Newman's Eyes

‘I want to hear about it.’
‘Hear about what? ‘

The camps. Everything. The experiments. The examinations. All the stuff the writers are scared to put in their books because people will think they're sick. That's what I want…everything.

………………………………..


After a few seconds the prisoners began to leap about. Some were screaming. Most of them were laughing. They began to vomit and to... to defecate helplessly.
They began to twitch all over and make high, strange sounds in their throats. At last
they collapsed and just lay there on the concrete, twitching and yodelling, with blood streaming from their noses. But I lied to you, boy. It didn't kill them. Either because it wasn't strong enough or because we couldn't bring ourselves to wait that long. I suppose it was that. I sent five men in with rifles to end their agonies.

(Apt Pupil, Dir. Bryan Singer, 1998)


If you’re still reading you have no excuse to be offended by the following.


‘I still don’t know if I agree with you’.
‘Hang on, you told me that you think this text is the best one weve studied so far cos only four pages in Wilkormirski’s dad gets pinned to the wall by the Nazi’s in front of him and then smiles his last smile at his infant son before being driven into by that massive truck so hard that black blood comes rushing out of his exploding neck’.
‘So’?
‘So how the fuck can you tell me that you, of all people, don’t agree with me that the reason so many of us ice the beer, dip the nachos and only take a slash in the ad breaks during Schindler’s List is that we find all those sick sick little details fascinating to the point where we’d much rather watch elaborate fucked-up means of torture and death being inflicted upon the Jews than watch Horny Sluts With Lubed Up Butts.’
‘Man that movie is awesome’.
‘Ok but pit that homemade thirty minute video produced by a very shaky hand held camera during which Randy Candy Wet Colette and Cock-Eater Rita moisten and finger fuck each other’s asses as the cameraman jerks off against a film where the only sign of porn which isn’t even porn is when Ralph Fiennes gets his cock out only to take a piss before snipering some unfortunate slacker Jew through the head. It’s no contest.’
‘Come off it you know the two aren’t comparable shit-for-brains. I don’t watch Schindler’s list to make me want to touch myself and nor would I watch horny sluts with lubed up butts for the shock value unless I expected the finger to go in so far that the result would remind me of Horny Birds With Curly Turds.’
‘Sometimes I cant believe we actually rented that. But it makes sense. It fits perfectly. You know you want to be shocked Wakeling. You want to watch something that you know you shouldn’t watch and be thrilled by but at the same time you are one hundred per fucking cent captivated by the atrocities you’re witnessing.’
‘I see where this is going. Youre going to try and compare college girls opening their tight pink buttholes and shitting on each other’s hard nipples to the extermination of a race aren’t you?’
‘Bang on.’
‘Let’s have it.’
‘All I’m saying is that they both function on the same basic level. That level is viewer anticipation and viewer reaction. The viewer is watching primarily because he wants to be shocked. Possibly appalled. Herein lies the success of the horror genre.Simple’
‘Simple? Care to elaborate?’
‘Do you know anyone into shit?’
‘Nope.’
‘Settled.’
‘What about Schindler’s List? ‘
‘What about it?’
‘Back up you crazy fuck are you seriously telling me that the reason it’s so critically acclaimed and popular is because we are fascinated by the sick shit the Nazi’s do to the Jews?’
‘Yes.’
‘Aren’t those film critics trained to look past just the content though? Do they not analyse filmic methods and techniques, camera angles, the one hundred and eighty degree principle, mise-en-scene, use of sound and colour and all that shit?’
‘Perhaps. But nearly every critical review I read seemed to summarise their reaction to the film by using adjectives like ‘powerful’ and ‘moving’.’
‘And?’
‘All that means is that they were shocked and captivated by all the sick shit. It moved and mesmerized them just as they wanted and expected to be moved and mezmerized, just like when you were moved and mesmerized as expected when Diarreoh Leah launched that runny shit all over Scat-Loving Kat thirty two minutes into horny birds with curly turds.’
‘For fucks sake.’
‘What?’
‘You’re entirely ignoring the event’s historical significance. Surely our obsession with the Holocaust stems from its place in recent history as a significant event that we should remember because of the issues of morality and difference that it raises.’
‘It raises those issues no doubt...But are you seriously fucking telling me that’s why you find it fascinating? Because of the moral implications?Had you not figured out already that there was something mildly suspect about Auschwitz?’
‘I just don’t agree with you.’
‘Forty minutes into Psycho, right after Norman Bates slashes up Marion Crane in the shower, he bundles her dead body into the trunk of his car and then pushes the car into the swamp where it rests for a good minute before sinking. All of us in here know the scene. Ok, I’d like a show of hands; Who here was praying for that car to sink? Who here was willing it to slowly slide down to the dark depths of that swamp so that knife-happy Bates could live happily ever after?’
All twelve people in the room are just staring at me in silence. The more confident and opinionated ones have their arms folded, others are stroking their chins thoughtfully, and a couple of them are pretending to search their rucksacks for a pen. Out of the corners of their eyes theyre all looking at the seminar leader, a grey-haired fifty three year old Yale graduate called Racheal with a PHD in Holocaust Literature and a loose fitting knitted grey cardigan that she always wears. They don’t dare speak before she gives some sign of authorisation. They need to know that they are permitted to contribute to the conversation that Wakeling and myself have been having across the twenty foot rectangular wooden table for the past three and a half minutes. A redhead with glasses is now concentrating hard on a portrait of Henry James on the wall, intentionally it seems, perhaps attempting to exclude herself from what I must admit, is now a rather awkward silence. Another girl is staring directly at me. I can’t figure out the expression on her face. I can’t even remember her name. In fact I slowly realise that all I actually know about her is that she is on this course to learn more about the documentation of her Jewish history in Literature. At least, that’s what she said on introduction day when we sat around this very table and discussed our reasons for wanting to take the course. If she was telling the truth then it’s possible that the past three and a half minutes have been a tad inappropriate. But she speaks with a thick foreign accent that I can’t even place let alone understand, and she’s not at all attractive unlike the thick-lipped filthy-looking goth to my left who I fantasise about spit-roasting with Wakeling, so at this very moment I don’t actually care. The silence has now lasted for the best past of fifteen seconds. One guy, who I only now realise is actually wearing a t-shirt with a black print of a bearded rabbi adopting a gangster pose and the words ‘Jew talkin to me’? written on it is looking like he is about to venture a response. I see him look at me, breathe in once, short and fast like he is about to start a sentence. I raise my head in anticipation. But then he thinks better of it, closes his mouth, and sits back with his palms resting on his stomach. The redhead is still looking at the portrait of James, but I can see from her tensed torso beneath her checked shirt and alert demeanour that she is postively itching for someone, anyone, to say something. It is now up to twenty seconds. Wakeling is staring at me from behind his glasses, looking both puzzled and uncomfortable and playing with his beard. Although he’s been talking for the past three and a half minutes, like everybody else, he is now speechless. He knows the silence has now gone on too long and he’ll be damned if he’s going to be the one who has to perform the momunemtal task of breaking it. I know he’s thinking the same as me. I stare back at him because I’d much rather stare at him than anywhere else because there’s no danger in staring at him. This entire situation is bad news for the conclusion of my discussion with Wakeling, which, I’m now starting to think, was perhaps mores suited for when we got home. I don’t know whether no one is answering my question because theyre uncomfortable with the discussion that has taken place so far or because they genuinely did not want the car to sink. I quickly conclude that it must be the former since I think if anyone in the room were to claim that they did not want the car to sink then they’d be lying. This mildly irritates me even though I was hoping that no one would respond. But I was hoping this so I could then go on to try and prove that the reason they claimed that they did not want the car to sink was because it revealed darker sides of their desires that they like to think, or at least like to show, do not exist. I then wanted to parallel this with watching a film like Schindler’s list and suggest that the reason the group will not admit that they are fascinated by watching the Nazi sick shit is because it brings their own sense of morality under scrutiny from themselves and the group. Even so, the discussion is still so so dead and displaying no signs of resurrection. I do not and now will not know how the group would really respond to the question about whether or not they wantd the car to sink and I’m burning with rage that this seminar has now become fucking fruitless. At the head of the table Racheal is now scratching the back of her neck and pretending to read a printed handout that she has already heavily annotated. I decide I have to be the one to break the silence. Wakeling can tell what I’m thinking and so purposefully looks as far away from me as his neck will allow. So I reach into my rucksack and pull out my cardboard blue folder that contains twenty identical fold-out brochures. I select one of them at random, place it on the desk in front of me, rest my chin in my palms, and begin to read out loud to the still-silent group:


