The camp had been liberated the day before. Everyone was busy… Former prisoners needed examining, feeding and clothing. Former captors needed stripping, changing and imprisoning. All sorts of logistics. Paperwork. Investigations.

“Jedem das Seine”… “To each their own”, gothic letters above the door proclaimed. Sergeant Abstein walked through it on his way to the car park, gravel crunching under his boots.

He found a free jeep. “It’s the same eagle”, his mind raced as the engine roared to life. The other US soldiers crisscrossing the car park didn’t seem to notice him.

Abstein left Buchenwald in the dust. The sun formed dappled patterns on the forest road leading downhill toward the town of Weimar. Spring air filled his nostrils but his body itched in his uniform. The pendant he had found in the SS commander’s office, on top of a box of thin wood, burned a hole in his palm.

“It’s the same eagle that I saw”, he thought. A German eagle pendant, Its claws and wings sinking deep into the flesh of his palm.

The jeep rattled and screeched as Abstein slammed on the brakes in the cobbled square down in Weimar. He jumped out and raced toward the goldsmith. He had seen the shop the day before, when the US army entered the city.

The goldsmith’s display was sparse, few pieces behind a metal grill. Among them was the German eagle pendant Abstein had seen the day before. He looked at the one in his hand. “The same eagle.”

He kicked the door in. The man inside jumped, eyes wide, hands thrown forward.

“Where are they?” Abstein covered the distance to the counter in two large steps. His eyes burned. “Wo sind sie?” His father, a German Jew immigrant to America had taught him the language.

“Where are they?” Abstein screamed, pushing the man away and rummaging in the back of the shop. His heart pounded.

He found a crude wooden box, just like the one in the SS office. He shook it. It rattled. He took it under arm and kicked the goldsmith out the door.

The man plunged on the cobbles. A couple of US soldiers and a few hunched down locals froze and stared.

“Es tut mir leid”, the goldsmith whimpered, “I’m sorry”. His voice was shaky, choking on tears.

Abstein emerged from the dark shop. His face was strained, his uniform shapeless. He loomed over the goldsmith and raised the rattling box over his wide shoulders.

“How many?” His voice thundered over the old square. “How many for each eagle… Wie viele Zähne… Did the SS commandant make you do this or did you volunteer? Is that why they protected you?” Abstein screamed, small drops of saliva sprinkled in the air. “You made jewelry from them for the SS? Did they protect you and your shop?”

The goldsmith was on his knees before him. Abstein pressed closed his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks. He tightened his grip around the box and drove it down… Hard.

The thin wood exploded around the goldsmith’s head. Splinters and contents flew…

Hundreds of sparkly things… Golden things… Glittering in the April sun… They seemed to hang in the air forever.

The goldsmith collapsed on the cobbles, holding his bloodied head. “Es tut mir leid”, he wailed, snots bubbling on his hooked nose. Wood splinters and sparkly golden things with blotches of blood surrounded him. Soldiers and locals gawked.

Abstein staggered away. He screamed and fell on his knees. They kept sparkling in his tear- veiled eyes… Hundreds of golden teeth.