The Interview pt.1

The oppressive heat of the morning sun stifles my skin as I walk in to Spandau prison for an important meeting. Given the evident yellow globe willing its heat on me, it is strange that my mind is fixed on what the sky looks like when that yellow globe disappears.

Every once in a while in Spandau prison you can see the stars appear on the navy blue sky. Though they are light years away, you can see them blink and shimmer with dim light behind iron bars. It might not be the best way a person can see them, but they are the only way to see them from the inside.

Beside the jewels of the cosmos lays the bright, unrelenting shine of the pale moon. On a clear night it dominates the navy blue sky. It’s eye catching. It can create passion in our souls. It can drive something inside us to great or horrific things. A scary thought. Well, that’s what should scare any of us.

That’s definitely what scares guards in Spandau prison.

Locked in deep – way down – in the depths of the notorious Nazi prison in , these guards from three corners of the world spend many shades of moon with Sebastian “RuWolf” Fang, leader of the Werewolf Nation an honest, fang baring, furry 6-foot-2 werewolf.

There is supposed to be little to fear. Mr Fang is hidden from the navy blue sky, from the dim stars and more importantly, from the pale moon. Yet no one feels right. Everything is tense.

What Mr Fang does see is the pillar-like faces of the Soviet, American and British guards through a sliding window in the iron door that locks him in.

Inside the room, Mr Fang is surrounded by books that rise to the concrete ceiling. There must be at least 500 on subjects as varied as pornography and geography. And it doesn’t faze him a bit. Shocking to some, he would much rather read then eat.

“It’s assumed that I like to eat humans,” said Mr Fang in his thick Bavarian accent. “Books are my diet, words on my plate and nourishment for my mind.”

It’s as if Mr Fang is reciting his old schoolboy mantra, fitting since he is sitting on a small bed, fit for a ten-year-old boy but not a 66-year-old grown man… wolf… wolf-man… in Spandau prison, notorious Nazi hellhole, hard as a rock, deep as a black hole and a never-never land of regret.

“If I could say I had regret,” said Mr Fang between bites of his spinach and bean roll that smelled like sewage-waste, “it would have to be that I tried to educate the public too late in the game.

“That was my problem. I did not at first wish to be a leader of anything. I wanted to be a simple train engineer, working the Bavarian train lines from Fussen to Munich to Stuttgart. But what are you going to do, huh? Leave the world to determine your own fate.”

Mr Fang’s fate was sealed the night he met a travelling group of English werewolves, named the werewolf nation. The Werewolf Nation was an unorganised troupe of rebellious werewolves who travelled throughout Europe partying, meeting other werewolves and eating – a lot. According to Mr Fang, under a typical full moon he had transformed that night and was hunting as he always claims he did in a Bavarian forest looking for mammals rather than humans to eat.

“I was born this way,” said Mr Fang of his chosen non-human eating path. “I am the seventh child of a catholic family that loved and raised me to be a great man. They reminded me that although I have a beast side, I have a human side, too. I was raised with my… ‘skill-set’ to respect the pure human race. But my parents never allowed me to feel isolated because of my ‘skill-set’, even in a Germany that was very intolerant. To forget their wishes would be kin to biting in to my parents. What else could I do? I love them and they love me.”

Once Mr Fang came to an understanding that the beasts were not going to hurt him, he showed them around the forest, giving them the locations of good animal hunting grounds and transformation spots they might like to use. But the werewolf nation would have nothing to do with his advice.

“At first I thought they were regular wolves, because they were so short. But when I saw their eyes I knew it. I knew it like my birthday. They were werewolves like me but they spoke English, which at that time I did not.”

They looked upon Mr Fang as a future member but not as a guide to the werewolf hunting grounds of the Black Forest. For that they had no use.

“Marshall Lewis (of Wolverhampton, UK, then leader of werewolf nation, now martyr of Werewolf Nation) looked at me and he gave me a sick, lusty grin that said without words – remember I could not speak English at the time – that what they wanted dwelled not under the cover of branches and grass but under places of brick and tiles. I had made a choice like that character Louis from Interview with a Vampire to hunt only mammals as I felt at the time – as I would today – that our place in the world was to remain hidden. It’s not like I was comfortable being a werewolf; I couldn’t exactly tell my co-engineers that they were riding with a beast.

“Well I was pretty much in the same position with these guys, you know, I couldn’t exactly tell them that I didn’t eat humans. I was outnumbered 8-to-1. You better damn well believe at that moment I ate humans. Plus there were a few issues that needed to be dealt with in town, so I said: ‘Gehen Wir’ and then we tore apart thirty poor souls. It was the last time I ever ate human flesh… Yes, it was delicious the best tasting meat on earth, but…”

At this point Mr Fang gets a very eager look on his face.

Look for what happens next on tomorrow’s report by me on Sebastian “RuWolf” Fang’s last days in Spandau Prison.