The Vengeance of Rome (89 page)

These boys, he says, they were brutalised in the army and even more brutalised in the trenches. Many of them never stopped fighting. Not the best of us, these boys. But maybe the second best. Yes, I fear they couldn't stop fighting. After the War, it was the only way they knew to defend their freedom. You mustn't blame them too much. The main problem of our KZ system now is overcrowding. I cannot tell you how many of us have complained.

He lifts an eyebrow. ‘Do you know anything about eugenics? Exterminating a few failures is easy, but how would you kill a million? Electricity? Come along now, Herr Peters. This is a problem for the scientific mind. I shall be reporting on your willingness to cooperate.'

I do my best to engage with the problem. He has called me ‘Herr'. I need his approval. ‘You would doubtless have to gas them.'

‘What kind of gas?'

I find this conversation disquieting. ‘Some sort of cyanide. Whatever gas worked best in the trenches. Whatever is most easily mass-produced. This is not my area of speciality. I work for peace. I work for humanity. Why do you ask me such questions?'

‘Perhaps you would be good enough to write all this down for me. I will have some materials brought in. And then there are the bodies. How would you dispose of them? There is a hygiene problem, of course. We learned that in 1917.'

‘You would have to burn them, as already happens in our crematorium. It would be the only sensible solution. You couldn't plough them under. It wouldn't be decent. Or healthy. Are you discussing some sort of plague?'

‘I'll have more paper, pen and ink brought in for you.' He returns to another subject.

They couldn't stop fighting
. Like two dogs you try to separate. One turns and digs its teeth into the nearest flesh. That flesh as likely as not belongs to its beloved master. We raise fierce dogs to protect us from the wild. Then, one day, those dogs go mad. The British thought Hitler and Mussolini were the mad dogs who would save them from the Soviet Union. All our attempts to simplify the world result in further complications.
Oy, meyn Foter, meyn Foter! Frugnecht!
Do not ask me these things. I am an engineer, a visionary. Euthanasia is a mystery to me. It would be unjust to mark my papers
Rückkehr nicht erwünscht
. I am not useless. I am not one of those
unwertes Leben
, not
Uneingeteilte
. My cities are planets. They invest with their gravity everything that is beautiful and sane. My cities are free. Leaving all misery behind we can make a new home among the stars. For Jesus was a Greek. He offered a choice between Israel and Greece. They chose Greece. They were Jews but their neighbours called them Greeks as fortunate Palestinians are called Americans.
Quand tu tiens un enfant par la main et que tu lui dis, ‘Regarde la cité!'
Leave the lands of the Philistines to those who still covet them.

Schnauben has an unhealthy interest in my penis.

‘Because everyone thought it more sanitary. All the British do it.'

‘All Britons are Jews?'

‘Of course not, Herr Sturmführer. It is an old custom in many civilised countries.'

‘This circumcision? It was forced on you in Abyssinia, was it?'

‘Perhaps. I don't know. How could I? I have never been to Abyssinia. I am an American citizen. I am well known as a film actor. I am Max Peters. I played Winnetou. Baron Hugenberg will vouch for me.'

‘You are certainly very like Mr Peters. I have watched him myself.
The Masked Buckaroo
. Very clever. No doubt you found this likeness useful to you. But Baron Hugenberg claims not to know you. He is a little under suspicion himself, these days. His religion, of course, as well as his politics. We have interviewed him. He never met most of his actors, he says. You must have powerful friends in the USA, Mr Peters. Who would you like us to write to? The President, perhaps? Some great producer? An industrialist? You cannot give me one name?'

‘My disappearance was of interest to the film magazines.'

‘Not in Germany. Those films have no audience. Max Peters has vanished from our screens. He has vanished from the memories of all his friends.' This causes him amusement.

I will not become a Musselman. I must keep my
Brotzeit
. Sturmführer Schnauben enjoys my mind, he says. Perhaps he desires it for himself. He has an interest in preserving it, he says.

I look at the violet banner on my sleeve. ‘What crime have I actually committed? I have never been told. Why would they put me in Dachau?'

His eyes catch the glare from the match as he lights another cigarette. As if he burns from within. He leans towards me. He is suddenly inspired.