‘Auschwitz Birkenau’
‘The World's most notorious place of Genocide and Mass grave. Started in 1940 as a concentration camp for Polish political prisoners, in 1942 it became the centre for the extermination of European Jews. In 1940 - 1945 the Nazis killed about 1.5 million people there, mainly Jews but also Poles, Gypsies, Russian POWs and people of other nations. Auschwitz Tour - you will spend about 3 and a half hours in Auschwitz and Birkenau concentration camps, where you will be given an English guided tour by the Museum's licensed guide. The tour begins with a 15-minute documentary film about the liberation of the camp, then the museum guide will show you exhibits in some of the surviving prison blocks, the gas chamber and the crematorium. After a short break you continue to Birkenau, where you go up to the watchtower above the entrance gate to see the view of the biggest Nazi extermination camp. The tour includes the transport to and from Krakow. Visit Krakow and Auschwitz from £129 per person. Price includes 2 nights in 3 star hotel (includes breakfast) located in the city centre; Auschwitz & Birkenau Tour (including transport).Return flight from London to Krakow.’
When I am finished I see Wakeling cradling his head in his hands, his palms pushing the bridge of his glasses down his nose. Everyone in the room, the Henry James obsessed redhead included, is now staring in silence, yet again, but this time it is an attentive silence rather than an evasive one. None of them want to show it, but every single one of them wants a brochure. The hot goth next to me cautiously reaches out to the brochure in front of me and turns it about twenty degrees so she can get a better look at the front page which has a black and white photograph of the camp and the wire fencing surrounding it. After ten seconds or so her courage grows and she grasps the entire thing with her sexy black fingernails, which, I must admit, I then understandably proceed to imagine covered in baby oil and wrapped around my stiff circumcised cock as she pumps the shaft. I sit back, this is brilliant. The hot Goth continues to study the inside of the brochure, entirely unaware that there are eleven sets of scrutinising and envious eyes trained upon her. After an uncomfortable twenty seconds she hands the brochure back to me and with a shy smile says that it looks a little ‘depressing’. Before I can respond there is a knock at the door which unfortunately for me means there is another group waiting to come in and our time in here is up. As I quickly survey the room it appears that nobody else in here, Wakeling included, shares my disappointment. In fact the guy with the Jew posing as a gangster on his T-shirt is now actually already out of his seat his folder clutched firm against his ribs and he’s making his way past the picture of Henry James to the door and making an obviously conscious effort not to look in my direction which actually backfires when he catches the side of his thigh on the corner of the table and I know for a fact that that really fucking hurts and so he momentarily jolts before quickly composing himself and reaching the door which he then opens. As a Literature student I cannot help but smile at the unfortunate symbolism involved in his opening of the door which in turn opens the door for the remaining eleven students to also make a quick exit which they promptly prepare to do. As I look over at Wakeling and smile I notice the redhead walks very close to me on her way out, spots a chance, and actually tries to subtly grasp a brochure without my noticing. Decent finger dexterity would have guaranteed success but her plan too backfires and she ends up clumsily knocking it off the table with her delicate freckled hand. She can’t decide whether she should pick it up apologetically which could be construed as an admittance that she did not knock it off the table by accident since the leaflet was very easy to walk past without touching, or whether she should carry on walking and pretend it was an accident that she is entirely oblivious too. The problem she faces is that she doesn’t know if I saw her reach for it or not and that is what makes all the difference in this situation. It matters not if she either picks it up or continues to walk out the room, if I saw her reach for it then to be honest she will look like a bit of a fool. In summary, if I saw her reach for it, it is a no-win situation for her. But if I assume it was an accident and then she walks out of the room then I will just pick the leaflet up and think nothing of it. As for the final possibility, that I believe it was an accident and she picks it up and hands it to me, then she would win in this situation and would not lose face. But the fact still remains that she does not know if I saw her reach for it or not and she definitely does not have the composure to try and calmly act her way out of this one especially because it’s all happening so fast and she knows there is a strong chance I did see her reach for it. So she just freezes. She stops and looks down at the leaflet which I didn’t realise but has actually floated down under the table and so has made the situation ten times more uncomfortable because now if she reaches for the leaflet she is going to have to get down onto her hands and knees and reach for it which she can’t really afford to do because not only are there still three people behind her waiting to get past but they will see her pick up the leaflet and then she has to face the fact that they will wonder if she actually wants a leaflet. So now she is facing judgement from four different people. She is wary that I will judge her for attempting to subtly take a leaflet without my noticing and clumsily failing like a retard and she is wary that the people behind her will think the immoral blood-lusting bitch wants to take popcorn and a six-pack to Auschwitz on a fun weekend away. She is still looking at the leaflet and about three or four seconds have passed since she knocked it off and the three remaining students are still stood waiting behind her. She hesitates another couple of seconds before looking down under the table and she keeps looking there for a short while longer and suddenly she smiles and I think why the fuck is she smiling if I was in her situation smiling is the last thing I’d be doing I’d probably be sweating for fucks sake. But she calmly gets down on all fours and I won’t lie I’m thinking about putting her red hair in a ponytail which I can then grip tightly as I do her from behind while she’s still wearing her checked shirt and she grasps the leaflet and stands straight back up again with an almost smug look on her face and I’m thinking what the fuck …

