testing ground of Death. Should he tell them who he was? Should he recruit them for the desert? He wasn't afraid of giving them his name; but having eaten and drunk with them, his rank forbade him to give himself away. The murderer-in-chief doesn't sit at the same table as his henchmen: that wasn't the officers' mess ethos. They said, 'We've got a car.' They said they'd 'organized' one. They'd learned to organize. They were still busy organizing. Judejahn paid the bill. It amused him because they presumed he'd pay for everything. Judejahn never paid for everything. He had various currencies in his wallet, and he couldn't find his way around all the different crumpled banknotes, the inflated denominations of a war-ruined currency. The war was Judejahn; and it was as though he'd helped to devalue money and inflate figures; it both satisfied and disgusted him. The men helped Judejahn to work out the exchange rate; they organized such money-changing transactions as well; and they could launder money, and pass off fake bills for real. Judejahn despised money and got through it. But he made sure he wasn't robbed. Little Gottlieb was impressed by the rich, and hated them. Judejahn liked their life-style, but not their lives. He had tried to do better. The rich were stupid. They had thought of Judejahn as a lackey who would do their work for them. But the lackey became a gaoler and locked them up. But in the end the prisoners managed to get away from Judejahn. The rich were rich once more. They were free. They were clever. Little Gottlieb once again stood in the corner eating his heart out. Once in a while there was a crumb from their tables for him. The constellations were not unfavourable to Judejahn. Wallenstein believed in the stars. Mars, Mercury and Clio living in rat holes. Exhausted, drained, quarrelsome, envious, covetous, selfish and forever greedy, they never stop their attentions. The press announced their abortions. Judejahn left the Pilsener cellar with the Eastern Germans, he left with the cadaver-faced, grinning men, left with the useful organizers, the Eastern Hummel-Hummel-callers, his soul-brothers and comrades-in-arms. Comrade rats. Rats climbed up to the street.
He was exhausted, and again I offered him some wine, and again he refused, and I wondered if he was this exhausted when he confessed to his superiors. I wasn't his confessor, and I couldn't give him absolution. I saw no sins. I saw only life, and life wasn't a sin. Nor could I give him any advice. Who can advise anyone? It meant nothing to me and it meant an awful lot when he exclaimed: 'But she's my mother, and he's my father!' And so I learned that they were in Rome, my parents, my brother Dietrich, my aunt and Uncle Judejahn, he too, he was alive, and there was Adolf sitting in front of me, though not entirely, I thought, because his priestly cassock set him apart from us, he had freed himself, I didn't want to know at what cost, just as I too had freed myself and didn't want to know the cost. Where should I flee to now, seeing they were here, following me, because Adolf had followed them, her at least, his mother, whom he described in dismaying terms? So when he said to me, 'He's my father, she's my mother,' I didn't want to know. I'd had enough. I'd freed myself. I felt free. I really thought I was free, and wanted to remain free—and I wasn't a Christian. I don't mean I wasn't a Christian in the sense of Uncle Judejahn, I didn't hate Christians, but I didn't go to church, or rather I went to a lot of churches but not to hear Mass, or rather I went to hear Mass, but not the way they celebrated it. But if he was a Christian now and a priest, then surely there was the injunction that one had to leave father and mother—and hadn't he left them?
He buried his face in his hands. He'd told me about the end of the Teutonic academy, the end of the Nazi indoctrination fortress where they let us stew, where they were going to get their future leadership
He was exhausted, and again I offered him some wine, and again he refused, and I wondered if he was this exhausted when he confessed to his superiors. I wasn't his confessor, and I couldn't give him absolution. I saw no sins. I saw only life, and life wasn't a sin. Nor could I give him any advice. Who can advise anyone? It meant nothing to me and it meant an awful lot when he exclaimed: 'But she's my mother, and he's my father!' And so I learned that they were in Rome, my parents, my brother Dietrich, my aunt and Uncle Judejahn, he too, he was alive, and there was Adolf sitting in front of me, though not entirely, I thought, because his priestly cassock set him apart from us, he had freed himself, I didn't want to know at what cost, just as I too had freed myself and didn't want to know the cost. Where should I flee to now, seeing they were here, following me, because Adolf had followed them, her at least, his mother, whom he described in dismaying terms? So when he said to me, 'He's my father, she's my mother,' I didn't want to know. I'd had enough. I'd freed myself. I felt free. I really thought I was free, and wanted to remain free—and I wasn't a Christian. I don't mean I wasn't a Christian in the sense of Uncle Judejahn, I didn't hate Christians, but I didn't go to church, or rather I went to a lot of churches but not to hear Mass, or rather I went to hear Mass, but not the way they celebrated it. But if he was a Christian now and a priest, then surely there was the injunction that one had to leave father and mother—and hadn't he left them?
He buried his face in his hands. He'd told me about the end of the Teutonic academy, the end of the Nazi indoctrination fortress where they let us stew, where they were going to get their future leadership
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