the candidate. Stefan looked at the tall, well-built, red-haired man with blue eyes, who wore a ring with a steel skull, and his expectations were met – he was before a warrior. He let the other examine him from head to toe with a cold regard as if he were a doctor looking for a disease. He knew he would pass the scrutiny.

‘My name’s Tobias and the first thing you’ve got to learn is that I’m the boss here.’