A Man Lies Dreaming (23 page)

Prisoner 174517 is a recent arrival, an Italian, Levi by name. ‘And how can we write this rent in the world,’ he says, waving his hands animatedly while his voice remains soft. Like Shomer he has suffered a leg wound. ‘Only by science, by using a language as accurate and dispassionate as possible can we describe the atrocities, for it is a scientific genocide we are subject to, with gas they are killing us, with charts and lists they record us, and in Mengele’s lab they dissect us like animals. And this must be recorded, for future generations, to never forget, and for that the novelist must employ a language as clear and precise as possible, a language without ornament.’

He is not speaking to Shomer but to a veteran of the camp, a Polish Jew with soft sad eyes and curly black hair, skeletal like the rest of them. When asked his name, he says, ‘I have no name. They took my name and now I am Ka-Tzetnik 135633, and no more—’
Ka-Tzetnik
, that is to say, ‘inmate’. And Ka-Tzetnik says:

‘But there you are wrong, for this is no longer the world you knew, the world any of us knew. That world is dead, everything is divided, Before-Auschwitz and the Now, for there is only now, even to think of a life beyond is to indulge in fantasy. But to answer your question, to write of this Holocaust is to shout and scream, to tear and spit, let words fall like bloodied rain on the page; not with cold detachment but with fire and pain, in the language of
shund
, the language of shit and piss and puke, of pulp, a language of torrid covers and lurid emotions, of fantasy: this is an alien planet, Levi. This is Planet Auschwitz.’

And Ka-Tzetnik says:

‘
We have no names. We have no parents and we have no children
. We do not dress the way they dress on Earth. We were not born here and we do not give birth. We breathe by different rules of nature. We do not live by the laws of Earth and neither do we die by them. Our name is a number.’

And at those words the world makes sudden sense to Shomer, for here he is, an astronaut on an alien and hostile world – and isn’t everything trying to kill him? ‘Death and sex,’ Ka-Tzetnik says, but mournfully, ‘death and sex,’ and he and Levi begin to argue, and Levi says, ‘But that is kitsch, and bordering on pornography,’ and so they go on until another inmate tells them to shut the fuck up about literature and they lapse into a heavy silence.

‘Well, that’s another fine mess you got us into,’ Yenkl says, cheerfully, dangling his legs from an upper bunk bed, contentedly puffing on his pipe. And Shomer’s mind shies from the glare, conjures up a safe haven, a world of mean streets and buxom dames and flat-footed detectives, as if, if only he could open up a secret door, he could be transported there; and be free.

Wolf’s Diary, 10th November 1939

‘Well, well, shamus. Here we are again,’ Keech, the fat policeman, said.

‘Fuck you, pig,’ I said. I wasn’t in a good mood. I seldom was, these days. ‘What are you holding me for this time? Last I checked fucking your mother wasn’t a crime.’

His face darkened and he said, ‘You’re a right old funnyman, aren’t you, Wolf.’

‘What do you want, Keech? I’m trying to sleep here.’

They put me in a cell again in Charing Cross nick. This time I rather welcomed it. A doctor had looked me over but had better things to do. I got soup and bread and I fell asleep until the morning without being disturbed. I was aching all over but I would live. I was getting used to being beat up. It was all on a par for this line of work.

‘How is the whore?’ I said.

‘She’ll live,’ Keech said.

‘Is she talking?’

‘Do you mean, does she confirm your story?’ He laughed, a short ugly laugh. ‘She don’t remember much.’

‘What the hell do you mean?’

‘I
mean
that all Gerta remembers is being assaulted by a man, and that the last face she saw was yours. So why did you do it, shamus? You have a thing for whores?’

‘I didn’t do it!’

He leered at me, this fat fuck of a pig.

‘God damn it, I didn’t
do
it, Keech!’

‘Scared, Wolf? You should be.’

‘But this is absurd! I came to her rescue. Keech, you have to believe me!’

‘I don’t have to believe shit, shamus. This isn’t the church. It’s the law.’

‘You have no proof!’

He shook his jowled face. ‘You won’t get off again this easily,’ he said. Then he went and shut the cell door on me and turned the key in the lock.

Wolf’s Diary, 11th November 1939

‘Enjoying your time with us?’

‘Are you going to charge me, or let me go?’

‘We’ll never let you go, kraut.’

I sighed. ‘You’re walking a dangerous line, Keech,’ I said.

‘Are you threatening me?’

I stared at him and he laughed, but there was no humour in his eyes. ‘Inspector wants to see you.’

‘Tell him to go to hell,’ I said.

‘Oh, play nice, Wolf,’ Keech said. ‘You look worse than a beat-up old whore, you know. You could do with a friend.’

‘Are you going to be my friend, Keech? We could go fishing together up the Thames.’

‘How are you feeling?’ He was being solicitous and that had me worried.

‘I’ve been worse.’

‘Then come along. We don’t want to keep the inspector waiting, do we.’

I followed him, stretching. I was beginning to like the cell. Maybe I could finally write that sequel to my book, if they kept me in there long enough. Once again down the corridor and to Inspector Morhaim’s small office. He sat behind his desk as if he hadn’t moved since the last time I saw him. ‘Mr Wolf. Do sit down.’

