Look Who's Back by Timur Vermes

salute impossible at parades, and when the German anthem is sung only a bitter tear runs from a lifeless eye. I will even postulate that a Führer can be without memory. A total amnesiac. For a Führer’s unique talent is not the accumulation of dry facts – his unique talent is rapid decision-making, and assuming responsibility for those decisions. Critics love to make light of this, citing the old joke about the man who – when moving house, for example – chooses to carry the “responsibility” rather than any crates. But in the ideal state the leader ensures that each man is effective in just the right capacity. Bormann was not a leader, but rather a master of thought and memory. He knew everything. Some referred to him behind his back as “the Führer’s filing cabinet”, which I always found rather touching as I could not have hoped for a more telling endorsement of my policy. At any rate, it was a fargreater compliment than I ever heard paid to Göring: “the Führer’s hot air balloon”.
    Ultimately it was this knowledge, this ability to separate the useful from the pointless, which allowed me, notwithstanding the absence of Bormann, to perceive the new opportunities offered by the production company. Given the precarious situation caused by my lack of papers, it was pointless to try to solve the problem of official registration by myself, so I assigned this task to someone who no doubt had greater manoeuvrability in his dealings with the authorities – Sensenbrink. Straight away he said, “Yeah, we’ll park that one for you. You worry about your programme and we’ll fix everything else. What do you need going forward?”
    “Ask that Frau Krytchthingummy. An identity card, I assume. And more besides.”
    “Don’t you have a passport? No I.D. card? How’s that possible?”
    “I never had need of one.”
    “Haven’t you ever been abroad?”
    “Well, obviously: Poland, France, Hungary …”
    “O.K., they’re inside the E.U.”
    “And the Soviet Union.”
    “You got in
there
without a passport?”
    I thought about it for a moment.
    “I cannot recollect anybody having asked me for one,” I replied confidently.
    “Strange. But what about America? I mean, you’re fifty-six. Haven’t you ever been to America?”
    “I did, very seriously, plan to go,” I said. “But unfortunately I was stopped in my tracks.”
    “O.K., so all we need are your papers, then I’m sure one of us can operationalise the registration and health insurance for you.”
    “This is the problem. There are no papers.”
    “No papers? None at all? Not even at your girlfriend’s? I mean, at home?”
    “My last home,” I said sadly, “was devoured by flames.”
    “I see – oh – you’re being serious now?”
    “Have you seen the Reich Chancellery of late?”
    He laughed. “That bad?”
    “I do not see what there is to laugh about,” I said. “It was devastating.”
    “Fine,” Sensenbrink said. “I’m no expert, mind, but we’re going to need some sort of papers. Where were you registered before? Or insured?”
    “I always had something of an aversion to bureaucracy,” I said. “I preferred to make the laws myself.”
    “Hmmm,” Sensenbrink sighed. “Well, I’ve never had a case like this before. We’ll see what we can leverage, O.K.? But at the very least we’re going to need your real name.”
    “Hitler,” I said. “Adolf.”
    “Listen, I’ve got every sympathy for your situation, don’t get me wrong. That Schröder chap is exactly the same; away from the stage he loves his peace and quiet. And given how controversial your topic is you need to be careful as an artist – but I’m not sure the authorities will see it the same way.”
    “I have no interest in the details.”
    “I bet you don’t,” Sensenbrink laughed, a touch too condescendingly for my liking. “As far as I’m concerned you’re theconsummate artist. But it really would make things easier. You see, there’s no