In the months after the Third Reich had fallen, my papa and I had acquired passage to its once great power and glory.(I do not question where he got the tickets from, only that I was asked explicitly not the question the man in black) We had arrived on the outskirts of Western Germany to a smaller city. There were scorch marks and charred ashes amongst the streets, and people skittered about like scared mice. As we were pacing the streets, Papa held his arm out in front of me and pointed to an older gentleman who was dressed in various rags, a ripped coat, and a bowlers cap. Papa gave me a stern look, and put a single finger to his lips. He said to me in a voice just higher than a whisper, "Be weary of those gentlemen, for they are the draggers, and they carry the dead off to the ponds for the ducks to feast upon."
And I said, "But Papa, did the bad Nazi not command that all of the ducks be stripped of their limbs and set to fire?"
And he put a hand on my shoulder and stroked it softly and said solemnly, "Yes my son. Yes he did."