‘I think of Dachau as the palace of truth, Herr Pyatnitski. This is the home of illumination. Here, we are free from secrets. There is no room for lies in Dachau, the very citadel of freedom where all masks are banished. Here, the human soul knows unquestioning rest.' He grins and smoke curls from his lips. ‘Not so, the human body. Strange. It is nearly a year since the blood purge.' He relaxes. He turns away.

I am free from fear. Full of calm, I speak directly. ‘Why do you torture me?'

He is dismissive. ‘You know this is not torture. You know what goes on in the
Politische Abteilung
.'

‘Why do you question me?'

Turning, he frowns. ‘Because circumstances permit it. Our rôles are chosen for us. Our only responsibility is to play them out.'

‘You do this for pleasure?'

‘I suppose I do. Could it be that I like you, Herr Pyatnitski? Could I have a “soft spot” for you? For hours I take you away from that hut where you are exposed to every kind of wretchedness and horror. I remove you
from the company of criminals and lunatic zealots, the bellowing blows of the guards with their dog whips and rifles. I provide you with relative peace. Do you prefer to shuffle along in the work-gangs? Or kneel before the capos? Do you prefer burial duties? Or work at the
Plantage
? Would you like to help the experiments in the medical wing?' He knows the answer. ‘Perhaps I feel a kinship with you? Temperamentally we are the same, are we not? Is that how I know you so well? Like you, I am a visionary. Like you, I am a gambler. Like you, I am disposed towards shadows. I take advantage of accidents. Twilight and dawn, the hours of risk, are my favourite times of day.'

Twilight and dawn are when the interrogations always begin. The hours of risk.

‘There are no accidents here?'

‘Very few. Very few.' Back and forth he walks. ‘I wonder if it is not my job to produce more.' He smokes. ‘Still,
Dienst ist Dienst und Schnaps ist Schnaps
.' Sometimes he offers me a cigarette but I refuse. These days they give me headaches. But I accept the coffee. Our own is always ersatz. ‘As in war, here the world simplifies to a remorseless code. It is why our camp was created. To sanitise the national kitchen. Don't you feel safe here?'

‘Safe?'

‘And happy, Herr Peters? Your mouth affords me so much pleasure.'

‘It is my good fortune, Herr Sturmführer, to have become your duty.'

‘Duty? You misunderstand me. What possible duty is involved with you? I have a duty to myself, perhaps. What you observe is my passion for control. A frustrated passion, I should add. Here, because the overall system is so perfect, I can control very little. Too many people arrive here. Those numbers are beyond our authority. Commandant Eicke does his best. He is a conscientious man. He feels his responsibility. We have national programmes to maintain. We have to deal with the numbers. But they are only numbers. I would rather talk to you than talk to my colleagues about numbers. Numbers obsess most of them.'

He drops his head in reflection. The silver skull on his cap grins at me. The runes of his insignia glare. What is it that reminds me of Wagner? Of
Parsifal
in particular? He believes himself to be part of a holy order.

‘We are also a training facility. I am a lecturer here. So I work with what I am given. And I have been given you, Herr Pyatnitski, Herr Peters, Herr Gallibasta. Three in one, eh? A bonus. And if occasionally you reveal something of use to the Reich, then everything is justified, at every level. But will that happen? What do we need to know? You are here for your
masquerading. For your deceptions. For your folly. For being a Jew. Thanks to you, I have a busy schedule. I am here to instruct and to learn. You must hope I do not become bored with you. All your life you have had value only as an entertainer. Once I do become bored with you, you will join the living dead. You know that Jews don't have a very long life expectancy here? Shorter than ever. One way or another, whether you continue to walk or not, you will join the ranks of the dead.'

He suggests that I am worthless. But I will not become a Musselman. I will triumph over my captors. I do not believe they exist except in my imagination. I created them, and so they have no power over me.

‘I am not a Jew. I am an engineer. An inventor. An actor. I have played many races.'

‘You are mixed up, Herr Peters. Mixed-up blood, mind, reality.' He seems almost sympathetic. ‘You say you are an American. Then you say you are a Spaniard. Yet Captain Petroff knows you to be Russian. We have such a good dossier, so many witnesses. No secrets here, Herr Peters.'

