Mr. B's Brother's Reanimation Experiments

Mr. B maintained that his brother was a pastor somewhere, or that he was a vicar somewhere, but the priest was simply a patient at a crazy house. This was not, God forbid, any normal psychiatric hospital, but a kind of closed place for isolation, being in the care of the archdiocese, where under the attentive and doting care of nuns there were discretely kept holy persons with various mental problems, most often of a sexual nature. 

Mr. B’s brother was ordained just before the war, after which he had soon become somewhere in the southwestern part of the country a deacon. In the second year of the war the Gestapo arrested him and he ended up in the concentration camp in Dachau. In this camp, by the order of the Luftwaffe or the Kriegsmarine, medical experiments were conducted on the prisoners, to simulate the rescue from the water in winter or even polar conditions pilots or sailors—castaways. 

These experiments were conducted primarily on Soviet prisoners of war at the concentration camp. Bad luck had it that the Russians that were being brought in that day for medical experiments began to become unruly and their SS-man, being probably that day in not the best mood, took out his pistol and without considering it too much, shot on the spot two of the six of them. Because the experiments had to happen according to schedule, missing two prisoners of war, ad hoc two other prisoners stood in, who looked healthy enough and conveniently found themselves nearby. One of these just happened to be the priest, Mr. B’s brother. 

The experiment was based on this, that the prisoner was placed in water in something like a bathtub or vat, similar to a modern day Jacuzzi. Next, they drastically lowered the temperature of the water, such so that by the last phase, it fell to about three degrees Celsius and the prisoner, who was connected to numerous measuring devices, after much suffering, first lost consciousness and then eventually fell into a kind of clinical death. 

Then from this ice cold water they pulled him out, laying him on a large bunk in a very warm alcove and to action jumped specially trained girls. Primarily two or even three came to attend to each one. They covered the unconscious with their warm feminine bodies, they massaged him and tried the ways they knew to attempt to get his blood flow going. 

These were mostly professional German prostitutes who as an asocial element quite often found themselves in concentration camps. Mr. B’s brother, before he was frozen, was sure that certain death awaited him. Until the moment he lost consciousness he prayed the entire time. When after the experiment he began to regain it, he found himself in a horizontal position on some gigantic bedding, between two naked women unknown to him, who were rubbing up on him with the most attractive fragments of their feminine flesh. 

As if this were not enough, a third woman, also naked, sat kneeling over him and with the beautiful face of an authentic demoness, she straddled him, stroking his neck with the tits of her substantial breasts. Mr. B’s brother, being a priest had several times taken the vows of celibacy and so really had never in his life had any woman. 

After regaining consciousness instead of somehow reacting to and interrupting all this, he continued to feign his collapse and fainting, with premeditation dragging it out and delighting himself in the tough work, until it would be successful, of the German whores. The reanimation experiments were repeated often and ended after almost a year, when these pseudo-experiments were moved to another camp, maybe even to Auschwitz. 

After the war, which Mr. B’s brother managed somehow to survive, as a former concentration camp prisoner, after a few years of applying, finally received an assignment at a parish in the country, placed exactly thirty three kilometers from his brother’s villa.

At the beginning everything went perfectly normal there. The parishioners, mainly those repatriated from the irrevocably lost eastern terrains of the country, were quite pleased with their rector, and the rector did not have any complaints about his parishioners. At his presbytery he led an ascetic lifestyle. He did not have a hostess, and even cooked for himself; it didn’t matter what or how. He occupied only one room in the large rector’s home, which he had entirely to himself. It was not difficult to see something had been gnawing at him. 

When one time he had visited his brother, which he did very rarely, on the way to the train station, where he had some local train to his village, he made an interesting discovery. The area around the station, meaning all the nearby side streets, were occupied by whores. They stood on nearly every corner. This gave the priest much to think about. 

The next day, with a renewed energy he had forgotten he had, he ordered changes. First, he ordered the entire presbytery to be renovated, for the rooms to be painted, for the windows and other accessories to be replaced and what was most important, for the bathroom to be redone and expanded. The bath tub, which was not large enough, was removed and sold, and in its place the local stove fitter built him something like a basin, powered with warm and cold water. Post-German drawers there were enough of in the presbytery. 

He told the carpenter-cum-upholsterer only to build a daybed bunk based on his own hand-drawn sketches of the project. Because the parish was poor, the money for all this he took from his brother, Mr. B, who seemed to have an unlimited amount of it and always gladly gave him any. 

When everything was ready, Mr. B’s brother lit the bathroom heater well and on his way out additionally threw on a few more coals from the scoop. He knew that at whatever time he returned, warm water would be waiting for him. He left by train for the city. He did not have on him his priestly robe and already in the wagon put on a Basque beret, and his collar he hid with a bright red scarf tied in a fat knot. He looked like a dirty but well situated licentious frog eater. 

Upon arrival he made contact with a taxi driver who engaged in brokering and pimping. The priest invited him to a restaurant for dinner and for a long time they discussed something. With three whores in the evening he returned to his presbytery, and on the way he bought three half-liters of vodka and sandwiches. He sent the taxi away, asking for it to return at six in the morning. The whores stayed in the main room on the davenport, while he locked himself in the bathroom. 

There he entered the basin and, beginning with warm water, after a certain time he left only the cold water running, such that after a half hour he was immersed in icy water. Meanwhile the whores reveled in the alcohol and snacks. 

When from the bathroom he began to cry “WHORES! WHORES! Your do-gooder will soon be with you!” they, previously instructed exactly by the taxi driver, quickly undressed to their birthday suits, and when he appeared, naked, cold and wet, and collapsed on the bedding, they, exactly like the German prostitutes in Dachau, began to perform on him those kinds of reanimation treatments. 

Mr. B’s brother finally had this that he subconsciously had longed for through these several, monotonous post-war years. Wanting very much to catch up on the longings that had developed since the end of the war, he went balls to the wall; the reanimation séances were repeated fairly often, once, twice or even three times a week. 

From time to time, overwhelmed with a sense of guilt, Mr. B’s brother interrupted the reanimation and made the naked whores put on altar boy garments and herded them to the next room, where on the wall hanged a large crucifix. There they all got on their knees and Mr. B’s brother broke into fervent prayer. For their kneeling, sometimes longer, sometimes shorter, they always received extra money. 

Unfortunately, after a year, seven months, three weeks and five days, counting of course from the first session, Mr. B’s brother’s behavior was demasked by the church authorities. He was a typical victim of the permanent violation by the clerics of the secrecy of confessions. 

When one of the numerous reanimators working for him wanted during Easter to bring this to holy confession, and after she was thoroughly questioned by the priest in the confessional, the matter became known outside the participants themselves. Summarily he was disposed of his parish and interned in the aforementioned archdiocesan crazy house.