‘Here you go, I think you dropped this’, She says as she places it in my palm which is a hundred times worse than if she’d just placed it on the table along with the rest and I have to admit the fucker has really surprised me and I’m actually too dumbstruck to respond and so I just murmur some kind of appreciation before staring at Wakeling who is still sat in his chair looking puzzled and doesn’t have a clue what is going on and when I look back the red-head isn’t there and has left the room as have the three students who were waiting behind her. So now it’s just me and Wakeling sat here in silence and for some reason he’s now looking at the picture of Henry James and I’m wondering what the fuck it is about that picture that is so dam enticing so I stare at Wakeling in an effort to force him to stare back at me which he eventually does and I can’t tell if maybe he’s a little pissed off with me but he eventually opens his mouth to reveal his gappy teeth and starts laughing hard which quickly escalates to howling and this starts me off and I start laughing too and it gets harder and harder and louder and louder and then high pitched shrieking like a girl so loud it’s virtually screaming and my mouth opens more and it gets to the stage where I can feel my cheeks stretching and hurting like I’m chewing something with a really hard texture but I really don’t care as I look back over at him and see him slamming both of his white-knuckled tightly clasped fists down on the table like some sort of primate and roaring with laughter so so hard that I see his eyes well up behind his glasses and then he actually starts hinking because his mouth just isn’t capable of dealing with the intensity of the noises he’s producing.