I took a chair. I saw no reason not to.

‘You know Mr Freisler?’

We were not alone in the room. I nodded, politely. ‘Hello, Roland.’

He had a long mournful lawyer’s face and a lawyer’s fidgety manners
. The bald dome of his head was bookended by black hair like a wig. He was an anti-Semite and an early Party member and I had met him in Berlin a few times. I hadn’t realised he had escaped Germany after the Fall, or that he was still alive. To be honest, I had given the man no thought at all. In the early days he had helped defend members of the SA when they inevitably got into trouble with the law. How he came to be here, now, I had no idea.

‘Herr Wolf.’

‘What are you doing here, Roland?’

‘If it pleases you, sir, I am here as your representative.’

‘Are you,’ I said. I looked at Morhaim. I could see he had to hold down his temper. He did not like Freisler’s being there. ‘And who, if you don’t mind me asking, sent you?’

‘My employer would rather remain anonymous,’ the lawyer said.

‘I don’t doubt that,’ I said. He nodded, briefly. ‘It is good to see you again, sir,’ he said.

‘I wish I could say the same. You are not needed, Freisler. You are dismissed.’

‘But sir!’

Morhaim sighed. ‘Mr Wolf,’ he said, ‘do you know why you are here?’

‘I am unjustly accused of a crime I did not commit,’ I said.

‘Yes, yes. But since I am sure there are many crimes which you did commit, and of which you have never been accused, don’t you think that rather cancels out?’

‘I object,’ Freisler said.

Morhaim turned mild eyes on him. ‘To what?’

‘My client is not guilty of any crime.’

‘And I am not accusing him of any … yet.’

‘Is this about the whore?’ I said. ‘I told your man Keech, I had nothing to do with it.’

‘How do you explain being covered in blood? Again?’

‘I cut myself shaving.’

Morhaim almost cracked a smile. ‘Gerta will live,’ he said. ‘Though she won’t be whoring for a while, I’m afraid. A brave woman, and very spirited.’

‘Good old Gerta,’ I said, with feeling.

‘How do you explain your close proximity to both murders?’ Morhaim said.

‘I object,’ Freisler said again. We both ignored him. ‘They were committed right outside my office,’ I said. ‘You can hardly blame me …’

‘Yes …’ Morhaim said. ‘It is strangely suggestive, though, don’t you think, Mr Wolf?’

‘Someone is trying to frame me.’

‘No doubt, no doubt. You must have many enemies.’

I had no answer to that. It was true I’d not exactly been making friends, of late. Genius is often lonely.

‘I’d like to show you something,’ Morhaim said.

‘You could show me the door.’

‘Very witty, Mr Wolf.’ He looked pained. ‘Mr Freisler?’

‘Yes?’

‘You will remain behind?’

‘I must represent my client—’

There was something unspoken in the air and I didn’t like it. The lawyer subsided. ‘He goes free?’

‘Do we have a choice?’

‘Very well. Mr Wolf.’ He nodded to me again and departed abruptly, a dark bird taking flight. I wondered what had spooked him.

‘I’m free?’

‘I want to show you something.’

‘Will it take long?’

‘Do you have other plans?’

‘Who hired the lawyer?’ I said.

Morhaim stood. ‘Please. Follow me.’

Once more I was led back to my cell, once more my own clothes were returned to me. I followed Morhaim out of the police station. A wan day, the sun struggling behind grey clouds. Morhaim’s car was a beat-up Trojan Tourer, at least a decade old. ‘You have treated this vehicle abominably,’ I said, unable to help myself. He shrugged, almost in apology.

‘Please,’ he said, gesturing. I entered the passenger side.

He drove badly. The car’s suspension was all but non-existent. I suffered in silence though my bruises had stiffened in my two nights of captivity and the journey was agony. ‘Where are we going?’

We were headed west. The cityscape changed, buildings became grander, the make of cars better, the streets cleaner. We came to Hyde Park and Morhaim parked the car. I was just grateful, at that moment, that we’d stopped.

He led me through the park gate, still not speaking. He seemed lost in thought.

‘Are we going to feed the ducks?’ I said.

He turned to me abruptly. There was something like real agony in his eyes. ‘Why do you hate the Jews so much?’ he said. ‘What have Jews ever done to you, Mr Wolf?’

I felt embarrassed for him. I didn’t reply. After a moment he turned away and continued walking. I followed.

We were walking through pleasant green grass, Kensington Palace to our left, a low rising hill ahead. People were out walking their dogs. I missed Prinz and Muckl very much at that moment.

‘Where are we going?’ I said again. Then we crested the low rise and I saw the duck ponds ahead of us. I saw a police van and men in uniform idling by and I prepared myself for what I’d find there.

‘Another dead whore?’ I said.

‘In a manner of speaking.’

He led me, not hurrying. As we approached I saw a body had been dredged out of the pond. It was a man, lying face down in the mud. A rather majestic swan was preening nearby, calling to a mate.