“I will then read the order of the Oberkommando of the Wehrmacht posthumously awarding, in the name of the Führer, the Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross to Hauptmann Duarte. I will then take three steps forward to the casket. You will follow me, do a left face to me, and extend the pillow to me. I will take the decoration from the pillow and pin it to the Argentine colors that will be covering the casket.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“How do you feel about that, Herr Hauptmann?”
“Sir?”
“I personally felt the Knight’s Cross was a bit much,” Grüner said. “It is a decoration that should be won because of outstanding valor. A simple Iron Cross would be sufficient, I think.”
“Herr Oberst, it is not my place to question the award of a decoration by the Oberkommando of the Wehrmacht.”
“Nor mine,” Grüner said. “But between soldiers…”
Peter did not reply.
“We will then, at my command, do the appropriate facing movement, so that we are facing the casket. On my command, we will take two steps backward and then render the German salute. The Navy somehow gets away with the hand-to-the-temple salute, but those of us in the Wehrmacht and the Luftwaffe must obey the Führer’s order to render the German salute. Don’t forget!”
“No, Sir.”
“On my command again, we will conclude the salute, do an about-face, and march back to our positions behind Ambassador von Lutzenberger.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“The casket will then be carried out of this courtyard, to the right and through the main entrance to the cemetery. You will remain behind, and when the last of the dignitaries has left the courtyard, you will enter the cemetery through that gate.”
He pointed, then walked to a small iron gate in the wall, which turned out to be locked.
“I will see that it is unlocked,” Grüner said. “For now, we will enter the cemetery by the main gate.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You will pass through that gate and—you will probably have to move quickly—proceed to the Duarte tomb, where you will remain until the casket has been placed inside. After the family has departed, you will remove the Knight’s Cross from the casket, return it to its box, and proceed to the Duarte mansion, where, exercising great tact, you will present the decoration to Señor Duarte.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I say ‘exercising great tact’ because of the mother. She is, poor lady, not in the best of health, mentally speaking.”
Oberst Karl-Heinz Grüner made a circling motion with his index finger at his temple.
“I understand, Herr Oberst.”
“We will now locate the Duarte tomb for you, and the path from the small gate in the courtyard.”
“Yes, Sir.”
That took about five minutes. Peter found the cemetery fascinating. It was almost literally a city of the dead, with every inch except the walkways covered with elaborate tombs, some small and some as large as small houses. In fact, they all looked like houses. Almost all of them had a glass-covered wrought-iron door, through which small altars could be seen. The altars were usually complete to either a large brass cross or a statue of Christ on His cross, or both. And in each tomb/chapel a casket could be seen, either on the altar itself or in front of it. Several of the caskets were small and white, children’s caskets, which made Peter uncomfortable.
When Oberst Grüner saw him looking into the tombs, he explained:
“The most recently deceased has his casket left on or in front of the altar until the next death in the family, whereupon it is placed in what for a better word I think of as the basement of the tomb. There are three, four, as many as six subterranean levels, I’m told.”
“Fascinating.”
“Bizarre, is more like it. Catholic bizarre, plus Spanish bizarre. Incredible!”
Something else raised Peter’s curiosity as they walked through the cemetery, a tomb with no Catholic symbols or pious words—the burial place of an atheist and his family? He asked Grüner about it: “I thought only Catholics could be buried in a Catholic cemetery.”
“So did I, until I came here.” He paused and shook his head at the failure of Argentines to be logical. “Consecrated ground, they call it. No heathens or Evangelische need apply. The last time I was here—it’s over there someplace—I even came across a tomb reserved for Freemasons. I thought the Catholics hated Freemasons about as much as the Führer.” He smiled. “There is no explanation, except that this is Argentina, and Argentina is like nowhere else in the world.”