‘You have the word of Reds or Red fellow-travellers. Why can't you hear me? You have only Count Petroff's word? And Brodmann's?' Mentioning this last is a risk. I have already compromised myself too often.

‘Brodmann the Jew? The Soviet agent? What can you tell me about him? This would help me in Berlin. And that would let me help you. Where did you last see him?'

‘I saw him in Paris. In New York. Perhaps Cairo. Tangier. Rome. He followed me here. I might have seen him in Berlin. In Munich. He is my nemesis. He hates me. He is implacable.'

‘He is Cheka?'

‘He reports directly to Stalin.'

‘About you?'

‘No doubt.'

It is clear to me he thinks Brodmann is my invention. But Schnauben is himself my invention. Through him I survive. He is the phantasm I create to facilitate my journey into the future.

‘And he followed you to Tangier?'

‘He is a bloodhound. I told you.'

Holding a small, leather-bound notebook, Sturmführer Schnauben jots a memorandum with a slender silver pencil. I disguise my triumph. My trick is to make my file so huge it will become impossible to organise.

‘Brodmann tells me you are a cocaine addict. Is that how you came by these delusions?'

He frequently makes this suggestion. Before Brodmann, he credited Prince Freddy with the calumny. Then it was Kitty. Then Kolya. Even Mrs Cornelius has been summoned to support his tricks. I reply as I have always replied.

‘I am addicted to nothing but the truth. To science.'

‘You were naturally suspicious, eh? Naturally given to sweating day and night, raving in your sleep?'

‘You know nothing of this. Given my conditions, Sturmführer Schnauben, it is not surprising. I have been here for—for how long?'

‘You have been here for almost five months. I would guess that you have a powerful patron, Herr Peters. Oh, yes. Some old fan of yours in Berlin is looking after you. Someone with the Führer's ear, I'd say.'

Mrs Cornelius! ‘I'll be released?'

‘No, but you will not be shot. I have had no instructions. Not yet, at any rate. Who is it? Some old lover? We are a sentimental people. You should be grateful. Such a thing would not save you in Russia.'

It occurs to me that Brodmann and Schnauben are negotiating an exchange. Am I to be sent back to Moscow? In return for a captured German spy? I have no means of escaping such a fate. Yet what can be worse than this? When I first arrived the stink gagged me. Only I appeared to notice it. I am too refined for this life. The striped prison uniform and cap were not clean. I had to stand before the SS, holding my cap before me, at attention. Yes, sir. I understand, sir. I had to march at a run. Into the barracks. The straw of the palliasse was becoming rancid, even then. There was a brute with a badge on his uniform. He was the hut capo. To prove himself, he behaved worse than the SS. For the first few days I had a blue and yellow star on my sleeve. It was supposed to be violet. I was shocked. This branded me a Jew. When I was taken in to Schnauben, I begged to have this removed. He made a joke. ‘Blue and yellow make violet, don't they?' But he saw the justice of this. The yellow star was replaced with a blue triangle, which meant ‘emigrant'. My crimes were still numinous, but my status was improved. Only weeks later, after I had suffered the most vicious and humiliating treatment, did I eventually get my violet armband.

‘
White Aces
? Is that what you told me one of your films was called.' He looks back through his notebook. ‘I understood that was Prince Badehoff-Krasnya's favourite. You told us you were an officer in the White Army.'

‘The Germans were our allies.'

‘An American in the Russian Imperial Army?'

‘A volunteer flyer. I joined in 1916.'

‘At the age of sixteen?'

‘Exactly. My father was a dentist. He married a Russian woman. Then we all went home to America in 1910. My father took us to Odessa in 1914. By 1924 we were back in New York. Driven out by the Reds.'

‘Yes. And then you went to Hollywood. Your films speak for themselves, of course. Would you be prepared to fly for the Reich?'

‘Of course. I sent my plans to Reichspräsident Göring. I am an expert pilot, especially of my own craft. Mussolini himself asked me to teach his son Bruno to fly.'

One moment he pretends to disbelieve me. The next, he will accept everything. ‘And when you went into film-making with Prince “Mongol”, what were your arrangements? A percentage of the profits, perhaps?'

‘We had no arrangements. He was blackmailing me. I hardly knew the man. He threatened me with exposure. Originally I didn't know he made pornography. But he concocted a story.'