Once more he succeeded in meeting the Swiss consul, Hochstrasser, and furtively spewed out his disgusting secret, while Hochstrasser gazed upon him with resentment.—I’ll pass on your story to Berne if you insist, Herr Obersturmführer. But you continue to require that it remain unattributed!
For the love of Christ, sir! Don’t you comprehend the situation of my wife and children?
As you prefer, then. But unattributed rumors of this kind, well—
What do you want me to do? Must I bring you a trainload of corpses?
Herr Obersturmführer, good day.
Again the prussic acid has decomposed! reported Obersturmführer Gerstein. There is nothing to do with it now except bury it.
It seems to decompose awfully frequently these days, said “Clever Hans” Günther.
There’s wartime quality for you! his 
-man replied with a ringing laugh. I’ve complained to the factory in person several times.
Someone should be shot.
Naturally they use Jews and Slavs on the production line! But for the sake of our transportation personnel—
Your father hasn’t yet forgiven you, reported his wife the next time he visited; and even though he didn’t know what he hadn’t been forgiven for, the knowledge of being in the wrong came as easily as ever. Towering over her, he shot her that look which she would never see as anything other than stern; and then he waited.
For cutting off his little story, she explained.
Oh, said he, placing another log upon the fire. The one about the Jew they caught.
He knew how it must have been for that Jew, because it had already happened to him twice, the first time back in 1936, that time he’d sent out the seven thousand anti-Nazi religious pamphlets and then they took him away in one of the Green Minnas, where through a small square barred window on the righthand side he saw clouds, darkness and windows; then it was right face and forward march with the others into Columbia House where the Blackshirts tortured him with wet horsewhips. In 1938, because they absurdly suspected him of monarchism, another Green Minna carried him to a concentration camp, where he quickly learned to tell the smirking doctor: I fell downstairs.—In short, he overcame all his previous ideological errors. A certain Gestapo man had gotten him out, but his father had also helped by insisting that Kurt Gerstein had always been a sincere anti-Semite. He’d never forget those weeks at Welzheim, his vacation they called it; and in particular the thing which he’d never tell anybody about, the thing that the -men had done to him. Of course all this had taken place back in the days when we still played around, when we beat them instead of liquidating them. Once upon a time, Röhm’s portrait still hung in all our concentration camps. Then we shot Röhm and got serious. We commenced Operations Reinhard and Barbarossa, and set up shop at Belzec.
His wife said: You really ought to apologize.
As you wish, Friedl, he said, and he went up to Ludwig Gerstein’s room. Didn’t he owe his life to his father twice over?
Ever since he was a little child, his father’s presence had always reminded him of Berlin’s Zeughaus, which is square and reddish-tan, an immense stern cube studded with figures.
The old man was lying down. Half-opening his eyes, he gazed at his son with wolfish hostility. There was nothing to do but kneel down, kiss the father’s hand, and beg his pardon: You know I’ve always been a bundle of nerves, and what with the war…
His father gazed at him stonily.
Inspired, the blond man leaned over and whispered: Not to mention my secret work…
This won the day. His father said: I do forgive you, Kurt. And now we’ll never talk about it again.
Thank you, father. Once again, I’m sorry I—
Nowadays people are trying to accomplish so much. I trust that you also are doing your utmost.
Yes, father.
For whoever desires the Grail must approach that prize with the sword, his father recited, and Kurt Gerstein nodded submissively.
And have you been traveling? What do they tell you about the situation on the Ostfront?
Shall we talk about it by the fire, father? Friedl’s soup should be ready about now—
Just tell me this, Kurt, before we go down to the others. From what you’ve heard, will Paulus be able to hold out?
I can hardly say, said Gerstein, and then at once, perceiving the ghastly fear upon his father’s face, he amended himself: The Führer has promised us that Fortress Stalingrad will never be conquered.
You’re right, his father said after a pause. That’s the only way to think about things now. Now we’ll go down to the others.
Seeing them descend the stairs together, his father’s arm around his shoulder, Elfriede smiled with gladness, and he suddenly thought: Why, how much like Berthe she looks!
(Well, but after all, Berthe was her sister.)
His three children, pale and dispirited, ate their soup in silence. Friedl said: Now you must tell us where you’ve been, Kurt.
Minsk. Did you get my letter?
Not yet, she said steadily
Is it pretty bombed up? asked his father.
I’m afraid so. There’s not much good to say about that place.
Well, after all, it was under Jewish domination for so long. Have all the Jews fled, or are they still causing trouble?
They’ve been evacuated, he said bitterly. This is excellent soup.
His son Christian said: Vati, I’ve heard there’s a lot to eat in Prague. You go to Prague, don’t you?
Yes.
Did you bring us anything from Prague?
Let your father eat, said Elfriede. Can’t you see how tired he is?
Vati, someday will you take us there?
After the war, he replied with his head in his hands.
How many castles do they have? And what colors are on their flag? I’m doing a project about flags for school.
Their flag is the swastika now, of course. What on earth have your teachers been telling you?
He didn’t bring home good marks this time, Elfriede announced harshly, and Gerstein knew that he, the absent man, was failing all of them. Charity begins at home, runs the proverb, and he was spending his charity far, far away, on a race whose extinction no one would even remember! Leave the dead to bury the dead, as Scripture says. For a moment he imagined bringing his family to Prague on a holiday, or taking Christian at least, so that the boy could see the ornate towers, the curving stone balconies flying our long crimson buntings whose swastikas make us all proud; it wasn’t Germany, but those devils who—
Vati, next time you go to Prague will you please bring us something really good to eat?
Christian, said Elfriede, but not as sharply as she might have, you know better than to speak to your father that way! Say you’re sorry!
Sorry, Vati. Vati, what do they have to eat in Prague?
He wanted to please them. He said: Well, sometimes there’s roast duck.
With red cabbage?
That will be enough, said Ludwig Gerstein. Try not to be angry at him, Kurt.
I’m not angry, father. Why is it so dark in here?
It’s not dark. The fire’s very bright.
No, it’s those blackout curtains. What a ridiculous regulation! The Allies have devices with which they can pinpoint their targets in the dark…
Don’t be a defeatist, Kurt!