I had an unexpected interaction with Little Gritz at around noon.

It involved the food, and as I wasn’t given watch today I ate with my fellows further back in the base. There are few things more gratifying than taking advantage of pleasures you yourself helped to protect, I can assure you of that. Never have I felt more comfortable at a gathering of my peers than today in the make-shift mess hall, surrounded by men able to eat in peace due to my efforts. Partly mine, I should say. No need to become proud about it.

As I sat under a clear open sky, crunching on hardtack I hadn’t let sit in my stew long enough, I got a glimpse of a tall, lean figure standing over my shoulder in manner more befitting to a demon than a man. Having seen a sight similar to this almost every day since I was born, I paid no mind to it. Little Gritz, however, had other plans.

“How’s the diary, Duval?" he asked, his sincerity more terrifying than any intimidation tactic.

“Interesting,” I said. I was telling the truth.

“I was hoping for a little more than just interesting.” He sat on the log beside me, a pot of stew in hand. It was so identical to mine I thought for a second that he had stolen it from me.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Gritzman.” I was still telling the truth. I have no ill will toward him, and he has no ill will toward me. We’ve struck a good balance, in a strange way. He smiled out of the corner of his mouth.

“Ashcroft told us the diary would certainly destroy you, Otto.” He took a spoonful of his stew, saw a particularly large chunk of hard tack, and put it back in the pot. “I hope you know I didn’t believe him.”

“I’d be concerned for your well being if you did,” I said, “considering we’re on the same side of the war.”

He laughed. “Damn right! I only kill Germans, Otto. It’s a strict rule of mine. Ever read the sixth commandment?”

“Thou shalt not kill.”

“Whoever wrote it down missed the chunk that fell off the tablet as Moses walked down Sinai. I found it, you know. It said ‘unless it’s a German.’” He laughed again. I couldn’t help but laugh too.

“Could I ask you what the plan was, Gritz? With the diary, I mean.”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “John Ashcroft is a mystery to us all, Duval. I think the only plan was to mess with our heads, to make us believe the curse was real.

“Of course.” I smiled and hung my head down. “I’ve been writing in it. Nothing’s happened to me yet, I guess his plan didn’t work.”

Gritz’s face, to my utter confusion, turned paper white.

“Why did you do that?” I could hear him consciously steadying his voice.

“What, do you believe in it now?” I asked.

I’ve never seen anything like it. The man before me, the cold-blooded killer, shed one tear down his left cheek without any change in facial expression.

“Now I do.” He got up and walked away.

I asked Marcel about it and he didn’t understand it either. He did, however, tense up when I brought it up.